Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

26^th of Xuxiq, Fall, 6544 A.S.
(c. March 8, 1998)
Uslisgas, Asteria

“Fair morning, Supreme Commander,” the words of the artificial intelligence program that oversaw the functioning of her house, its voice an interesting mixture of organic and artificial tones that sometimes seemed familiar or disturbing depending on the day, woke Sujanha Staðfastur from a dreamless sleep, “It is half past the 6^th hour, and time to rise.”

And with those words, Sujanha knew it was going to be a good day. Whatever else happened that day, whether long, dull meetings or mountains of paperwork that were the trial of any officer in any military, it was going to be a good day.

One would not expect that waking in the morning to be striking.

Or that waking at that particular hour to be striking, either.

For Sujanha, however, it was.

The Supreme Commander of the Furling Fleet always planned to rise at half past the 6^th hour, but it was a rare day when she could actually sleep that late. It was a rare day when the house AI actually needed to fulfill this function and actually wake her, instead of her finally rising from bed at some point before her alarm after starring at the ceiling for hours.

Muscular weakness and chronic pain had been her constant companion for the last two Ithell.[1] The ever-present aches and pains, the necessity of judging every step, planning every movement in advance had become second nature, but today … today was a rare day, which was becoming rarer every year that passed, where that pain was muted. The tremors in her right arm seemed lessened, or at least for the moment, her arm moved in small random motions less over the bed coverlets. The pain, sometimes fire-like, sometimes knife-like, sometimes a bone deep ache as if she had gone ten rounds in a sparring match and lost each one in spectacular fashion, was muted. Not gone. The pain was never gone, but it was faded, and Sujanha even felt a little hungry.

Me … a little hungry.

Won’t that amaze the others?

Pain had a way of sapping the appetite, and the medicines that her healers made her consume daily made food taste differently. Sujanha tended to drink more of her food than eat it, and getting her to eat usually required both gentle prodding and not-so-gentle bugging by her aids and her bodyguards.

The chill of the room brushed across her arms as Sujanha pushed the blankets of her bed away, the cloth slipping smoothly across her black fur. The second month of fall was over half-way gone, and there was a chill in the air. She had opened her bedroom window the previous evening so that the scent of the hardier flowers that still boomed in the garden could permeate the air.

I just did not intend to leave the window open all night.

Ah, well.

“My thanks,” Sujanha finally remembered to reply. Courtesy was never a fault, even to an advanced program created by the brightest minds her people had produced and continually updated over the past Xurth,[2] “Are there any messages for me?”

“No, Supreme Commander,” was the immediate answer.

Stars above, I wish it would stop that.

Sujanha sighed and restrained an immature rolling of her eyes, an act more suited to her brother’s young children, than to one of her age, however young she might still be by comparison to the lifespans of her people. Because of the circumstances of her birth and her current position in the Furling military, she was no stranger to courtesy and formality, but being continually addressed at home of all places as “Supreme Commander” annoyed her.

Not even my subordinates call me that …

“Commander” was the usual form of address, and aside from during introductions, Sujanha only insisted on being called Supreme Commander either when she was extremely angry or attempting to make a point.

A petty annoyance.

Just ignore it. You have for years.

Despite telling herself that for years, Sujanha had still been meaning, also for years, to one day do something about how the AI addressed her. She had not the skill in programming, however, to effect the change herself, and the military programmers who had created the AI, which was usually used on her ships, had better things to do than cater to a petty whim.

Maybe one day.

With one paw steadying herself on the bedpost, Sujanha rose to her feet carefully, waiting to see if her weaker leg would waver under her weight or would hold. A few seconds passed. Her leg held, and a pleased feeling slept through her. It was going to be a good day. With long, careful strides that still held a hint of what was once an easy, rolling gait, Sujanha crossed her bedroom to the chair beneath the open window. This was an old house, and its windows, unlike its doors, were manual, but it closed easily beneath her strength, though that was a fraction of what it once was.

Sujanha quickly removed her night-clothes and draped the garments neatly over one free arm of the chair and then sat down. A leg brace lay within easy reach, one of the most advanced pieces either the Iprysh had made, with smooth lines and no rough edges that would abrade her fur or the skin beneath. After hundreds of years of fastening and unfastening the brace almost every morning and night, it was quick work to fit the brace, which stretched from hip to ankle, over her right leg and fasten the pieces together. As soon as everything was fastened, the seams and clasps disappeared until all was smooth.

Ah, the wonders of nanotechnology.

She pulled on pants of warm dark cloth over the leg brace, and then Sujanha grabbed her tunic off the back of the chair. It was of dark blue, nearly black cloth, the same as the pants and had small, unobtrusive pockets that were convenient for stashing the occasional thing. A jacket went on over it all, but no shoes were needed, not by one of her kind.

“Lights,” Sujanha said, stepping toward the doorway, in a quiet voice that still echoed in the silence of the large, empty house, and the lights in her bedroom immediately dimmed behind her. She had all she needed. Once her morning ablutions were completed and she got some food, it would be time to go to work.

Her morning ablutions were quickly completed, but the polished mirror drew her gaze as she drew toward the end. The same face starred back at her as it had for the past nearly fourteen hundred years. In face and form, she almost appeared as one of the Maskilim, one of the two eldest bloodlines of the Furlings.[3] With fur as black as a starless night sky,[4] she was built as one of the great hunters of the Dark Forest.[5] Yet, two things marked her as different.

Large—over-large and out of proportion to her face—pupil-less black eyes starred back at her, not the golden eyes of her people.

And when she looked down, she would see the same out-of-proportion limbs—length-wise—with short, stubby, claw-tipped fingers that made some fine-work hard.

Both marked her as being one of the Gætir.[6]

Sujanha wondered sometimes if her life would be different if she were not one of the Gætir, if what Asgardian blood there was in her mother’s veins had not combined with that in her father’s lineage to run true in her only daughter and not in her son, if she lacked both the mental facilities and physical weaknesses of the Furling’s closest and eldest ally. It had been tens of millennia since the Asgard had ceased to reproduce sexually and cloning had become their only means of survival. For the Furlings, however, that was not that many generations back, and Asgardian blood still ran in many family lines, including the families of both her parents.

What would be different?

There was almost certainly a parallel reality where the answer might be playing out at that very moment, but it was not for Sujanha to know. There was too much to be done in her universe to waste time wondering about her parallel lives.

It does you no good to speculate.

The present had enough problems without speculating on how the past might have been different if her father’s blood had run truer than her mother’s.

Leave the past in the past.

The present has its own problems without the shadows of the past.

Either way, it was the Great Maker that sent forth children in his will. It was the Great Maker that determined the bloodlines. It was foolish to question him. What might have been, what could have been, it is not our story to know.

Shaking her head and giving a low rumbling growl, Sujanha grabbed a brush from the shelf over the wash station, trying to force those thoughts from her mind. Her gaze was again drawn to her reflection in the mirror. Her long life had been hard in many respects, and her health was poor compared to most of her people. As a result, the fur across her muzzle had grown heavily touched with white, and her paws were becoming speckled with white, as well. Despite her vanity’s dislike of the white, which should have been a mark of advanced years on someone two to three times her age, there was too much now to conceal it with a deft brushing of her fur.

Sujanha’s bedroom was one of three rooms on the second floor of her house, and the only one currently occupied. By anything more than my excess belongings. A steep spiral staircase of gleaming metal led down to the main floor. The downstairs still smelled faintly like cleaners, which meant that the lady who cleaned the house must have been by the previous day. I was too tired or too distracted to notice last night, though I should have.

Sujanha went straight to the kitchen, but to her mingled annoyance and amusement, the cold box was empty. More often than not these days she slept in her sleeping chamber at Headquarters, and it had been days since she had actually come home to sleep … although the weekly days of rest had just passed. And thus, you forgot to have more food sent. Ah, well. It was simple enough to eat in the food hall at Headquarters, instead.

A few more long strides took Sujanha out of the kitchen and into the entrance hallway, where her gauntlets sat on a small table near the door. The gauntlets, when not on a person, were formed of what appeared to be two pieces of metal the width of one’s forearm that hinged on one side and fastened on the other. There were no visible buttons or moving parts or control mechanisms. Almost everyone in the Furling military wore them, and they contained a personal shield and an emergency beacon and also functioned as a communication device and a beaming controller. Like with her leg brace, as soon as Sujanha fit the gauntlets over her arms, the seams and hinges disappeared, leaving only smooth metal behind. It looked, outwardly, as if she was wearing metal sleeves.

Time to get to work.

It took only a brief thought to set the beaming coordinates, and in a flash of light and a hum of noise, Sujanha disappeared.

Moments later Sujanha reappeared, standing in a cobble-stone plaza adjacent to a sprawling six-story stone building, which had been expanded over the years until it was more of a complex than a single building. The Headquarters of the Furling Military, both her fleet and the army under her brother’s command, were intentionally quartered within the same building. It made coordination and planning much more efficient, Sujanha found, than having the fleet and the army headquartered separately.

Faster to travel between floors than between buildings ... even in something this size.

Before she could take more than two strides toward the building after shaking off the momentary disorientation of beaming, a voice brought her up short. “Fair morning, Sujanha.”

Sujanha’s ears twitched to catch the sound, and then she paused mid-stride and turned, waiting. She did not smile as the Zukish[7] did. For one of the Maskilim, whose mouths were filled with sharp teeth that could tear through flesh like a knife, smiling and exposing teeth held a different, more dangerous meaning, but she gave a slight bow of greeting.

One alike to her was approaching at a fast pace. Anarr. Her brother and only sibling. Her elder by two years. Her fellow commander, the Supreme Commander of the Furling Army. Together, they were likely the two most powerful siblings in the surrounding galaxies. Brother and sister divided by the worst war Asteria had ever seen or would ever see but reunited by the same war. Brother and sister, who had been raised apart for almost their entire childhood, whose bond was forged forever and unshakably by fire and war and death and the weight of staggering responsibility …

That was how it had been.

That was how the story still should have been able to be told.

That was what had been true for five-hundred years … before everything had changed … before that relationship had fractured.

But that was the past, and the past could not be undone.

Anarr and Sujanha were almost identical in appearance, though they were not womb-mates.[8] Unlike Sujanha, who looked like one of the Maskilim but was Gætir, Anarr was Maskilim and Maskilim alone. Takes after father by blood. Thank the Maker! Anarr, too, was as one of the hunters of the Dark Forest, whose fur was of the darkest night to enable them to hide in the shadows during long and dangerous hunts, though his eyes were a piercing gold.

“Fair morning, elder brother,” Sujanha replied formally as her brother drew up beside her, “Are you well?”

Anarr gave a slow nod. A measure of concern was clear in his eyes, “I am. But you? You are late this morning.”

Late? I suppose so, if you judge by when I arrive when I can’t sleep.

“Compared to my usual routine, I am,” Sujanha replied, “Only because I usually rise early. Today is a good day. The pain is dimmed for once, and I slept until I was awoken.”

And thank the Maker for small blessings.

Furling Headquarters was a towering and sprawling edifice of stone, glass, and metal. The interior of the first floor into which the two commanders entered was spartan and utilitarian in construction and decoration with sweeping clean lines and a minimum of fuss. It was not long past the 7^th hour, and already hundreds of soldiers and aids, who served in both the fleet and the army, were arriving for the first day of work for the new week. Their faces and forms were varied, showing the diversity of the galaxy, the Furling Empire, and the Furling military. Even among those of the same species, there were subtle differences that distinguished one person from their companion, and no two looked exactly alike. None dressed alike either. All wore dark, unobtrusive colors, but the styles, cuts, and cloths were unique to the difference races. The only distinguishing features between those who served Sujanha and those who served Anarr was that those in the Fleet bore a silver insignia in the shape of a five-pointed star and those in the Army bore a gold insignia of a long staff.

All made way immediately for Sujanha and Anarr when they noticed the arrival of the two Supreme Commanders, saluting the two in the Furling fashion and bowing in respect, and the two found themselves slowed down by the number of salutes and by those who stopped to speak with them or greet them. Sujanha bade her brother farewell in the entrance hall and, leaving him speaking with one of his generals, took the lift to the second floor.

The lifts were located at the center of Headquarters, and Sujanha’s lift opened up onto a long-hallway that stretched the length of the building. The hallway was as plainly decorated and as utilitarian as the rest of the building. At regular intervals, multiple doorways led off the hall to other rooms or offices. Sujanha made her way half-way down the hall, stopping in front of one particular door. What looked like a small blue stone was set into the wall a little above waist-height, and the Commander waved one paw across the stone.

With a soft chime, the door slid open smoothly and silently, revealing a large office within. A large desk, large enough for at least two people and covered with papers and tablets, dominated one side of the room directly across from the door, the wall behind the desk being lined with shelves covered with more tablets and papers. A large table was set up along one wall, with ornate blue lamps set high on the wall casting a strange glow over the table, its contents, and the rooms. The rest of the furniture in the room only consisted of several chairs. An opaque door led off into another room.

The office’s occupants were as varied in appearance as those officers whom Sujanha and her brother had passed on the lower level. Two sat at the desk, and two sat in the other chairs scattered across the room. All four looked up immediately as the door chimed at its opening and Sujanha entered.

“Fair morning, Commander,” rumbled the larger of the two figures not sitting behind the desk. Ragnar was a tall, broad fellow, more than a head taller than Sujanha, who was herself reasonably tall, though her Gaetir blood kept her height on the lower end of average. He was Furling like Sujanha, but as one of the Sukkim rather, his appearance was as one of the great pack hunters of the north.[9] His fur was every shade between white and black, making him overall grey, and his paws were the sizes of some serving platters in the food hall.

With a wave of her hand, Sujanha waved all four back into their seats, her two bodyguards—Ragnar and his younger brother, Ruarc, also one of the Sukkim, whose build was lither and his fur as black as night—and her two aids—Asik Geatam, a slight human with weary features, and Jaax Nenth, a humanoid figure with uniform grey eyes, black fur, and flat, almost smushed, facial features.

“Fair morning to you all,” Sujanha greeted them familiarly, “Any messages for me?”

“Not yet, Commander,” Asik replied, his voice thin and reedy, his words rapid-fire.

Unlike many galaxies, humans were the minority in Asteria. Only about 75 years had passed since the end of the Great War, which had itself lasted for over 3000 years. That horrible war had nearly proved the doom of the Furlings and all their allies. Many worlds had been annihilated, with some species being reduced to a fraction of their former numbers. The Furlings themselves had lost more than half of their entire population, galaxy-wide, but the Cesneors, Asik’s people, …

A once thriving people. Now only one or two hundred are left.

The blood of the Cesneors would live on, but without more genetic diversity, as a race, they would die out within an Ithell or two. At least, their memories, their history, their culture would live on in some form or another, the Furlings would ensure that. Archivists were already racing to copy, record, and collate everything they could … before it was too late.

It saddened Sujanha every time those thoughts passed through her mind. The Great War had cost them all so much, and though the war itself was over—no more battles still raged—the entire galaxy was living with the consequences and would be for generations.

And there were some wounds that even time could not heal.

Time could not save the Cesneors from extinction.

“Very well. I thank you,” Sujanha said, waving her hand to open the inner door, and stepped into her private office.

Sujanha’s desk and chair stood straight in front of the door, and into her chair, Sujanha sank carefully, wary of exacerbating any pains though she was feeling better that day. There was a large table with several chairs on the left side of the room and a medium-size pedestal with a decorated control stone sitting on top of it on the right side of the room. In front of Sujanha's desk was another chair. Behind her desk was a large opaque window that let in light but prevented anyone from seeing through from either side. A lamp stood on Sujanha's desk along with a tablet, a sheaf of papers, several tablets, and a handful of control stones for various pieces of technology.

There was a quiet murmur of voices in the outer office. Then Ruarc appeared, padding quietly into the room and sinking bonelessly into the chair opposite Sujanha in what was technically a grievous breach of protocol.

Not that I care.

Sujanha was too old and tired to see the need of sticking to protocols and hierarchies within her offices when it was just her, her aids, and her bodyguards. Save for Asik, who was much younger, they had all been together for hundreds of years through some of the darkest moments of the Great War.

There was a time for military protocol and ceremony.

In private, with the closest thing I have to friends, is not the time.

Sujanha finished paging through a series of holographic screens she had brought up with a wave of one paw, reminding herself of what had been accomplished the end of the previous week and over the rest days and what was on the agenda for the day, and then looked across at her bodyguard with what was, for a Furling, a questioning look.

“Have you eaten yet?” Ruarc asked bluntly.

Sujanha laughed internally. Never let it be said we are not a straightforward people.

Ragnar and Ruarc had been assigned as Sujanha’s bodyguard almost five-hundred years previously, handpicked by Anarr himself out of the Imperial Guard, one of the elite shock-troop units of the Furling Army. Given the assassination attempt that had nearly killed her not many years prior and left her with lasting physical consequences, their original job had been protecting her from outside threats, especially when she went left the confines of Furling-controlled planets or the safety of her warships. That job, at least in their minds, had evolved over the following years into as much protecting her from (so they saw) herself.

And thus, reminding me to eat and making sure I sleep and bugging me if I don’t.

“No,” Sujanha replied, “There was no food in my cold box.” Her voice took on a note of chagrin, “I haven’t been home for some days, but I am a little hungry so if you could have sent down for some food, you would have my thanks.”

Are you going to object that I worked on the rest days?

Ruarc’s mouth had opened right after Sujanha’s no, exposing a hint of razor-sharp fangs, as if he was expecting to hear that she both had not eaten and was not hungry, but at her actual request for food, his jaw snapped shut with a painfully audible clack of teeth. His surprise was evident in every line of his body.

A sad testament to my general health that me requesting food is that much of a surprise.

Sujanha’s general lack of appetite was well known among her staff, and getting her to eat usually involved some amount of polite bugging, gentle cajoling, and periodic threats to get Kaja, her personal healer, involved.

Also a testament to your surprise that you don’t remonstrate with me for sleeping here … again.

Ruarc’s eyes had gone wide. “Of course, Commander. What would you like? I’ll go down myself.”

“Tea,[10] of course,” Sujanha replied, “Some bread, but only if it’s fresh, and one of those blue fruit I like.”

“Of course, Commander,” Ruarc rolled back to his feet in one smooth, silent motion, a notable display of quiet agility—You always have been light on your feet … more so than your brother—and with a nod departed as quietly as he had entered.

Sujanha returned to her work, reviewing reports from the shipyards, the training grounds, and the armories, and it seemed like only a few minutes had passed when Ruarc reappeared bearing a heaping plate and a large mug. A quick glance at the chronometer on the wall showed that over twenty minutes had passed. As Sujanha had requested, the mug was full of a sweet, spiced tea, the recipe for which the Furlings had gotten from the Gadhabin, one of their Zukish[11] allies in Asteria, as well as three thick slices of bread and two blue fruit.

Feeling hopeful, are we?

Ruarc got a half-sheepish expression under the slightly fond glare Sujanha sent his way but then answered promptly, “You might get hungry later, and the fruit will keep. Save us the trouble of going back down later.”

Definitely feeling hopeful.

Sujanha shook her head fondly and shooed her bodyguard out with a quiet word of thanks. Reaching for the mug of tea, she took a cautious sip, wary of burning her sensitive mouth if the tea had been freshly brewed and was piping hot. The tea proved to be nicely warm but not scalding hot, and the blend of spices and the tanginess of the fruit within burst across her tongue. The tea had been her favorite drink all her life. Mother made it for us when we were children and we were scared by the reports of the war. The sweet, hot tea had done good things for their nerves, even though neither Sujanha nor her brother could taste the sweetness in the tea or other foodstuffs.

An interesting quirk of Maskilim genetics.

Having no conception of what sweet things tasted, Sujanha never could decide if this was an annoying quirk or not. No Furlings or half-bloods with predominantly Maskilim blood could taste sweetness of any degree, whether the natural sweetness of a piece of fruit to the sweetest of sweetcakes made in the imperial kitchens.

You could fill my mug half-full of flower-juice,[12] and I still couldn’t taste it.

I wouldn’t know the difference until the healer had to attend to my rotting teeth.

Sujanha found herself hungrier that she had even originally thought, and she quickly devoured all three slices of bread and, when no twisting in her stomach was forthcoming, then slowed her pace to leisurely gnaw chunks off one of the blue fruits with one long tooth. The fruit had a crisp texture and a tangy taste that Sujanha had enjoyed since childhood. The fruit had a long and complicated name in the language of the Etrairs, with whom the Furlings traded significantly. Although Sujanha was well-versed in many languages of the empire, as befitted a scion of the imperial house, the name for that one solitary fruit, she had never been able to pronounce with any level of accuracy, and thus “the blue fruit,” it had been christened, and thus it had been called ever since.

It was good to eat actual food, fresh food. As hard as the cooks tried onboard her ships, food during long campaigns where supply runs could be less consistent was never quite the same. Sujanha had a tin of Asgard ration tablets in a desk drawer that she could eat off of anytime she wanted, but her aids and her bodyguards, especially them, would fuss if she didn’t eat real food when she could. Unlike many, Sujanha actually enjoyed eating the ration tablets, though how much of that was from growing accustomed to them after eating them daily for months on end during the worst days of the Great War or was from them being one of the few foods she could stomach consistently when pain soured her stomach, she wasn’t sure.

The rest of the morning and the early hours of the afternoon passed quietly, but about the 14th hour, there was a chime at Sujanha’s office door—who closed it? It was open earlier—and when it opened at Sujanha’s command to enter, Asik appeared, letting the door slide shut behind him. There was a slightly puzzled look on his face.

“One of the Vos-Mell is here to speak with you, Commander. He says he brings a message for you,” her young aid spoke.

(Sujanha was young by the standards of her race, only having seen about 1400 years, but she felt old, and those of the shorter-lived races of Asteria always seemed young to her.)

One of the Vos-Mell?

The Vos-Mell were a non-humanoid species native to the Ida Galaxy, the long-separated ancestors of the Azhuth who dwelt on snowy Idroth in Asteria. Massive creatures with a build like the lone tundra cats of the Furling’s ancient homeworld and the ability to change the color of their fur depending on their physical environment,[13] the Vos-Mell (like the Azhuth) were as intelligent as any two-legged species Sujanha had ever met, and more intelligent than some specific individuals I have met, though they thought differently and dealt with issues differently than two-leggeds did. They were a telepathic species, which was how they communicated with all other sentient races they interacted with, and because of their size, speed, and fighting ability, they were often hired as bodyguards or volunteered their services as bodyguards or warriors in other races’ militaries.

“Which one?” Sujanha asked. Many Vos-Mell currently served under both her command and her brother’s.

A sheepish look swept across Asik’s face, “Forgive me, Commander. He didn’t say, and I … forgot to ask.” He found them quite intimidating, and not unreasonably so. He was much shorter than Sujanha was and more lightly built, and a tall Vos-Mell could almost look her in the eyes while on all fours … without her having to crouch to look them in the eyes.

Ah, yes, the fundamental problem, physically, of dealing with the Vos-Mell: they all look the same.

The only way to tell them apart is their mental touch.

“Very well,” Sujanha set aside her work and pushed herself slowly to her feet. She kept one hand on the desk for a moment, waiting to see if her leg would hold … without the interference of the locking mechanism in the knee of her brace. It held. A good day. “Let us see what he has to say.”

The outer office was empty, unsurprisingly so, of the messenger. The hallways and doorways of Headquarters were not built with the bulk of the non-humanoid Vos-Mell in mind, and they tended to find the spaces claustrophobic. The only one of them who frequented Headquarters with any regularity was her brother’s bodyguard, Long-Claw, who had a specially renovated room across from her brother’s office just to accommodate his bulk.

Sujanha liked Long-Claw.

So did Anarr … usually.

He did find his obsessively single-minded watch-care somewhat exasperating at times.

Privately, Sujanha considered that well-deserved pay-back for her brother’s appointing Ragnar and Ruarc (as much as I do like and respect them) as her bodyguards without even asking her first.

And Long-Claw, he was waiting in the hallway. Sujanha recognized him by the notch of flesh missing from his left ear. He had lain down on the floor as he waited, and his giant white-and-black-striped bulk almost entirely blocked the hallway. Long-Claw rose to his feet as the door slid open and Sujanha exited the outer office. Their heads were about on a level for a moment, but then he bowed his head until it almost touched his paws.

Sujanha pressed one paw to her chest and gave a shallow bow in return. “Fair day, Long-Claw,” she greeted him in Furling, “You said you brought a message for me.”

*Fair day, Supreme Commander,* Long-Claw’s mental presence was weighty, weighty enough that his sheer presence had almost made her knees buckle the first time she had felt it, and his mental voice gravelly, *I returned by Stargate a short time ago, and a message had just preceded me from Gaia. It was for you.*

From Gaia?

For me?

Why?

The Alliance of the Four Great Races had long ago dissolved. The Ancients had fled Avalon because of a great plague, found themselves in an unwinnable war in a distant galaxy, and then had ascended to a higher plane of existence, breaking the Alliance with the loss of its founding and most powerful member and dumping all of their responsibilities first on the shoulders of the Asgard alone. When the Furlings had returned from their wanderings, they had done their best to shoulder part of the burden the Asgard bore, trying to maintain the spirit of the Alliance, but the galactic-wide wars both races had been fighting or were still fighting prevented those two races from doing as much good as the Alliance had once done. The Nox had long since retreated to Gaia, which they rarely, if ever, left, and had no more dealings with any other races save for the Asgard and the Furlings, and even rarely so with them.

It had only been three months since the yearly envoy had gone to Gaia with messages for the Nox High Council from Ivar King and returned with return messages and other news.

Have they ever sent messages between envoy visits? Sujanha struggled to recall. Not for years upon years, at least.

“Why?” Sujanha asked, a scowl sweeping across her face and eyes, “Has ill befallen them?”

If there were great trouble, they wouldn’t be sending messages to me. A call for aid would go to the High King and then my brother and I.

Has something happened to Ohper or Anteaus or his family? The thought sent a chill up her spine. Maker preserve them!

*Nay, my lady,* Long-Claw replied, *The message stone you gave to the elder Ohper was sent back. He wishes to speak with you regarding a possible asylum case for a Midgardian.*

Now that got Sujanha’s attention. She had known Ohper (and the others of his family-unit) for many years, having spent some time on Gaia recovering her health after the Great War. Ohper was one of the eldest living of the Nox, and for him to recommend an asylum case to her … that was serious.

“A Midgardian, you are sure that is what the message said?” Sujanha asked, puzzlement seeping into her voice. The Midgardians were the people of the first world, the origin of all Zukish[14] life in Avalon, and more in the Asgard’s purview at present … somewhat. The Asgard had only interacted with them recently during a near disaster on Cimmeria, a planet under the Protected Planets Treaty. When the Hammer had been destroyed and the planet invaded, several Midgardians had aided the inhabitants to contact the Asgard and beg for aid. Thor had spoken at length to Sujanha of those events at one of their recent conferences.

The way the war with the Replicating Ones is going, I wonder how long before Thor’s ships can no longer protect those worlds … and we must step in. It had not come time for that yet, though. Preparations were not complete, and the time had not yet time for the Furlings to make their presence known once more in Avalon.

*That is what the message said,* was the reply.

How odd!

Why send him to me?

Why not go to Thor?

He’s become rather interested in the Midgardian after what happened on Cimmeria.

I wonder how long before Midgard is added to the Protected Planet’s Treaty.

Even though the Nox had not involved themselves in the affairs of the galaxy for years unnumbered, the Furling envoys still kept the Nox High Council apprised of everything that was going on in Avalon (that we know of) and of the events taking place in Asteria and Ida.

The near-disaster on Cimmeria would have been mentioned, I would think.

Oh, no matter. Ohper wouldn’t ask for me without due cause.

“My thanks,” Sujanha finally replied after a moment, “for going out of your way to bear this message to me.”

*Of course, Supreme Commander,* Long-Claw bowed again, *Fair day, and safe journey.* He turned and padded away down the hall to the lifts.

Sujanha starred after him for a moment, her black eyes gazing off into space, as she considered the odd message, and then turned back towards her office. The door had remained open behind her when she exited, and she stepped back inside, signaling the door to shut behind her. Her aids had returned to their desks, and Ragnar and Ruarc were both on their feet, gathering their things.

“How soon do you wish to leave, Commander?” Ruarc asked.

You know me very well.

Sujanha gave a rumbling laugh, “As soon as you have your things. No work constrains me here.” She turned to Asik, “Keep things running in my absence. Send a message to Algar that I am leaving for Gaia for the rest of the day. If there is an emergency, forward it to Algar, and then send for me.”

Algar was Sujanha’s right arm, the senior of her two High Commanders. In the event of her incapacitation or death, he would succeed her.

The Hall where the Stargate was located and Headquarters were both on the Acropolis, the heights which towered above the lower city of Uslisgas, which was unfortunately both the name of the capitol city of the Furling Empire and also of the planet where the city was located. I wonder whose idea it was. With Ragnar and Ruarc on her heels, Sujanha walked the short distance to the Hall. She was enjoying feeling well enough for slightly lengthier walks and liked the warmth of the sun on her fur.

A long series of steps surrounded the Hall. Walking up them, I like less. Sujanha could have had them beamed to the top of the steps, but since she wanted to walk anyway, being beamed from the bottom to the top of the stairs … would have been a frivolous use of technology.

Once the three reached the top of the stone stairs, it took only minutes to enter the correct passcodes to first enter the outer gate, traverse the identical hallways into the inner reaches of the Hall of the Stargate, and then, after entering another passcode, beam into the inner sanctum, the Great Hall where the Stargate was itself located. The Furlings had learned out of necessity to have multiple layers of protection guarding the Stargate. There were jammers that, unless they were disabled—access to them was limited and highly guarded—prevented beaming directly into or out of the Great Hall from anywhere or to any location on the planet.

“Gaia,” Sujanha spoke aloud once the white light of the beaming technology had faded, and she saw the Stargate in front of her.

Sensors would pick up the sound of her voice and transmit the request to guards in another chamber where the dialing device was located. They would dial the gate for her.

I should have grabbed the auto-dialer from my desk and saved us the trouble.

The auto-dialer, a piece of technology the Furlings had borrowed from the Asgard, which would bring them back to Uslisgas from any other world, always stayed with her. The others, not so much.

No matter. It would not take the gate that long to dial, and impatience had no place.

Sujanha shifted her weight semi-comfortably onto both feet—she tended to stand with her weight on her stronger left leg—and spent the short waiting period gazing about the Great Hall. It was a massive hall about a hundred yards from end to end and twenty yards across.[15] The walls were made of large, polished blocks of stone, so finely cut that one would be hard pressed to fit a slip of the finest paper between them. Far above the heads of Sujanha and her bodyguards, the walls curved inward, where there were support beams of stone-colored metal that would almost invisible to the eye unless the light caught them and reflected off. In the center of the hall was a circular raised platform, up to which several steps led.

Here stood the Stargate.

What always drew Sujanha’s attention the most were the alcoves that lined the walls of the Great Hall. Many of the alcoves were currently empty, but many were filled with exquisitely carved, lifelike statues that towered above any passing through. Those statues depicted figures of all forms, not just Furlings. The Great War had involved almost every race across Asteria in a horrific struggle for survival. By the end of the 3000-year-long war, there had been enough heroes whose acts of bravery, service, and sacrifice were worth honoring to line every hall of the Royal Palace with statues … at least once, perhaps twice over. Those whose acts were worthy of special renown were accorded statues in the Great Hall of the Stargate, though none of the others will be forgotten as long as our people survive.

Sujanha could spend hours starring at these statues. Of those who had lived during her lifetime, she knew many of them personally, the others only by name and reputation.

Lapith.

Boii.

Ipyrsh.

Furling.

Asgard.

Etrairs.

Getae.

Dovahkiin.

Vos-Mell and Azhuth.

Cesneors.

And more.

They were of every race and every rank from simple soldiers to Supreme Commanders and High Commanders and High Generals.[16]

Here was a statue of a Dovahkiin engineer who had sacrificed his life, dying a gruesome and painful death, to single-handedly keep his mothership functioning during a battle under the tenure of Sujanha’s predecessor. His sacrifice had spared the other engineers and kept shields functioning long enough for another mothership to arrive and evacuate survivors.

There was a statue of an Iprysh commander who had become legendary for his blockade running, carrying supplies through enemy lines to besieged worlds where the Stargates had been cut off or buried. The food he had carried had saved thousands of lives.

Here was a statue representative of all the Azhuth and Vos-Mell warriors who had fought for the Furling Empire, who had guarded the flanks of the army, who had harried the enemy lines when the Furlings and their allies were hard-pressed, who had found secret trails allowing for ambushes.

There was a statue of Odin, the previous Asgard Supreme Commander, who had brought ships from Ida to the support of the Furlings, leaving Thor, his chief lieutenant, to continue the fight against the Replicating Ones in his stead. For his sacrifice, he had met an agonizing death without time to transfer his consciousness to a new, cloned body.

The stories went on and on, and many Sujanha knew by heart. Every statue was a reminder of the personal and professional cost of war. Only the Honored Ones—the dead—had statues here, and every person represented was a husband, a wife father, a mother, a son, a daughter, a brother, a sister, a friend, a sister-son or brother-son, or a sister-daughter or brother-son, who never made it home again.

My statue will one day be here.

I wonder what storage world they have it stuck on.

Sujanha’s health had been failing by the end of the Great War, and most had thought she would not long survive the war’s end. I barely did and only by the Maker’s mercy. The statue, her brother had later told her, had been built while she was off-world trying to piece together the shattered pieces of her health.

Few expected I would live to return.

I certainly did not.

She wasn’t sure what she thought about having her statue in the Great Hall one day.

Her people revered her, called her a war-hero. Yes, her strategies and leadership had helped directly lead to the end of the Great War, but so had the strategies of her brother and many subordinates. And without competent subordinates to carry out our battle-plans, all our work would have been fruitless. And if my final plans had gone astray … It was hard to focus on all that … past … the lists of the dead and the memory of all those who had never returned home, those who had died in agony, fighting so that some might endure.

No victory comes without sacrifice.

I would give up all that I have, all the honors bestowed on me … if only they could be returned.

Tears pricked at Sujanha’s eyes, and she forced them back by sheer will, blinked until her vision was clear.

As Supreme Commander, she was extremely conscious of how every decision she made affected those under her, was extremely conscious of what the potential cost of every decision might be.

Many had died because of the decisions she had made for the good of the Empire as a whole.

Many had died because of the orders she had given.

And Sujanha felt the weight of them all.

Some deaths she felt the weight of more than most, though. Much of the Imperial Family had died during the war. Her father had fallen in battle, and her mother had died of grief soon after. Both deaths had come while Sujanha was still a child, being raised off-world, and her memories of them from her youngest years were few. The Queen had been poisoned and had died in agony. So many of her family had died so quickly that their bodies had been temporarily interred elsewhere until the Royal Crypt on Numantia could be expanded.

The one death that she felt the most, the one person whom she would give up anything for most of all to bring back was her brother’s eldest boy, Odin, and her former chief aid. Odin, named for the previous Asgard Supreme Commander whose statue stood nearby, had been barely out of his majority at his death. He was too-young with skills and a temperament not well-suited to a life of war, but he had been determined to do his part nonetheless. Sujanha and Odin had been poisoned through betrayal at the same time.

Sujanha had, somehow, survived.

Her young sister-son had died … in agony.

He was so sacred.

Anarr couldn’t even be there.

He was so scared.

Terrified, really.

The mercy ships had been almost full in those days, and there had not been enough healers to spare one to sit with the dying so that they were not forced to make the final journey to the shores of the Sea of Night alone. A healer, trying to be kind, had moved Sujanha and Odin into the same room to aid the healers trying futilely to ease their passing and, at least, to keep them from dying alone.

They thought it a mercy that we would, at least, have each other.

It had almost been the height of cruelty, instead, in a way.

Her young brother-son’s howls of agony and his tears would haunt her dreams forever, the cries that had lasted for hours upon hours until his voice had quieted, unconsciousness having mercifully claiming him or his throat having been shredded by his screams. Sujanha had been too weak and in agony herself to determine.

Sujanha had forced herself to be strong even when it felt like she was burning alive. Until her brother-son had passed beyond all pain, she had forced herself not to scream however much she hurt. There was still a chunk of her tongue missing from where she had bit through it, and thick scars still lined her lips and the insides of her cheeks from where her razor-sharp teeth had torn through the soft tissues of her mouth until her mouth had filled with blood multiple times over.

He was so scared.

Why him and not me? Why did I live, and he die? That was a question that would also haunt her forever.

Two Ithell,[17] and Asta has still never forgiven me. Her brother’s mate had not wanted her son to go to the front lines and blamed Sujanha for her son’s untimely death. And it’s said a Dovahkiin can hold a grudge!

Sometimes Sujanha wondered, too, if she could have done anything differently, whether Odin might still be alive if she had made different choices.

He might have avoided one fate only to meet another. We were together at the end, for what small comfort that brought him.

“Commander,” a paw touched her arm. Ruarc was looking at her with concern, “The Stargate.”

The Stargate had finished dialing while Sujanha was thinking. The Great Hall brought up many memories, both good and bad.

“Thank you. Let’s go.”

Ruarc nodded, and he and his brother stepped forward into position in front of Sujanha. As always, they went first in case of danger, and together the three stepped into the Stargate.

Gaia, which had been the homeworld of the Nox for as long as the Furlings had known them, was a lush world. The Stargate rested upon a stone pedestal, several steps high, that stood on the edge of a steep slope. Just a few paces from the left edge of the Stargate, the ground dropped away sharply into a broad wooded valley. Further on, the ground rose and fell in gentle slopes, and a thick mist often covered the valley, preventing a view of the mountains beyond. The Nox were pacifists who would raise a hand against neither animal nor person, and animals and birds roamed freely across Gaia, unafraid of those who crossed their paths. Gaia was a paradise that always reminded Sujanha of Ilea, a similarly idyllic world in Asteria that served as a rest world for soldiers and for all who were similarly mentally or physically affected by the Great War.

The idyllic nature of Gaia concealed the true technological advancement of the Nox, who had been one of the most advanced races native to Avalon in ancient times. (Whether that was still the case, Sujanha did not know, as she knew little of what went on in Avalon outside the broad strokes of the atrocities of the Goa’uld Empire.)

And those worlds that the Asgard protect … or try to.

The power of the Asgard was waning. Their war with the Replicating Ones still stretched on and on and on, occupying much of their attention and military might. The Furlings did their best to aid their oldest and most stalwart ally, but our forces and our population have not recovered from the Great War, and the latter will not for many, many generations. And as generations were among the Furlings, who numbered their lifespan in ages[18] and the maturing period as an Ithell, that was a long time indeed.

But your mind is wandering again.

Sujanha had found that her mind wandered more now in the wake of her long convalescence. Hours spent thinking and listening to the stories being read to her had been her only escapes from the pain and then the utter boredom of complete bed-rest for years, and unfortunately the tendency for mental wanderings, still an escape from pain, had remained.

Even at inopportune times and places.

In the field, she frequently reminded herself, that could get her killed.

Sujanha knew far too well that even friendly worlds could conceal hidden dangers. The poison of the Great Enemy that had felled her and her brother-son both had been slipped in their drinks during a meeting on an allied world.

When the Goa’uld have fallen and I retire, then and only then will there be time aplenty for wandering minds and reminiscing.

That time was not now.

Another reason it is good Ruarc and Ragnar with me. Ragnar and Ruarc were focused and tireless, skilled fighters with weapons or their bare paws, veterans of thousands of battles.

As the three Furlings had entered the Stargate on Uslisgas, so they exited the Stargate on Gaia, a galaxy away. Ragnar and Ruarc were a step in front of Sujanha, always prepared for danger or any surprises on a foreign world. And though they advanced forward several steps and down the steps of the Stargate platform, scanning with eyes and sensors for any dangers, today there were no surprises.

When both of her bodyguards relaxed their vigilant posture, Sujanha let herself relax out of the mental posture that would have brought up her personal shield with a bare thought. Her left paw pulled out of her sleeve where it had been hovering over the controls on her gauntlet that would have activated a distress beacon, which would activate an alarm on any Furling or Asgard ship within the galaxy.

There were three figures waiting in the clearing where the Stargate stood. Two were Nox, their short and slender builds and grassy hair marking their race clearly. The third was a Zukish, almost certainly the Midgardian Ohper’s message had spoken of. He was tall and slender with shaggy brown hair and a friendly, open expression with wide eyes, half-hidden by eye-circlets, which were used by some of the Zukish in Asteria to aid poor eyesight.

Ragnar and Ruarc stepped aside, leaving Sujanha room to step forward to greet Ohper. Though it had been some years since she had been on Gaia, the elder looked almost unchanged, though age had heavily touched his features since she had first met him long ago.

Sujanha bowed her head deeply and brought one fisted hand across her chest, a gesture of deep respect for the Nox elder who had hosted her during the early years of her convalescence before she had gone to Drehond and the family of her childhood. The care she had received from Ohper, Anteaus, and Lya and the few years of rest she had spent on Gaia, free from all cares of her position and from thoughts of war, immediately after the war was one of the main reasons that she was still alive.

Ohper bowed lower when she had straightened, an acknowledgement of her higher rank. (In comparison of age to average lifespans of their races, however, he was much her elder.) “Thank you for coming so quickly, Supreme Commander,” he graciously spoke in Furling in deference to her lesser command of Nox.

(All scions of the Imperial House of the Furlings were expected to be fluent in all the languages of the former Alliance. That expectation had fallen by the wayside during the Great War. Anarr spoke no Nox at all and had the barest knowledge of Ancient, though he, like Sujanha, was perfectly fluent in Asgard. Sujanha only knew some Ancient because of her study of the military books in the Great Library, and despite years dwelling on Gaia, her command of Nox was extremely limited, and from the polite winces, my accent is abysmal.)

“Of course, I am glad to be of assistance, Honored Elder,” Sujanha responded with a regal incline of her head. The price of being a woman of rank, tedious introductions before we can get to the point. “Is all well with you and yours?”

“Yes, we are well,” Ohper responded, “Is all well with you and your family and the High King?”

“I am well enough,” Sujanha answered, “My brother and his family are well, and our king enjoys good life and years of peace by our Maker’s Grace.”

With those formalities over, Ohper and Sujanha both relaxed, and Ohper smiled gently, knowing her preference for straightforward conversations, “It is good to see you again, child. Thank you for coming.”

“I owe you a debt I can never repay. I am truly glad to assist where I can,” Sujanha turned towards the Zukish standing some paces away, noting the way the young man almost shivered under her gaze, “Is this the Midgardian you spoke of in your message?”

Ohper nodded and took a half-step backwards, turning towards the young man and gesturing with one hand. “This is Doctor Daniel Jackson of Midgard, a member of SG1 and a political exile from his planet. Among his people, he is a eminent scholar of the past.”

SG1. Now this is an interesting coincidence.

Thor had spoken at length of the events on Cimmeria and the Midgardians who had aided its people in requesting aid from the Asgard.

Daniel Jackson, that was the name of one of them

This will be an interesting story.

The words Ohper directed to Doctor Jackson—doctor must be a title of some sort, perhaps referencing his status as a learned man of his people—were incomprehensible to Sujanha. Though whatever language the people of Midgard spoke was probably distantly descended from the language of the Ancients, none of the words Ohper said sounded familiar, except for the names of Sujanha and her bodyguards. Granted, there are few words in introductions besides names and titles. As we speak, hopefully there are some familiar words to aid me. She hoped Ohper had been circumspect in what title he had chosen to introduce her by. She preferred that her status as a member of the Furling Royal House and as Supreme Commander was not widely known.

At least, during the Great War, the higher your rank, the more important a target you were.

Doctor Jackson spoke a string of meaningless, sing-songy syllables back to Ohper, which he turned back to Sujanha and translated as, “Daniel says that he is honored to meet you, though he wishes it were under better circumstances.”

Once we are on our way to the village, I must Ohper about the pattern of whatever strange language it is that Doctor Jackson speaks. There was no way to even attempt to correlate words between languages until Sujanha had some idea of what words came where.

Sujanha looked at Doctor Jackson and gave a courteous nod in a wordless reply.

Nafrayu, the somewhat impetuous and ever energetic youngling that he was, had been up to that point waiting patiently … mostly … back near Daniel, though he was almost vibrating in place, waiting for the introductions and greetings to finish. Now, his patience was at an end, and he dashed forward to throw his arms around Sujanha’s waist, while chattering quickly at her in Nox … something about an animal and about Doctor Jackson. I wish you would slow down, child.

His enthusiastic greeting forced Sujanha back a step, and she felt her right leg give way for a moment before the brace caught, the knee-joint locking into place. She quickly shifted her weight to steady herself, waving off Ragnar, who had started forward with the slightest shake of her head. Sujanha smoothed a paw across Nafrayu’s grassy hair, noticing that the top of his head was creeping ever upward.

You’ve grown.

Sujanha had only met Nafrayu a handful of times over the years since his birth, but he had become uncommonly attached to her for some reason she couldn’t comprehend and to Ragnar. Not that it bothers me. For how could one be truly bothered by such a sweet child? Doting on him from time to time like she could not do for her brother’s children would probably be the closest thing she ever had to having children of her own. If this visit had not been done in such haste, she would have brought him a small gift.

Sujanha smoothed a paw across his head again and then nudged him in Ragnar’s direction. I know what you’ve been looking forward to, child. Nafrayu enthusiastically hugged Ragnar. Her bodyguard shot her a look, a wordless request for permission, which she granted with a nod.

“Up you go, youngster,” said Ragnar in Furling, which Nafrayu understood somewhat, and reached down a hand to help the boy scramble onto a perch on his back.

He will make a good father someday.

Ohper then motioned for them all to follow, forgoing the need of saying the same thing twice in two separate languages by using gestures instead. The entire group, now doubled in size, made their way back through the trees toward the village where Ohper, Anteaus, Lya, and Nafrayu lived. The walk took only about a quarter of an hour and was over easy terrain, but by the time the trees thinned out into the clearing where the huts were, Sujanha could feel the ache in her right leg rising and was glad the walk was about to end.

This might not have been wise after-all.

Ly and Anteaus came out to greet them, and cordial greetings were exchanged, and then Lya showed them to their seats. Sujanha gratefully sunk to a seat on the mossy grass, leaning her back against the thick log that was probably supposed to be her intended seat. Ragnar let Nafrayu scramble off his back and then stepped away to patrol, while Ruarc sunk cross-legged to a seat next to his commander. Nafrayu curled up next to Sujanha, tucking himself into her side, and she wrapped an arm around him, accepting a steaming bowl of fragrant, spiced tea with her stronger left hand.

This tea is so much like what we drink at home.

I wonder if we received the recipe from the Nox long ago.

When all were seated and had received bowls of tea, Sujanha began to speak, her gaze flicking back and forth between Ohper and Daniel. “Before you tell me the story of the events that led to your exile, I would like to know more about the background of your planet’s use of the Stargate?”

Ohper nodded and turned to Dr. Jackson, translating what Sujanha had said into the Midgardian language. Inglich, I think Ohper called it. She listened carefully, listening for patterns and familiar words now that Ohper had told her of the language’s pattern.[19]

Dr. Jackson seemed surprised by the request if the widening of his eyes and his slight start were accurate tells to go by, but from his tone of voice, the two words he spoke next were an affirmative of some sort.

Ohper confirmed this with a slight nod.

“How long has Midgard been using the Stargate?” Sujanha asked first.

That question also seemed to puzzle the scholar. His brow furrowed behind his eye-circlets, and he hesitated before finally replying. “We rediscovered the Stargate about 70 years ago,” Ohper translated, “It was used once 53 years ago, but we have only been using the Stargate regularly for a little over a year.”

Rediscovered?

Was it lost?

Sujanha turned to Ohper, “‘Rediscovered,’ are you sure you translated that correctly?”

He nodded.

“The Stargate was lost?” Sujanha asked.

Doctor Jackson nodded, replying through Ohper, “Long ago, there was an uprising against the Goa’uld.” I knew that much, “The Stargate was buried in the desert and lost.”

Desert? That word translated easily between languages. How strange! A world’s environment could change over millennia, Sujanha knew that, but the records the Furlings kept had said that Avalon’s Stargate had been far to the south in the cold and snow.

Our records from the Asgard are not that old, ten thousands years perhaps.

To change that drastically … or perhaps the Stargate was moved.

“How long is a year?” Sujanha asked, “I know time is measured differently among races.”

Doctor Jackson was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed again. Explaining time measurements between worlds while dealing with a severe language barrier was not the simplest of questions. “On earth …” Ohper began to translate.

What is that word?

“Earth?” Sujanha interrupted.

“Their word for their planet. Midgard.”

Sujanha nodded and made a motion for Ohper to continue translating.

“On Avalon, we measure time by how long it takes our planet to rotate on its axis, which is a day, or complete one rotation around the sun, which is a year.”

“My people do the same,” Sujanha replied through Ohper.

As do most of the peoples of the Empire.

How long each ‘day’ and each ‘year’ is, that depends on the world.

Dr. Jackson spoke several long sentences. “A year is made up of 365 days, and a day of 24 hours,” Ohper translated, and by that point Sujanha could guess at the meaning of several untranslated words. Repetition is a wonderful thing. What words are repeated multiple times when he translates and what words did he speak before Ohper translated. “An hour is roughly the time that passed between when Ohper sent the message and you arrived.”

It was not a perfect explanation, considering Sujanha did not know exactly how long had passed between the message’s arrival and Long-Claw’s arrival at Headquarters. Long-Claw would have hurried, and the arrival of the message was close enough to his return for him to still be in the Hall, so not that long. It was enough for approximations.

Sujanha nodded, “I thank you. As a scholar, how did you come to travel though the Stargate?” 

“I had lost my previous job, and the Air Force recruited me to translate the hieroglyphs on the cover stone. My translation work helped us to reopen the Stargate. Well, the rest is a long story.” Doctor Jackson stopped at that point, letting Ohper translated, but then he frowned and added on several more sentences, “Hieroglyphs are an ancient form of writing on my world. Few people know how to translate them. The cover stone that was used to bury the Stargate bore them.”

Interesting. A story for a later time, perhaps.

What is an “Air Force,” though? Is that like my fleet? Midgard had no fleet, though, as far as Thor knew.

“And this 'Air Force,' they are part of your world’s military?” Sujanha asked after pondering those things for a minute.

Doctor Jackson shook his head, clarifying, “Part of my country’s military.”

So your country does not control your world, whatever a country is. That was not unheard of in Asteria, if Sujanha understood closely enough what a ‘country’ was. There were some worlds with two or, rarely, three races per world, though one was most common.

“There is more one of these countries on Midgard?” Sujanha asked to confirm.

“Earth has about 200 separate countries currently,” was the reply.

Two-hundred, and only your country controls the Stargate.

Two-hundred … how does anything get accomplished?

How does a world become that fragmented, for that matter?

Stars above!

Sujanha grimaced, biting back an incredulous choke, and then made a gesture of dismissal with one paw. There were more important things to discuss than how a world became that fragmented. “So you said you helped your people reopen the Stargate?”

There was a nod of assent.

“Have you been involved with the work of the Stargate since that point?”

 “We, my team and I,” the SG1 Thor spoke of, “traveled off-world to specific worlds for missions,” Ohper translated, “but we continued to live on earth, though I lived on Abydos,” not a planet I know, “for about a year.”

Doctor Jackson’s eyes had darkened with grief at the mention of Abydos, and his head bowed for a moment. Someone he loved must be among the Honored Ones in the north.

Sujanha kept silent for a moment, as if she were pondering that answer, though she just wanted to give the Midgardian scholar a moment to quiet his grief. Finally, she asked, “And about these missions, who was involved in them?”

“The military of my country, mainly, though many scholars were also recruited. Many … most … I’m not sure … work at our base and do not go off world generally.”

Interesting.

Mostly military. Did the memory of the Goa’uld endure so they were careful of again interfering in affairs on the galactic stage?

“And what was the purpose of these missions?” Sujanha asked.

“To procure knowledge and advanced technologies that could benefit the protection of Earth and its inhabitants.”[20]

“And it was during your explorations that you encountered those ill-events that led to your exile?” With enough background knowledge to help give her a basis for understanding for the story of what led to Doctor Jackson’s political exile, Sujanha turned the topic to her reason for being called to Gaia.

An affirmative word.

“Then, tell me the story with as many details as possible,” Sujanha requested.

Doctor Jackson took a deep breath and then began to explain what was sure to be a painful tale, speaking at length for some minutes. Finally, he stopped, taking a sip of tea, and Ohper began to translate. “My team and I had traveled to a planet called P3X-7763 by us and Tollan by its people.” I do not know that world either. “When we stepped through the gate, we found the planet on the brink of utter destruction because of volcanic activity. The planet’s temperature was rising. The atmosphere was full of ash and thick smoke. There were lava runs opening up on the surface. The planet was soon going to be totally uninhabitable.” That sounds like how Drehond could have been long, long, long ago.

Ohper continued, “As we were about to dial home, we found a number of survivors from the local population, near death from exposure and suffocation. We called in reinforcements from Earth and evacuated them back to our world. We treated them at our base the best we could but quickly found out that they were from … a much more advanced culture compared to us. The Tollan—also the name of the planet’s people—were generally rather arrogant because of how advanced they were. This made it difficult for us when we tried to find them a new home until they could travel to their new home—these survivors we rescued had stayed behind to close the gate—which did not have a Stargate."

Sujanha’s personality and cunning mind were more suited to the battlefield than the complexities that were the potential minefield that was politics. No race is immune to the convoluted mess that is politics. That being said, after nearly 1400 years of life navigating multiple royal courts, Sujanha was no stranger to political tangles, and her mind sorted through Doctor Jackson’s story piece by piece as he told it, parsing everything that he said, everything that he did NOT say, and the way he said it all.

I have a bad feeling.

I should send word to Thor. With his interest in these Midgardians … if this story is as serious as I fear—why else would Ohper send for me—Thor will wish to know.

It took several minutes for Ohper to translate the first part of the story, but once he had fallen silent, Doctor Jackson continued. “We settled the Tollan as best we could in our base while we tried to find a world among our allies where they could settle temporarily. Unfortunately, the Tollan survivors deemed all our allies too primitive. In the meantime, word about the Tollan’s advanced technology spread outside the SGC, our base. The President of the United States, the country I’m from and the one where the Stargate is right now, sent Colonel Maybourne from the National Intelligence Department—the NID—to question the Tollan about their technology. Colonel Maybourne also brought orders from the President that released the Tollan to the custody of the NID, which would make them prisoners of our government in all but name. The NID was willing to hold the Tollan by force and make them cooperate by force, even though the Tollan had clearly stated repeatedly that they were unwilling to stay and unwilling to share their technology.”

Sujanha felt sick hearing those words. It was easy for her to read between the lines, and she knew all too well what would have likely awaited the Tollan if this National Intelligence Department had been allowed to take custody of them. Midgard was in a perilous position. After years unnumbered without contact with the wider galaxy, they would have received a hard reintroduction to life in a Goa’uld-controlled galaxy. And a desperate world, a desperate people … could go to terrible lengths to seek means to protect themselves.

Torture.

Experimentation.

All in the name of survival.

It was a fate, the risk of, the Supreme Commander knew far too well.

There was a terrible reason the Enemy’s poisons grew more effective as the Great War waged on … as the lists of the missing increased in number. Some of the dead had been found ended when enemy strongholds were captured, and how they had suffered before death had come … as a mercy… was still sickening to remember. Many more had never been found, their bodies desecrated and unburied.

So many lost … so many families sundered.

That the Honored Ones whose bodies had never been recovered had never been forgotten by the Empire, that funeral rites had been carried out for them with all honor due to the fallen brought Sujanha little comfort.

Too many died.

She still smelled the burning pyres for the dead some nights in her dreams.

Too many died.

Doctor Jackson’s face had twisted as he retold his story, and he seemed greatly affected, horrified by the prospect of what the sect of his government might do. Finally, Ohper finished translating, and he continued. “General Hammond, the commander of the SGC, tried to stop Maybourne from relocating the Tollan but failed, so my teammates and I came up with a plan to help the Tollan escape. All the soldiers on base, their hands were tied for fear of military justice, perhaps even for treason, if they disobeyed the orders of the President, but I am not in the military so I … thought I was safe ... safer. I told Omoc, the Tollan leader, about the Nox, and he was able to send a message here. The Nox were willing to help, so I led the Tollan to the gate. Maybourne tried to stop the Tollan from leaving; he even authorized the guards to shoot the Tollan to stop them from leaving. He threatened me first with a court-martial, but, when he had learned that I was not in the military, he said I would be charged with treason for disobeying a presidential order. With the influence Maybourne and the NID had over the president, I knew I was in trouble. When Lya motioned me to come with her, I took a chance, and here I am.”

Treason. For disobeying an unethical, immoral order.

Treason. A charge whose penalty among the Furlings was execution or eternal exile.

Treason. For not obeying an order that no one with a conscious and a sense of decency would.

Treason. For not following an unconscionable command.

Treason. For not being complicit in actions that, if they led to the end Sujanha expected, would be considered war crimes, the penalty for which was usually death under Furling law.

It was always in keeping with the laws of the Maker to do what was right and just whatever the cost. Sometimes, though, that cost was terribly high.

Doctor Jackson had finished the last part of his story in a rush of words. Anger, bitterness, sadness, and a rush of other emotions played across his face as he finished and then as Ohper translated. Sujanha grieved for him. From all that had been said, though she had not yet spoken to any corroborating witnesses, it seemed clear that grave and terrible injustices had been done. And to lose your home … the feeling of that was beyond words.

Silence fell for several minutes, but finally Sujanha spoke, bowing her head respectfully in honor of his deeds, “It is never right to do evil even to accomplish a good end. For any consolation it is for losing your home, you did well, even though the cost was high.”

Doctor Jackson nodded, and silence fell for several more minutes, as Sujanha further mulled over his story, weighing it and dissecting it in her mind.

Finally, the Commander asked, “Why have you sought the Furlings? Surely, there must be other worlds you could go to, even here? What would you wish of us?”

Sujanha was no fool. She knew potentially what Doctor Jackson could do for the war effort. Over 70 years had passed now since the end of the Great War, and it wasn’t just for the sake of restoring empty stores of supplies, recruiting new soldiers to fill shattered ranks, rebuilding the fleet, and giving all time to rest and recover that the Furlings’ plan to finally put a stop to the reign of the Goa’uld and wipe away the stain on their people’s honor.

The Goa’uld were no weak foe from what the Asgard had said, though they were weaker by far compared to the Great Enemy and would have stood no chance against the Asgard except that their attention and power were split. Yet, if Sujanha and Anarr were going to lead the Empire into another war within 100 years of the last, the two Supreme Commanders had no intention of acting without proper intelligence, without knowing the lay of the land, of the worlds in a galaxy not their own, without knowing every possible scrap about the enemy they faced.

Intelligence. That was where the real problem lay.

Sujanha now knew who Doctor Jackson was, and from all Thor had told her and from the scraps she had put together from what the young man had said, she knew the intelligence that he could provide.

Thor and his commanders were trying their best, but they were fighting two wars in two galaxies, and the worse the war with Replicating Ones went, the more their opposition to the Goa’uld became a galactic bluffing game and the worse the intelligence they sent to Uslisgas was.

And as hard as the Asgard tried, their intelligence was not all that Anarr, especially, wanted. If Doctor Jackson could tell them of conditions on the ground, of potential allies, of free worlds that would need to be protected from conflicts that spilled from world system to world system … Sujanha could not put into words how vital that intelligence would be.

Yet … a lifetime of war had not yet made her callous. Doctor Jackson had suffered, and if he were granted asylum—from what she had heard, Sujanha felt that was all but assured if that indeed was the course he wanted to take—and wished only for peace, she would make sure he got that.

He deserves it.

Sujanha was not sure, at first, why she felt a flare of protectiveness over this young Midgardian. She pitied him, yes, was outraged on his behalf, too, but … then she realized … something about his youth and his manner reminded her … of Odin, of her old aid, the poor child, dead and buried all too-long.

Doctor Jackson mulled over her question for several minutes, before he finally responded, his face almost aging beyond measure for a moment. (Sujanha wondered idly how old he really was. She was a poor judge of age, especially with the short-lived races, but she guessed he was young.) Though she only understood with reasonable certainty only a handful of common words, the grief in the young man’s face and voice were unmistakable to anyone with a pair of eyes and ears.

Ohper’s voice was subdued as he translated the reply for Sujanha, “I have nothing but the clothes on my back and what I have graciously been given. I have no funds, no weapons. If I stay here on my own, I’ll have to be extremely careful what worlds I travel to. I do not want to put our other allies or my friends in a difficult position. I do not want anyone to have to choose between disobeying orders to capture me. I’m sure a warrant has been issued for my arrest, and … I need to find my wife.”

Oh, no.

“Ohper suggested I seek you out, though your people could help me, and,” here Ohper again inserted the hesitation pause that had marked Doctor Jackson’s speech, “my wife and her brother are both … hosts. Ohper mentioned,” Another pause. The scholar had been picking his words with great care apparently, “that your people are working towards for the fall of the Goa’uld. Maybe ... you could help them?” Ohper’s command of Furling was so exact, much better than mine of Nox, that both word and tone got across the sense of pleading hope.

Why exactly the Furlings had been diligently working towards the fall of the Goa’uld Empire for over fifty years, Sujanha was sure Ohper had not explained. The Nox elder was always circumspect, and he knew when to speak and when to withhold information that was better revealed carefully and explained later.

Anger and grief warred within Sujanha. She knew the weight of lost loved-ones. The Great War had nearly wiped out her family, slashing a thriving dynasty to three heirs before several children had been born in recent years. Losing all those family members had been grief almost beyond the point of baring, but to lose a mate to a … tortuous living-death … that was worse.

Far worse.

My kin … they are at peace.

Finally, she forced herself to respond, “You have my deepest sympathies for all you and your kin have suffered. The Goa’uld are a blight upon this galaxy, and the Furlings will do all that is possible to save the tormented hosts and bring them the peace they have long been denied.”

Even if that is only to die free and be buried as themselves, not discarded like a piece of spare clothing.

The young scholar inclined his head in what was probably a wordless gesture of thanks, if Sujanha was interpreting his mannerisms correctly. She had seen a sheen of tears in his eyes as he bowed his head, so Sujanha let the silence linger again for a few moments, giving him the time to regain his composure, before she spoke again, “I must ask one more question. Is there any who can speak to the truth of your account, aside from Lya? I do not call the truth of your account into question, but except in extreme cases, there must be witnesses called when a case for asylum is put forward.”

Doctor Jackson nodded quickly, and this time Sujanha could understand a few more words of his untranslated statement. “Omoc of the Tollan, the leader of the group we rescued, could tell what happened with the NID before our escape, and Lya could tell you what happened after she came through the gate.”

Good. His account and Lya’s corroboration combined with Ohper’s willingness to put the case before me would be enough to convince me, but another witness will be good to have.

The question is then: do I put this before the High Council—there is a meeting tomorrow—or before Kadar for his judgment?

Just Kadar, I think. My vote on the Council could make this look less impartial.

Her decision made, Sujanha nodded, “Then, you must come to Uslisgas tomorrow. I am simply a military commander,”—Ruarc, who had barely moved a muscle since the discussion had begun, made an almost imperceptible face at that statement—“and I cannot judge asylum cases on my own. There is a meeting of the High Counsel in the morning that I must attend, but when that is concluded, our Chief Judge should be able to judge your case. I will put the case to him for review as soon as I return. Lya and Omoc must accompany you to witness on your behalf, and, if possible, Ohper should also accompany you as translator.

Doctor Jackson’s reply was a simple word of thanks and acknowledgment.

I would do no less for any other whose story was like yours.

Whether or not they might prove useful because of their knowledge.

The conversation as to Doctor Jackson’s request for asylum had wrapped to a close, and Lya then broke in, speaking first in Furling, adding in a translation in English after a moment, “Would you stay and eat with us, Lady, before you return to Uslisgas? The hour grows late.”

The discussion had dragged on for some time, and the light was fading, and the shadows among the trees were lengthening.

There is work yet to be done before the day ends.

Sujanha shook her head, “I thank you, Lya, for your kind offer, but I have business to attend to at home before the day ends, so I fear I must refuse.”

Lya accepted the refusal with kind grace and a kind smile, “Of course, I understand.”

Sujanha turned her gaze to her bodyguard, to Ruarc who was still sitting loyally next to her, and she made a quick, almost imperceptible gesture with her free paw, the one not wrapped around Nafrayu’s shoulders, miming holding something and then pulling her arm back just a touch. (Is he asleep? The weight of his head on her shoulder did seem to have grown a little heavier recently.) Do you have the message stone? (She knew either Ruarc or Ragnar would have retrieved it while at the Hall before they gated to Gaia.) Ruarc replied with a slight shake of his head and then nodded almost imperceptibly towards his brother, who was patrolling around the little village.

Sujanha gently nudged Nafrayu, who started slightly, his eyes flying open. He was asleep then. He looked up at her with wide, sleepy, trusting eyes. “Ragnar has the message stone Ohper sent. Would you like to go get it?” She asked in simple Furling.

There was an enthusiastic nod, and despite the momentary sleepiness in his gaze, Nafrayu still popped up without hesitation and trotted over to Ragnar, who had stopped nearby seeing the discussion wrapping up. Her bodyguard, who could be so fierce in her defense and yet so gentle, stuck one massive paw into a pocket in his jacket. Pulling out the carved stone, Ragnar handed the stone to the boy after patting him gently on the head. Nafrayu took the stone carefully and, trotting back across the clearing, carefully handed it over to Ohper.

As the meeting was now clearly over, the participants dispersed. Anteaus and Lya murmured to Sujanha for a moment and then to their son and then left. Sujanha remained sitting on the ground where she had been sitting for hours, nearly unmoving, shifting enough to ease the pain in her limbs from sitting too long and the tingling in her right leg. Nafrayu was chattering quietly to her … about something, but she had lost the thread of what he was saying early on, but she could, at least, act like she was trying to pay attention.

Wait another minute to get up.

Fewer wandering eyes.

I think I might need a hand up.

This is why it’s a less than wise idea to sit on the ground.

At the moment, Sujanha wasn’t sure if she got up if her leg would hold. Her brace could only do so much. A good day it had been, but even her strength had its limit.

Finally, Nafrayu finished whatever he had been telling her—I think it was a story … something he saw nearby … maybe?—and with a quick word of farewell, he dashed off to find his parents. Sujanha glanced around. Ohper and Daniel were still nearby, but they were talking and not paying attention to her, so she glanced over at Ruarc and nodded. Let’s see how this goes. Ruarc unfolded himself and rose, stretching out his limbs quickly, and then reached down a paw to pull her to her feet. Her left leg held steady, but as soon as her weight went onto her right leg, it began to buckle beyond the ability of her brace to catch her, but Ruarc held her steady, preventing her from falling, and then helped her straighten until her brace could lock into place.

Ragnar approached, “Are we ready to depart, my lady?”

“In a moment,” Sujanha replied. As interesting a language as she thought English might be, it was so much easier to not have to worry about translating and parsing unfamiliar words and being concerned about how her words would come across to one of a drastically different background.

After a few more seconds, Ragnar cautiously let go of her arm, though his arm was less than a hand’s breath away … just in case, but this time Sujanha thought that she was steady.

“Never let me do that again,” Sujanha groused quietly, her voice at a level only her two bodyguards could hear, “I’m too old and stiff to be sitting on the ground.” Concealed within her light-hearted complaint was the grimmer reality of her own weakness. Among her own people, she was actually quite young, and most any of her agemates could do what she had done without problems, but her muscles and joints now protested at such inhospitable seats. “Now let’s go home.”

They made a final word of farewell to Ohper and Doctor Jackson, and then Sujanha and her two bodyguards took the path that led back through the trees to the Stargate.

Much to be done before tomorrow, but what to do first?

[1] A Furling measurement of time equivalent to approximately 600 Earth years.

[2] A Furling measurement equivalent to 4 Ithell or 1000 of their years.

[3] Although Furling is an extremely precise language in almost all other things, the word for “bloodlines”, depending on context, can mean either what those of us on earth would call a “sub-species” or a family lineage.

[4] Imagine: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/ECGiQ3MXsAExs5T.jpg

[5] The Maskilim are one of the two original sub-species of the Furlings and are all feline in appearance. The Dark Forest was a location on the Furlings’ original homeworld, and the one from where the bloodline whose appearance Sujanha bears originally hailed from. For those who hail from Midgard, the closest parallel to the hunters of the Dark Forest are black panthers.

[6] The Gætir among others are newer sub-species brought about by mating with other races, in this case, the Asgard.

[7] Humans. Unlike most galaxies, humans are a minority race in Asteria. Most sentient species are humanoid but very un-human in appearance.

[8] Twins.

[9] The Sukkim are almost entirely lupine in appearance, though a handful I have met are somewhat more canine.

[10] A sweet, spiced tea, somewhat like some classic recipes for Russian Tea. Consumed by the Furlings and many of their allies in as copious quantity as we consumed coffee at the SGC.

[11] Humans.

[12] Honey.

[13] Imagine a Siberian Tiger the size of a male Polar Bear with the ability to change its fur-color like a chameleon.

[14] Human.

[15] These measurements have been translated into standard English units for ease of understanding.

[16] High Generals are members of the Furling Army, one rank below the Supreme Commander (equivalent to Sujanha’s High Commanders).

[17] 500 Furling years.

[18] An informal measurement of time equal to 3 Xurth or 12 Ithell, therefore 3000 Furling years.

[19] By a language’s pattern, Sujanha was referring to word order, especially that English—spelled slightly differently in Furling, which has no “sh” sound—is a SVO language. Whether English was an inflected language or not (like Latin) was also a concern.

[20] Borrowed from http://stargate.wikia.com/wiki/Stargate_Program. It was a good summary.

Chapter Text

27^th of Xuxiq, Fall, 6544 A.S.
(c. March 9, 1998)
Uslisgas, Asteria

The hour had grown very late by the time Sujanha retired to the small room off her office, which was just big enough for a bed and a chair, to sleep. There had been many messages and reports to deal with after her return from Gaia. She had sent the relevant information on Doctor Jackson’s asylum case to Chief Judge Kadar for his appraisal before (the hoped for) meeting the next day, updated her brother on the day’s event, and had a message sent to Othala for Thor that she needed to speak with him sooner rather than later. If he has more dealings with the Midgardians, he needs to know what their government—or rather that of the United States—is doing. That such a government has control over the Stargate … it was a troubling thought. Some fleet business had also risen in her absence, and by the time all those things were dealt with, it was hours past the usual time Sujanha retired to rest.

(It might even have been the early hours of the next day by that point, but Sujanha had resolutely avoided looking at the clock. If it was actually the wee hours of the 27^th and not the last hours of the 26^th by the time she collapsed into bed, she did not want to know.)

The faint morning sun that found its way in through the single frosted glass window in her ‘bedroom’ woke the Supreme Commander early on the morning of the 27th. Seconds after rousing from a light sleep, Sujanha immediately wished that she had not, in fact, woken up. Her good days, when the lasting effects of her near fatal poisoning plagued her the least, were few and far between … and growing rarer as the years dragged on. It was the one curse of the long-lived races that she could live with her illness for almost 500 years, almost a third of her entire life-span.

But 500 years of pain … it took a toll on the body … and the mind.

Sujanha remembered what her strength and her vitality had been like Before, remembered having the energy to run and jump and chase her age-mates on Drehond and on Uslisgas for those few short years before she had been sent away for her own safety, remembered walking or sitting for hours without pain, actually regularly having an appetite for food. It was hard, some days, to keep going, to fight through the pain. She was so tired of being a burden, tired of being in pain, tired of being weak, of having to plan every outing, every day’s events to make sure she could function through it, of facing a future of pain for whatever little time she had left.

She was also tired of being tired of being in pain. 500 years had brought her a sense of resigned acceptance to her chronic pain and weakness … but only rarely peace.

All that meant that Sujanha was sometimes a bit … foolhardy … on her good days. Most of those days, she enjoyed to the fullest, wanting to take advantage of the rare moments of feeling better … but ended up overdoing it anyway so that she felt twice as bad as usual the day after. Her guards, her healers, her aids, they all scolded her and remonstrated with her for being foolish, for overdoing it, for overspending her precious reserves of strength.

And Sujanha always wanted to snap back at them, “You don’t know what it’s like,” but always held her tongue. There was no time for her temper, no time for her own self-pity, no time for her to dwell on her own weakness … more than she already did.

There was work to be done, and even when fleet business and her sense of duty were the only reasons that she had the drive to drag herself from bed to face another day, she still had to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The bone-deep aches that had been building in her limbs the night before were now several times as bad. Every muscle ached. Even her bones ached, or so it seemed. Her joints throbbed with agony. It felt like bones fragment scraping together or the pain of fire-needles shoved into her joints. The usually supportive pressure of her leg-braces made the pain in her legs worse, exacerbated the muscle cramps.

(It was a painful irony that if she had any hope of being on her feet today, those braces would be a painful necessity.)

Today will not be a good day.

And of course, there is a Council meeting.

More fuel for that fire when they see me.

With an effort, Sujanha weakly shoved aside the blankets and then tried to push herself up so she could lean back against the wall. She did not even make it half-way to a sitting position before the muscles in her weak right arm cramped, and she fell back with a muffled groan onto the bed. It took another effort just to fight back the tears of pain and sheer frustration both, and she bit her lip, one long tooth sinking deep into her skin until blood hit her tongue, trying to bite back a moan.

“Computer, what hour is it?” Sujanha bit out through gritted teeth. The taste of her own blood made her stomach roll.

“Just past the 5th hour, Supreme Commander,” came the bland, emotionless voice, a copy of the same AI program that ran in her house. “May I be of assistance?”

“Is anyone in the outer office?”

“Ruarc is present,” was the immediate reply.

The loyalty of her bodyguards was touching beyond belief. Though she had dismissed them for the night … at a more reasonable if still late hour … like she had every night that she stayed at Headquarters, they always willfully ignored her dismissal. Either Ruarc or Ragnar stayed and slept on a cot in the outer office or made sure there was another guard nearby.

“Call him in."

“Acknowledged,” the AI’s voice was bland, flat.

A minute passed with agonizing slowness. Then the door chime rang perfunctorily, and a few seconds afterward the door between Sujanha’s office and her sleeping chamber slid open, and Ruarc appeared. He had obviously just woken up from the way he was blinking and smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes, but his assessing gaze raked over her as soon as he stepped inside.

“Commander?” Ruarc questioned, pausing politely just inside the doorway.

“Help me sit up,” Sujanha bit out, trying to keep the pain from harshening her tone. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was angry.

Quick steps brought Ruarc to her bedside—the room was small and his stride quite large, given his height—and he crouched beside her in one smooth movement. With the help of his strong, non-pained, non-quivering muscles, Sujanha could finally sit up and lean back against the pillows that Ruarc quickly moved and shoved between her back and the wall.

“You overdid it yesterday,” Ruarc noted. It was a statement, not a question.

Are you going to fuss?

“No remonstrating?”

Ruarc ducked his head and gave a shallow bow. (If he had been a Zukish, he probably would have looked sheepish.) “No, Commander. My brother and I have said it all before, and besides …” He paused, “We were concerned, too.”

I’m surprised that stopped you. You’ve certainly redone the same argument over before.

Sujanha was silent for a few moments then, catching her breath now that she was upright and then breathing through another cramp that raced like fire up her right leg. Her eyes watered with the pain, and she bit her lip again to hold back a gasp of pain. Breath through it. You’ve had worse. “It grieves me to wake you so early since it was late when we finished, but I must trouble you to call for my healer.”

My gauntlets are out of reach, and Kaja is easier to reach through private channels.

“Your personal healer or an imperial healer?” Ruarc asked, pushing himself back to his feet. He wasn’t wearing his gauntlets either, Sujanha noticed at the moment. They must be in the other room … with his jacket … and belt. Her bodyguard had removed his outer layers to sleep and was only dressed in a tunic and trousers.

“Kaja, please,” Sujanha replied, “Of all the days to have a Council meeting in just over four hours. To have a hope of being on my feet, I will need her skill.”

“Of course,” Ruarc bowed and retreated to the outer office, leaving the doors open between the rooms so that he would hear if she called out.

Sujanha let her eyes fall shut once he had stepped out, tuning out the indistinct sound of his voice that followed. (She knew him well enough to guess that he would not only be calling for Kaja but also rousing his brother and, probably, at least one of her aids at the same time. That was one of the major problems of working for her: as much as she tried to minimize the impact on them, when she kept irregular at Headquarters, so did her staff.) She was so tired. Not just physically tired, but also mentally tired. Breathe. Just breathe. That will help. The pain on a bad day was almost indescribable. It felt like fire needles in her joints, fire in her veins, fire that raced up and down her muscles, a pain that would never fully go away no matter how strong the medicine was that Kaja brewed. Nothing worked completely. Nothing could bring her relief.

At least it is not as bad as before … those awful hours and days when she lay dying, or so she thought, in the private ward of the mercy ship, feeling like she was burning alive, even the gentlest touches bringing agony.

That was a depth of pain that Sujanha was sure nothing else could touch. The Great Enemy had gotten skilled at ensuring that their victims would suffer and that death tolls would be high by that point in the war. It was not so to the same extent earlier in the war, so they say. Death in those hours would have been a profound relief.

And living with the consequences … that, too, was a struggle.

There is work to be done.

Just deal with it.

She had devoted the best years of her life, her strength, and her health to the safety and security of the empire. She was content with her choices, would be honored after her death for her life’s work. None of that made it any easier to remember all that she had lost for the sake of the empire and to the age that the Great War had overshadowed.

My health.

My family.

My poor brother-son.

War and fighting had been her life’s work. War had overshadowed all her years since her childhood, before she had ever joined the military. The war had separated her from her family, necessitated her being raised apart from the other heirs so that if the worst should happen, the royal line would still endure. The war meant that she had few memories of her parents, for her father had fallen in battle not long after Sujanha had come of age and emerged from (comparative) safety to join the military. And mother followed him soon after. Grief was a powerful illness of its own.

As long as her health was at a level that her mind remained sound, and she could still sit in a chair to work, Sujanha intended to see the war against the Goa’uld through. After that point she intended to pass command to High Commander Algar and retire, hopefully, into obscurity away from the stresses and politics of court to enjoy however few years the Maker saw fit to grant her. They said I might see 1500 years if I retired forty-three years ago. A small part of her looked forward to that day, looked forward to peace. I should see 1400, at least. (That would only require living another 23 years.) The rest of her knew that she would have barely an idea of what to do with herself without Fleet business to deal with.

Maybe I will write a book on battle tactics and strategies.

Winning the war certainly took innovations.

Innovations … and risks.

Another reason much of the Council dislikes me.

Kaja seemed to arrive quickly, but given that Sujanha found time seemed to blur and glob together when the pain was one of the foremost things that her body felt, “quickly” meant little. A Zukish from a world within the empire, Kaja was Sujanha’s personal healer and had held that position for the last 25 years. Though she was about 60 years old,[1] as the Furlings measured time, and her hair was now more grey than black, Kaja was still strong and healthy. She was well-respected by all who knew her and was one of the few who could see past Sujanha’s titles, treating her as just another patient.

“What did you do this time?” Was Kaja’s opening blunt statement as the older woman bustled into the room, a healing device on one hand and a wooden case with medicines carried in the other.

(Kaja had seen less than a 20^th of the years Sujanha had lived, but by proportions, comparing their years so far against the average lifespans of their races, Kaja was by far the elder of the two.)

Treating Sujanha as just another patient … also means calling me on it in even more blunt language than my bodyguards … when she thinks I’m being foolish. Healers seemed to have special privileges that transcended rank, or so it seemed.

“I went to Gaia yesterday on business,” Sujanha replied. She forced her right paw which had fisted itself into the blanket to relax. Don’t claw holes in it and give someone more work to do.

An eyebrow crawled its way up toward Kaja’s hairline. “I’m assuming you meant on foot.”

Of course, on foot.

“How else?”

Kaja approached and, after receiving a nod of permission, sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to take Sujanha’s arm in hand and feel her pulse, “You do command the entire Furling Fleet …” The save your strength and actually use a ship under your command was unstated but very clear.

“What few ships are in Avalon currently are not there to ferry me around, and my flagship is in Ida,” the Commander snapped, “It was personal business anyway, not fleet business.”

The healer gave a harrumph but then bent to her work. She checked Sujanha’s pulse, frowned over that, which was not that surprising. I hurt all over. I can feel my heart pounding without putting my hand to my neck. She ran the healing device across the Commander’s body, frowned yet more, removed her leg braces to allow her to massage the muscles, and then when that was all done, she rose and mixed some medicine from the box she had brought and a cup of water Ruarc brought in.

“Drink this,” Kaja said, handing over a mug of what looked more like green sludge from an unclean pond in the city gardens than actual medicine, “I cannot do much for your pain directly, but that should help with the inflammation in your tendons and joints,” which will help the pain.

A little.

Sujanha took the medicine with a slightly resigned sigh. (Since they were in private, she allowed herself that much.) The taste of this is as bad as the appearance. The medicine went down quickly, but the aftertaste remained, gritty and bitter. Her stomach rolled, and for a moment she was afraid the medicine would make a quick reappearance. She took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and then took another deep breath. Kaja handed over a cup of water, which she slowly sipped at. The rolling of her stomach slowly settled.

That is absolutely disgusting.

It would be worse coming up.

“Rest for as long as you can. Do not even think about putting your braces back on until right before you have to leave,” Kaja ordered, starting to pack her tools away, “And do not even think of even trying to walk today without assistance, or you will end up falling, which will be even worse than Council meetings.”

And would give the Council more fuel.

“I’ll come back to check on you this afternoon,” the healer finished, “but send for me if you need me sooner.”

“I thank you,” Sujanha responded with a slight incline of her head. Even the small motion made her head throb … more.

Kaja bowed and then withdrew. Ruarc appeared to escort her out and then returned, leaning on the door frame. “I’m assuming that I can’t coax you into eating anything.”

I couldn’t keep it down.

“No,” the mere thought of food made her feel sick, “I’ll take tea, though, once the kitchens are open.”

What time is it anyway? Headquarters was large enough and employed enough people that it had its own kitchens on one of the underground levels. The kitchens did not open, however, to make the morning meal until half past the sixth hour.

“It’s just past opening hour,” Ruarc replied, “I’ll send a message down now. Can I do anything else?”

Sujanha shook her head again, “The tea is all I need right now. I’ll rest for now. Rouse me when it’s half-till the tenth hour. The last thing I need is to be late to the Council Meeting.”

Ruarc automatically nodded but then paused, cocking his head in a thoughtful gesture, “Are you sure it’s wise to go? You really don’t look well, Commander.”

Give them fuel for the fire by going or fuel for the fire by not going.

“I missed the last meeting because I was ill, Ruarc,” Sujanha responded, “Missing a second would have unpleasant consequences. Besides, I dislike reading summaries of Council discussions and decisions.”

Summarize military briefings, my brother does well.

Council meetings, not so well.

The morning passed interminably slowly. Sujanha wished she could drift back off into sleep to let the time pass more quickly and give her some respite from the pain. She knew that was a futile hope, though. Over the years she had found various means to distract herself on bad days: counting heartbeats until she reached into the thousands and then lost track, counting the timing of her breaths until they were perfectly even and slow, or even once she felt a little better, reading or working on briefings for her soldiers.

Today the former two means proved to be more attainable, though she frequently lost count, as her mind wandered to the Midgardians, the Goa’uld, and Doctor Jackson, whose petition would go before the Chief Judge later that day.

He seems to be a very interesting person.

I would like to speak more with him … not just because he may be useful.

Hours passed. Slowly, the pain lessened just enough to make the thought of working not unbearable. Sujanha turned her attention to looking at the transcripts Thor had sent over from the Beliskner’s security recordings that detailed the meeting between Thor and the Midgardians after the recent trouble on Cimmeria. Her mind was quick, and languages—most languages—came comparatively easy to her, and if she were to speak more with Doctor Jackson, not needing a translator would be of great use. Sujanha had picked up some English from the long afternoon’s discussion on Gaia, and these transcriptions her Asgardian counterpart had sent her would provide her with more grammatical frameworks and vocabulary words.

What I need to read is an English dictionary … assuming they have such things.

They have to have such a thing. What advanced culture doesn’t have something similar to a dictionary?

Sujanha was relatively confident that she could hold basic conversations, if the vocabulary was not too complicated or specialized, and more facility with English would come with time and practice. Immersion and sheer necessity were efficient ways of learning a language … just frustrating for the initial period.

Time passed. There was a rap on the door frame. Ruarc had reappeared. “It’s that time, Commander.”

Already?

Sujanha nodded, “I thank you.” She paused, looking around for her leg braces, which were … out of reach on the nearby chair. “Pass me my braces please.” Ruarc did so. “Is Ragnar here?”

“Yes, we are all here. We’ve just been quiet … in case you could rest.”

Having presumably heard his name called, Ragnar’s great bulk appeared behind that of his brother in the doorway, “Do you need me, Commander?”

“Yes, I need both of you,” Sujanha waved them both inside, as under the concealment of the covers, she began to fit her braces back on. Thankfully, these pants are loose enough I can fit these back on without having to disrobe. “Have our guests arrived yet?” The pressure of the braces against her legs was still painful, but it would have to be borne.

A shake of the head from Ruarc, and a sound of negation from his brother.

“Very well,” Sujanha paused for a moment, thinking … and letting a momentary bout of dizziness fade when she moved to quickly. You haven’t eaten since last evening. “Ruarc, stay here for now. As soon as our guests arrive, meet them. Show them around the city if they wish, or have them brought here and tended, too, until Kadar can meet with them.”

Ruarc bowed deeply, “I hear and will obey, Commander.”

Of that, I never have had a doubt.

“Ragnar, I will need your strong arm today. I fear today is a poor day for a Council meeting, and I’m under healer’s orders not to walk without assistance.”

Not that I think I could actually walk without help.

“I am your servant, Commander, as ever,” Ragnar said with a matching bow, “as long as you need me.”

Though Headquarters and the High Council Building were both located on the acropolis that towered above the lower city of Uslisgas, it was still a decent walk from one building to the other. On a normal day, Sujanha might have considered walking, but today was not a good day, not even a normal day, not even a poor day, so about twenty minutes before the meeting was set to begin, she beamed across, leaning heavily on Ragnar’s strong arm.

They arrived in the Great Hall that abutted the formal meeting room. The room was quite large, both in floor space and in height. The floors and the walls (to a considerable height) were made of polished stone, so carefully cut that it would have been difficult to slip a sheet of paper between two blocks. Some of the walls between some of the inner chambers were lined with dark-colored wood, as was the soaring ceiling far above the heads of even the tallest occupants.

A short distance from where Sujanha and Ragnar beamed in and straight in front of them were two massive wooden doors set within a stone archway. These magnificently carved and extremely heavy doors, which currently stood open, led into the High Council Chamber itself. The light of the blue-crystal lamps that illuminated the interior of the chamber spilled out the open doorway, casting strange shadows across the stone floor.

“Sujanha-Datong,” a deep rumbling voice called out before the two could get more than two steps towards the doors, a voice undershot by a repeating tapping sound.

Despite the heavy accent that distorted the syllables of her name and the non-Furling address, Sujanha immediately recognized the voice … and the language and nudged Ragnar, who was between her and the voice, to turn.

Coming towards them at a steady pace was a strange figure that some might even have considered monstrous. A Dovahkiin. Where Uslisgas—the planet, not the capital city—enjoyed beautiful waterfalls, towering mountains covered in snow, and meadows and forests filled with strange and wondrous plants and animals, the planet Drehond, the homeworld of the Dovahkiin, was a fire-world known for its own mountains that belched fire and rocks into the air until molten rock ran like rivers across the land. If Drehond had once been a more hospitable world, no one remembered, for the mountains had belched forth fire for time out of mind. The surface was so hot, and the atmosphere so full of toxic chemicals that only the Dovahkiin, who had either adapted to those awful conditions or been born to them, could not only emerge from their elaborate cities beneath the surface and survive on the surface but thrive.

The Dovahkiin were a physically terrifying humanoid race built to survive the harsh conditions of their homeworld. Chief Armorer[2] Vaazrodiiv, the figure coming towards them, was a good example of her race. She stood half-a-head taller than Sujanha and had a somewhat slighter build than the males of her species. Her leathery hide was a blueish green and covered almost all over with a close network of scales of the same hue. Her hands and feet were tipped with claws, which caused the tapping sound that had heralded her arrival. Deep-set eyes with vertical pupils were flanked by graceful horns that swept back from her face with further horns sweeping back from her forehead, but not from her chin like with most males. She had no obvious ears or nostrils but could obviously hear well. Thick, leathery wings sprang out from her shoulders, sweeping down to brush the floor behind her with every step. Her clothes were made of thickly woven and thickly padded cloth to both protect those who touched her from the sharpness of her scales and keep her warm outside of heavily climate-controlled areas, and she wore a leather vest over it all.

Vaazrodiiv stopped a few paces away and bowed low, her hands crossed over her chest, her left hand gripping the wrist of her right, fisted hand in a firm grip. Her wings lay folded neatly against her back. As usual, her bow was several degrees lower than was strictly necessary between two High Councilors, but given that she was one of the few who still acknowledged the former relationship between Sujanha and the Dovahkiin royal court, it was not that surprising.

More surprising that she actually is still my ally.

One of the few outside the military who actually speak to me.

Other Dovahkiin envoys or officials who found their way to the Imperial Court on Uslisgas, when they were dealing with Sujanha not with Her Imperial Highness Sujanha or Supreme Commander Sujanha, treated her with the most chilling of courtesies that somehow were insulting simultaneously. Even when they dealt with her in her official capacities, their courtesies were still extremely pointed.

The last thing I need is yet one more opponent on the High Council.

“Sujanha-Datong,” Vaazrodiiv said again as a greeting. (The Dovahkiin indicated relationship and titles through a complicated series of suffixes that Sujanha had religiously memorized in her youth. “Datong” was their word for a very high-ranking military commander.) “Greetings to you both.” She spoke, as always, in her own tongue. Whether it was some quirk of their species’ genetics or some adaption to the caustic atmosphere of Drehond, neither the tongues nor the vocal cords of the Dovahkiin were adaptable enough to speak any language but their own.

Sujanha bowed her head, not daring to shift her weight off of Ragnar’s arm long enough to actually return a formal bow, “Greetings, Vaazrodiiv. How fare you?”

“Well,” was the reply, “though I dislike the cold.” (For fall, it was actually a comparatively warm day.) “But our work goes well and quickly, so I am pleased, and my kin at court are well, so I am well.” (By court, Vaazrodiiv meant the court of the Great Queen Sariiz, to whom she was distantly related. The exact relationship between Vaazrodiiv and Sariiz, if Sujanha had even known in the first place, escaped her. Endless genealogies had been one thing that she had never been forced to memorize.)

“We thank you for your work. Without it we would have no hope for the oncoming war,” Sujanha said with another nod of respect, “And I’m glad all goes well at the court of the Great Queen, long may she reign."

Glad for many reasons.

“I fear you are not well this morning, Datong. May I offer you my arm?” Vaazrodiiv asked.

Ragnar would not be allowed in the chambers, anyway.

Sujanha agreed, “I thank you.” She added to her bodyguard, “the Chief Armorer will see me to my seat. I will call for you when the meeting is concluded.”

Ragnar only stepped back and out of arm’s length once Sujanha’s weight was transferred to the other woman’s strong arm. “Commander. High Councilor,” he bowed deeply to each and then withdrew.

The two made their way slowly into the high council chamber, Vaazrodiiv intentionally checking her long strides to match Sujanha’s slow pace.

“And the Crown Prince?” Sujanha asked quietly, circling back to the earlier line of conversation.

“He is well. Quite busy, I’m told. He is personally overseeing the work over the items you and your brother have requested.”

By which you mean the list of items someone within the Fleet and the Army sent to Drehond.

The arrival of the two women as they stepped across the threshold into the High Council Chamber drew some attention from the handful of High Councilors already present. Anarr hasn’t arrived yet, I see. Neither the Furlings nor the Dovahkiin were a physically expressive race, given the claws and the scales, outside their family groups, and leaning on someone’s arm, especially as heavily as I am, was usually reserved for the young, the old, and those … quite ill.

It cannot be helped.

A sizable, semi-circular table with elongated edges dominated the center of the room, which was lit by blue-crystal lamps set high on the walls. Vaazrodiiv guided Sujanha to their usual seats at the end of the far side, leaving the seat at the end free for Anarr whenever he arrived. (Vaazrodiiv explained at that point that the High Chancellor had pushed the meeting later by half-an-hour for reasons yet unspecified, which explains why so few of the others are here yet … And why so few of the Iprysh guards were present. I wonder if that news came just after I left … I certainly haven’t heard anything. A delay was not something her aids or her guards would have forgotten to tell her).

Sujanha moved to her chair gratefully, holding back an instinctive groan by biting deep into her lip when her weaker right leg suddenly cramped, sharp needles of pain racing up and down her leg. Only her grip on the arm-rests kept her from settling, not collapsing, into her chair.

“How goes the Fleet’s preparations for war?” Vaazrodiiv asked. Being an old friend, she probably realized that some sort of distraction would be gratefully appreciated.

Something to think about besides how much I hurt—I really do need to be more careful—and how much I would prefer not to be here.

Sujanha let out a low hiss, and her ears flattened against her head for a moment, showing exactly how not well those preparations were going, “I’m fighting one war in Ida, still recovering from a second here, and preparing for a third war in Avalon, less than eighty years since the end of the Great War, and we’re doing all that simultaneously,” she let out a heavy sigh, “so not well.”

Vaazrodiiv let out a rumble of agreement and sympathy both, “The Great War devastated the armies and fleets of all the great races. Trying to distribute what is left to cover all those fronts,” she shook her head and let out a hiss, “It is a task I do not envy.”

The Furling commander snorted, “We are still struggling to get the necessary intelligence to even begin in Avalon, though I might have found a partial solution for that.” Which I will not tempt fate by discussing. “Aside from that, the war in Ida does not go well. I do not know how much longer Thor will be able to uphold the protection treaty against the Goa’uld without support, and that will be yet another problem.” She paused, curled one scarred lip revealing a hint of bone-white teeth, “And we have to leave enough forces here to deal with any problems that might arrive. As fast as our hyperdrives are, the great divide cannot be immediately crossed.”

Vaazrodiiv tapped the claws of one hand against the table for a few moments, thinking, and then asked, “What are you doing with foreign contingents?”

“All the great races have sent contingents … or will do so,” Sujanha responded, shifting again trying to find the most comfortable position, “The troops are Anarr’s problem to deploy. I just have to have enough transports to ferry them all. As to ships, I expect the Etrairs and the Lapith will have to bear the brunt of galactic defense if the worst happens, though I will leave some of my fleet or some Iprysh ships in case of an enemy beyond their power. I might take the rest of the Iprysh contingent with me to Avalon and send more of my ships to Ida, or I might divide the Iprysh contingent.” She let out a frustrated hiss, “There are too many unknowns yet.”

“Has not Thor-Datong been sending you intelligence?” Vaazrodiiv asked, circling back to an earlier point of discussion.

“He has, and we would be in a worse position without it,” the other woman replied, “but the Asgard confine themselves to ship-to-ship matters, so their data is incomplete, as your peoples’ would be in a similar situation just reversed since you have no ships.” Her voice dropped, “After all we lost … less than eighty years, but our men would still follow us to very shores of the Sea of Night.[3] I am not … we are not sending them into the gaping maw of the unknown.”

Vaazrodiiv nodded. The Dovahkiin had suffered heavily during the Great War. Though their planet had never been invaded like many others—one advantage of having a planet only accessible by Stargate—those on Drehond had suffered great privation after burying their Stargate for survival’s sake, and most of the soldiers who had remained off-world to fight with the Furlings had never returned.

More names for the Wall.

May they never be forgotten.

Every race bore the scars of the war that seemed as if it would never end.

The streets of Uslisgas, the once thriving capital city of the Furling Empire, now seemed perpetually barren.

The empty seats at the table.

New names to recite at the feasts of remembrance.

The faces you look for and we’ll never see again.

The evils of the past could never be undone, the griefs never unsuffered, but we must fight on so that those who live on after us might have hope for a better future.[4]

Sujanha’s mind turned to her cousin, the Crown Prince, and his two young children, safe on Othala. The children … she had never met them. They were born as the fruit of an arranged marriage to safeguard the succession of a dynasty devastated by the war. For this is what it means to be a king: to be FIRST in every desperate attack and LAST in every desperate retreat.[5] And her brother’s second son, Ansurr … he would never know the kindness of his older brother, would never receive one of the carved figures Odin liked to make, would never have an older brother to read him stories.

But you know peace. You do not know the burdens and trials of growing up during a war that has envelop your home.

And that brought Sujanha some semblance of peace.

Anarr dropped into his seat besides his sister just moments before High Chancellor Ibûn, an elderly Maskilim, called the High Council meeting to order. Her brother was not in a good mood. His ears were pinned flat to his head, and there was a low, almost sub-audible growl rumbling in his chest. Sujanha shot her elder brother a look, concerned. (If this was a military matter, a very serious one, word would have been sent, but …) Anarr saw her glance and shook his head.

Not critical then.

If he wants me to know, he’ll tell me later.

After the meeting had been called to order, Chief Minister Vix Janth, whose appearance marked him as a Nafshi (the child of a Furling and an Etrair), rose to speak first, which was not in and of itself surprising. Among his department’s many duties was the collection of national food stores, which had been heavily depleted during the Great War. Rebuilding those food stores as well as the military’s supplies was a vital step in preparing for the new war against the Goa’uld in Avalon.

The problem was that the Chief Minister and Sujanha had a long-running … feud … that had begun about 300 years earlier and was still ongoing. It had started based on differing political views, been amped up by his views on her handling of some events towards the end of the Great War, and had only gotten worse over the last 50 or 60 years. For being one of the most advanced and powerful races in the known universe, politics among the Furlings was no less complicated, and Janth was known for his polite yet pointed jabs, which had a way of riling Sujanha like no other.

“Before I give my report,” the Chief Minister began, turning toward Sujanha and giving a shallow bow (his chair was on the opposite side of the table from hers), “Might I express how good it is to see you return, Commander.” Supreme Commander, and yes, yes, calling attention again to the fact I missed the last meeting. “I was concerned that you might not be well enough to attend today. I am relieved to see you here.”

Well enough to attend today …

That statement caught Sujanha’s attention, and she fought back the instinct to hiss or make any motion of surprise, though she felt her brother stiffen beside her.

I’m sure Ragnar or Ruarc told my brother. They usually do when I’m feeling quite ill.

Him knowing does not surprise me, but Janth … how does he know?

She credited the Chief Minister with enough sincerity to believe that he was genuinely glad to see her strong enough to come. That being said, he was making a deliberate point by stating those facts so bluntly in front of all the other High Councilors.

He was not here when I arrived. Could he have seen Kaja arriving or leaving, or could one of his attendants have seen?

I know we have our differences, but spying on each other … that is not our way. Sujanha filed away his comment nonetheless to tell her bodyguards and have them look into … carefully.

Sujanha met the Chief Minister’s eyes across the table, holding his unblinking black gaze for several long seconds, until he looked away first, and only then did she look back down at her tablet, a portable computer with a projected holographic screen that had her notes about the agenda for the Council meeting. “I am glad to be well enough to return, Chief Minister,” the Commander replied dryly, “for Elder Brother’s skills at summarizing the discussions of the esteemed councilors leaves much to be desired.”

Elder Brother, forgive me for that.

That drew a laugh from several councilors, and out of the corner of her eye, Sujanha saw her brother shoot her an amused glance in a rare moment of comradery over their shared dislike of High Council meetings.

I needed some way of deflecting, and that was all that came to mind.

Janth laughed and nodded, “Of course, of course, and since this meeting is so heavily in regards to your plans for your latest war, it is especially fortuitous for you to be present.”

Now Sujanha did stiffen, her muscles crying out at the sudden movement, and Anarr also stiffened. Vaazrodiiv gave a low hiss. The Chief Minister’s words were troubling on many levels and possibly indicative of a split within the Council itself, considering that Janth was one of the principal leaders in the more traditionalist group within the Council.

Are they suddenly growing wary about the plans for dealing with the Goa’uld?

“My plans, Chief Minister? My war?” There was a note of warning in Sujanha’s voice, and she felt her mind sharpen, the nagging pain in her body fading somewhat into the background, “Of what do you speak?”

When did I become the ringleader?

“You are one of the chief proponents for entering a new war less than half an Ithell after the Great War,” Janth noted.

One of, and yet you are singling me out, why?

Sujanha hissed, and if she had not been one of the Gaetir, her eyes would have more clearly shown her anger, “Yes, I am one of the ones urging our king and this august body to make right an ancient wrong. The peoples of Avalon have languished under the oppression of the Goa’uld for generations because of us, because of the technology the Goa’uld stole from us, Chief Minister. Yes, I want that wrong to be made right—you should, also—and if I can see it done in my lifetime, so much the better. I can go to my grave with a lighter heart and a clearer conscience.”

“In your lifetime,” Janth mused, “The victor of two wars.”

You did not just say that!

As if!

Sujanha slammed her paws down on the table in front of, indignation lending strength to her muscles, and she would have leapt to her feet if she thought her leg would stand the sudden strain, “Do not speak of what you do not know,” she growled, “I have endured your jabs for years, but now you go too far. If you have an iota of respect for me, do not insult my character. Anyone who knows me knows full well that I have no wish for power or titles or glory. I have every confidence in my High Commanders. They could lead this war just as well as I could. My only goals as Supreme Commander are—and have always been—to safeguard the empire and ensure as many of my soldiers live to see another day as possible.”

The High Chancellor looks apoplectic.

At which of us, I wonder?

Probably me … for losing my temper.

One time being one of the Imperial Family is convenient … he’s slower to call me down.

Chief Ambassador Amilcar, one of the Sukkim, who judging by build and coloring could have been a brother of her bodyguards, rose at that point. He shot a reproving look at the Chief Minister and then bowed deeply to Sujanha. “It is known that the Supreme Commander and I have had our differences in the past and still continue to do so today. That being said, her devotion to the empire is well-known, and her character in that regard is above reproach. If the Chief Minister has a point, he should make it, not make personal attacks.”

Speaking in my defense? There can be something new under the sun.

“I second,” Vaazrodiiv agreed, the translator clipped to the collar of her vest translating her words into Furling.

Janth has made no secret he would like to see me step down as Supreme Commander.

He led the vote to unseat me fifty years ago.

Are you trying for another vote?

“My apologies,” The Chief Minister bowed to Amilcar and then to Sujanha, who could almost feel her brother seething beside her. Despite their deep personal differences, Anarr would always rise to her defense in the face of outside opposition.

“If you have a point, just make it,” Sujanha said with a sigh, the sudden rush of energy from her anger fading as quickly as it had come, “So that we can actually attend to business. Are you becoming hesitant as to fighting the war, growing concerned about our plans for the war, or concerned that I will be at the forefront?”

Almost certainly the last.

“The last.”

I knew it.

“You are rightly regarded for your leadership and skill, helping to lead us to victory in the Great War,” the Chief Minister began. And yet you are one of the ones who has stated criticism of what was it … the “rashness” of some of my battle plans? “But your health is known to be weak, and with the welfare of our people in mind, I am simply concerned about having a potentially compromised commander leading half of our military into battle, when you sometimes struggle to even walk.”

You could at least try for a new argument of why I need to retire.

I’ve been refuting this one for years.

Anarr rose to his feet in one fluid motion. “The Chief Minister seems to have my sister and I confused,” he said, his voice a rumbling growl.

“What Supreme Commander Anarr says is true,” Sujanha agreed, speaking now to the room at large, “but the Chief Minister has a valid concern. My health, compared to my brethren, compared even to the Gaetir, is weak, but the days that I struggle to even walk, as he puts it, are comparatively few, though I might need a strong arm to lean upon more frequently, but you must remember that I am not Elder Brother. I do not lead an army into battle. I do not need the strength to march on the front line of the vanguard and charge across a field into battle. I lead the fleet, Chief Minister. Just because I have been more hands on with day-to-day and face-to-face operations in the past compared to many of my predecessors does not mean I have to be. As long as my mind is sound and I have the strength to sit on my bridge or work from Headquarters, I can lead and lead well.”

Still Janth continued to press his point, “You say you can lead as long as, in part, your mind is sound, but the long-term effects of the Enemy’s poison are not well understood, and you suffer from one of the worst cases. When you are suffering, how do you know your mind is clear?”

You impugn my character and now insult my intelligence?

And that of each of my commanders?

“After five hundred years of suffering, Chief Minister, you learn, and I am not afflicted with High Commanders or Fleet Commanders or Wing Commanders who follow any order blindly, who carry out without thought any battle-plan that I send them. I know when to lead and when to step back and allow one of my High Commanders to lead, as others before me have done.” She paused and then added dryly, “Our people are strong, but leave because of sickness is not forbidden or unknown among us.” Her voice sobered, “And as I have sworn on my honor before, the day that I realize or am told by Supreme Commander Anarr or one of my commanders that I am no longer capable of commanding this fleet without endangering my men … that day will be the very day that I step down. I swear it.”

Commanding this fleet has already been my life’s honor.

The High Chancellor rose, “I have heard enough. We have actual business to attend to in this meeting, so unless you have a motion to raise or a vote to call, Chief Minister, turn to your presentation or sit down.”

The High Council meeting was long and tedious, but the remaining hours were less confrontational than those fraught first minutes. Yet another reminder of why I hate politics. Updates were given on currently available supplies and on the supplies hoped to be gathered in the coming harvest seasons; on the number of trained healers and available supplies, since advanced technology is not a cure for the ills of every wounded soldier. Not enough healers to run the healing devices; the status of currently available ships and of those still being repaired; of troop numbers.

The list of topics went on and on.

By the end of the meeting, Sujanha was much more informed about how preparations were going overall for the war, and yet, she was heartily sick of long meetings … and simply stiff and in pain from sitting in an uncomfortable chair for several hours.

That was unnecessarily long.

My commanders and I could have gotten through all that much more quickly.

No arguing and mindless back-and-forth involved.

Anarr had taken the Chief Minister’s earlier insults even more personally than Sujanha had—Yes, I’m offended. I’ve just been listening to his jabs for years. There are only so many times I can get angry over the same insults—if the flattened ears and fiery glare he was still sending toward Janth’s seat were any indications. Which they are. I know Elder Brother.

“Walk me back to Headquarters?” Sujanha asked, reaching over to set a paw on her brother’s arm.

Anarr started in his chair and then turned his golden eyes toward her, “Of course, sister.” Despite their differences he still used the more informal, familiar term, though Sujanha had long ago switched to the extremely formal “Elder Brother.”

Vaazrodiiv rose as they did, shooting a glare of her own toward the Chief Minister, “As good as he is at his job, I don’t like him.”

He’s actually pleasant to talk to when he and I aren’t having differences of opinion on politics or the fleet … or most any other subject.

That got a rumbling growl of agreement from Anarr as he gently helped Sujanha to her feet and then supported her as she gently wiggled her limbs to get rid of the pins-and-needles and then rubbed away a cramp in her leg.

“I’m sure that neither of us are the most pleasant to be around when we argue,” Sujanha admitted, acknowledging her own fault in the matter.

“The same could probably be of us all,” noted Vaazrodiiv in Dovahkiin, having turned off her translator after the meeting since both siblings understood her perfectly well without it.

And the translator, as good as the program is, cannot convey her tone … or the nuances of her word choice.

“I must take my leave,” the Chief Armorer concluded, stepping backwards to give her room to execute a deep bow, “Long life and good health to you both.”

Sujanha only nodded, since returning the bow was difficult while leaning on her brother’s arm for support, and Anarr did likewise. When Vaazrodiiv had departed, they turned towards the massive doors leading out into the entrance hall, which the Iprysh guards had reopened, but before they could take more than a handful of steps, a voice called after them.

Ah, Kadar.

The man approaching them was as different in appearance as Sujanha was compared to Vaazrodiiv or Ragnar. He was humanoid in body-shape, as all the Furlings were, half-bloods or not, but avian in appearance with a sharp, extremely angular face and a long black beak that gave his voice a particularly high-pitched sound. Grey feathers covered his body, darkening towards black as they dipped below his robes and on the tips of the wings that fell down from his back like a long cloak.

Over 6000 years since the Years of Wandering, and still the bloodlines of the Aska endure.

I wonder for how much longer … Their numbers were so few when they joined us.

“Supreme Commanders,” Kadar bowed in greeting in the Furling fashion, before directing his gaze toward Sujanha, “The asylum case you put before me is next on my day’s agenda. Where may I find the young one? Did you have him sent to my offices?”

Sujanha shifted slightly, momentarily leaning her weight harder on her brother’s arm, “Doctor Jackson and his witnesses had not arrived on-world before I left Headquarters earlier, and I have not spoken to my aids or my bodyguards since. They should have arrived by now, and assuming that is the case, they should be with Ruarc.”

If I had had a moment to find Ragnar, I would know for sure.

“Ah, of course,” Kadar bowed again, “Thank you, Commander. I will send a message to him as soon as I return to my office. Good day."

Kadar departed as quickly as he had come, and Sujanha and Anarr turned again towards the door.

“Come with me to my office?” Her brother asked, as they passed over the threshold out into the hallway, “I think we need to talk.”

I think we do.

And to Ragnar, as well.

Ragnar arrived at the moment from up the hall, just in time to hear Anarr’s last statement, and a concerned look passed through her bodyguard’s eyes. “Problem?” He asked quietly, giving a perfunctory bow.

Sujanha glanced around quickly to make sure no one was close by and then replied just as quietly, “Janth happened.”

Those two words were enough to tell Ragnar everything he needed to know. “Again?” He growled, “But …”

Sujanha shook her head, “No more here. We can talk more in private at Headquarters.”

Ragnar’s eyes hardened, “Of course, Commander. Your office or …”

“Mine,” Anarr replied.

For security purposes, jamming technology was located within the offices of each of the Supreme Commanders, High Commanders, and High Generals, so Anarr, Sujanha, and Ragnar beamed into the hallway outside his outer office. At the sound of their arrival, Long-Claw appeared in the open doorway on the other side of the hallway, but as soon as he cataloged the new arrivals as friendlies, he returned to sprawling in a patch of sunlight by an open window.

Anarr guided his guests through his outer office—his aides were absent, probably taking the chance for a brief break during the Council meeting—and to a seat by his desk. Ragnar followed dutifully behind and then, with Anarr’s permission, took a seat along the wall.

“So … what happened … exactly?” Ragnar asked cautiously. “Commanders,” he tacked on the honorific at the end. (Anarr tended to run his offices more formally than Sujanha did.)

“Before or after the Chief Minister implied that I was pushing for the war against the Goa’uld to be carried out during my tenure?”

Ragnar’s eyes went wide, and he just starred at her.

Silence? Interesting.

I was expecting an explosion!

“And,” Anarr added, “questioned your mental competence to still command the fleet.”

There was a rumbling growl, and Ragnar came half out of his seat, before he got his temper under control and subsided back, “Truly? That is low even for him.”

Quite.

“Amilcar called him on it, and he apologized,” Sujanha noted, “sincerely, I believe. He has the best interests of the empire at heart. He just …”

“Believes you are contrary to that,” Anarr finished for her.

Believe it or not.

Sometimes I wonder if, in recent years, this has started to go beyond our political differences.

Ragnar growled again, baring his teeth for a moment. “Unbelievable.” He paused, took a deep breath, and gave the two commanders a pointed look, “But there’s more, is there not? Those insults are ridiculous but not worthy of having a private discussion over.”

Sujanha nodded, “There is more. Janth began by noting pointedly how I’d missed the last council meeting and how relieved he was to see me present today, since he was concerned that I might not be well enough to intend today.”

A statement that grows the more concerning the longer I think about it.

It implies he knew something prior to my arrival, unless he was outright lying.

And that would be hard to believe.

“How?” Ragnar began and then cut himself off.

“That’s what we want to know,” noted Anarr, “You sent word to me, which is very acceptable.”

“But except for Kaja, I spoke to no one outside my offices this morning,” added Sujanha, “Did Kaja beam in and out?”

Who else might have seen?

“She beamed in,” Ragnar replied, “but walked out. I escorted her downstairs myself. She said if she was up that early anyway, she was going to go to the library to study an herb book. My brother … he might have said something when he went to get you tea, but … all of us … we are loyal, Commanders. None of us would have said anything to the Chief Minister, I would swear to it. We are loyal.”

Even though you are supposed to be loyal to the empire first, we are first in your hearts.

“If Kaja walked out, that is the most likely reason,” said Sujanha, relaxing finally back into her chair with a quiet groan, “she is well-known as my personal healer, and she has few other patients, and none on the acropolis aside from me. Considering her advancing years, she would have very few reasons to be there that early aside from tending to me.”

“And the Chief Minister’s offices are in a building between Headquarters and the Great Library,” Anarr added, “He wouldn’t have been there that early, I expect, but one of his people might have said something.”

Ragnar growled at that comment but was forced to agree that was the most likely cause for Janth’s uncannily accurate knowledge. “I’ll advise her to be more careful from now on.”

That my health is poorer than my brethren, even somewhat precarious on rare occasions, is no secret.

That does not mean I want it bandied about as a topic of common conversation … or have Janth make yet more jabs at me in front of everyone in meetings.

And my control of my temper suffers when I hurt the most.

“Did our guests arrive safely?” Sujanha asked, changing the conversation abruptly.

Ragnar’s eyes went wide, and then he promptly thumped himself on the head, letting out a cry of annoyance, “Yes, they did, Commander. Forgive me. I meant to tell you after the meeting, but …”

“There were other things to discuss,” muttered Anarr, whose attention was turning toward the reports stacked on his desk.

I should get out of his way.

Sujanha gave a wry snort, then added, “Good. And they are, or were, with Ruarc?”

Depending on whether Kadar has summoned them yet?

Ragnar made a sound of assent, “Yes. Some of the party wished to see the city, so he escorted them, while the others preferred not to, so he had settled them in one of the receiving rooms downstairs. He commed me … maybe an hour after the meeting started.”

They were early. Better to be early than late.

No one was expecting the meeting to go that long, anyway.

“Good,” Sujanha pushed herself to her feet, wavering slightly before she could steady herself on her own, though she kept a hand and some of her weight on the edge of her brother’s desk. A little stronger. Good. Ruarc sprang to his feet—he would be remonstrating with me if my brother weren’t here—and stepped forward to let her lean on his arm. “I shall return to my office and not take more of your time, Elder Brother. Please convey my greetings to your mate and the children when you see them next.”

“Of course,” Anarr nodded, “Good day to you, sister.”

Sujanha returned to her office and settled down at her desk to look at the news and reports, few that there were, which had come in over the course of the morning and afternoon. She still felt weak, and her whole body ached fiercely, but the utter agony of the morning had passed. With a little prodding, she consented to take some medicine Kaja had left that morning (just as disgusting as the earlier blend), drink some tea, and choke down a slice of bread.

I’m not sure whether Ragnar is going to grumble because he couldn’t get me to eat more or be happy because he got me to eat something.

Too thin, I am? Yes, yes, I know.

Asik entered about two hours of later with the news that Kadar had granted Doctor Jackson’s request for political asylum among the Furlings, adding that his report and the recording of their meeting (data available to any High Councilor) would be sent over shortly.

“Is Ruarc on his way back?” Sujanha asked.

“Yes,” came Ragnar’s reply, his deep voice carrying in all the way from the outer office, “As soon as he escorts them to the Stargate.”

Whatever he has, he’ll have to collect before he returns.

Probably tomorrow. It’s growing late, and he was close with Ohper and the others.

He’ll want to say goodbye.

Where will he live? No one speaks any English except for Ragnar, Ruarc, and I … somewhat.

A matter to ponder.

There is time to figure it out.

28^th of Xuxiq, Fall, 6544 A.S.
(c. March 10, 1998)
Uslisgas, Asteria

“So,” Sujanha began the next morning as she was eating breakfast with her bodyguards. Some strength had returned after a quiet rest of the day and a good night’s sleep, but her whole body still felt sore and achy, and her muscle tremors were worse than usual. “There was one thing that Kadar raised in the report he sent to me, which I had already been considering: where Doctor Jackson should be settled once he returns to us today.”

Ragnar, who was in the midst of wolfing down a large sandwich, packed thickly with meat, made a noise that was probably to be interpreted as a request for her to continue.

“The language barrier?” Ruarc asked, pausing from cleaning meat juice off his paws with quick swipes of his tongue, having just finished eating himself.

You always have anticipated my thoughts best.

“Yes,” Sujanha replied, “Doctor Jackson has been granted asylum by the empire, which means it is our[6] duty to see that he is settled properly, and though he is a linguist, Ohper says, he cannot have picked up enough of our tongue yet to be able to even buy food in the Great Square or buy himself new clothes at the shops.”

“And only the three of us have any understanding of his tongue at all,” Ragnar noted.

Ruarc was silent for a moment, his ears twitching, “In any other case, such a person would be placed temporarily with someone who spoke their language, but …”

“But,” Ragnar continued, picking up his brother’s train of thought without hesitation, “We are rarely home, and our place in the barracks is barely big enough for the both of us. And to put a guest in the barracks …”

Would not be our way.

I have suggested you rectify that problem by getting a place in the city, but you keep saying no.

But the principle must still be upheld here, but what Ragnar says is true, which leaves …

Sujanha glanced across at Ruarc, wondering if he would pick up on the implication of his brother’s statement. He did. Her bodyguard’s pale golden eyes went suddenly wide, as his mind connected the dots, and his ears flattened back across his head.

“No!” He growled, “Unacceptable.”

Doctor Jackson must be housed with someone until he learns our language. Since there were difficulties with him being temporarily housed with the two brothers, that left Sujanha as a potential host. It is the only logical option. My house is big enough, too big for just me, truly.

But …

Ragnar was a beat behind his younger brother on the uptake, but then he realized it, and his eyes went wide, too, “Commander! That’s too much of a security risk!”

“It’s not like I keep sensitive data at home!” Sujanha noted. Some people think I’m rash, but I’ve never been accused of being a fool! “And even if I were to, I wouldn’t be giving him access to my private rooms!”

Both brothers growled, saying at almost the same time, “A risk to you!"

He’s an unknown.

That’s completely different.

“He’s shown no signs of being an active threat. You’ve both spent hours with him, Ruarc the most. The Nox let him stay on Gaia … in the same village as Nafrayu,” Sujanha chided, “Do him the courtesy of distinguishing between an active threat and an unknown.”

The more I think of him, the more he reminds me of Odin.

“But,” Ragnar protested.

But what?

“But nothing,” Sujanha stated, “If one of you can give me a concrete reason why he is a threat before we put this decision before Doctor Jackson, I will reconsider. If not, please remember the security precautions already in place in my house, and remember that while I am often ill, I am not helpless.”

You are just very protective and extremely wary … after … everything.

Ruarc rose long enough to give a half-bow, kicking his brother in the leg when he was about to protest more. “Yes, Commander, though I must say that the Council might not like your decision.”

Now Sujanha growled, “If Elder Brother wishes to express an opinion on this decision, I will hear him out, as I would you both. As for the others, well … at the moment, I don’t care.”

What can they really do?

Make more sharp comments?

Talk to the king?

The Sea of Night will freeze over before they could get enough votes to actually unseat me.

“Neither of us can blame you, Commander,” Ruarc replied with another half-bow, “but we would be remiss if we did not warn you of potential danger.”

“Of course, and I thank you for that.”

Several hours passed, and the time for the mid-day meal was fast approaching when Asik appeared in the doorway of Sujanha’s inner office with the news that Gaia was dialing in. Sujanha dispatched Ruarc to go meet their guest and escort him down to the Great Square and then turned her attention back toward Asik and Ragnar, who were standing in the doorway, “Asik, you are free to leave for the day whenever you finish your tasks. Just ensure that any new critical reports that cannot wait are set to forward to my com, instead. Tell Jaax the same.”

“Of course, Commander. Thank you,” Asik bowed and withdrew.

“Let’s go down to the Great Square. You and your brother can have one more meeting with Doctor Jackson to assuage any of your concerns, and then you two are free for the rest of the day,” Sujanha added, “Unless something disastrous happens, I will not return this afternoon.”

The Great Square was a large open-air marketplace and gathering place located in the Lower Town, adjacent to the main residential district in the city. Once the Great Square had been located in the exact center, but as the city of Uslisgas had expanded, its position had become more and more to one side as the city expanded away from the acropolis. Several broad streets led into and out of the square, which was surrounded otherwise by many small buildings, one to four stories in height.

At the center of the square stood a massive stone fountain that threw water high into the air, sometimes sprinkling the children who often played ball nearby if the wind was right. Scattered throughout the square itself were many open-air carts. The shops, whether the carts or those in the surrounding buildings, sold almost everything imaginable. If it could be made or grown on planet or brought from off-world, it could probably be found in one of the many shops on Uslisgas: food, familiar or exotic; clothing of many fashions; weapons of many designs; household supplies; musical instruments; among many other items.

It has been too long since I have had the time and the strength to come and listen to the stories. The traders who came from off-world to sell their goods in the capital city usually had very interesting stories to tell, which sometimes contained valuable pieces of information that might not always reach the city through official channels.

Considering the hour, there was a good crowd present as Sujanha and Ragnar arrived. Men, women, and children of almost every race in the galaxy could be spotted among the crowd, moving hither and thither. Sujanha, highly respected though she was, drew little attention, those recognizing her simply extending a courteous bow and continuing to go about their day without drawing attention to her.

There were a handful of small tables surrounding the fountain—yet out of splash range if the wind turns—and Ragnar settled Sujanha at one but remained standing himself, scanning the crowd for his brother and Doctor Jackson.

With his height, he can probably see over the crowd!

A short time passed, and then Ragnar twitched, his body swiveling. He glanced down at Sujanha and nodded. He saw his brother. And a few moments after that Ruarc appeared, making his way through the crowd, the young Doctor Jackson, carrying a small bag slung over one shoulder, trailing in his wake. Ruarc gave a quick bow as he approached and then slid into the seat opposite Sujanha, motioning Doctor Jackson into the other seat.

“Commander,” the young man greeted her with a polite nod, but there was an upward lilt at the end of the word that made Sujanha wonder if he was wondering if that was an acceptable form of address.

Between whatever Ohper said and whatever he heard from Kadar, I have no idea which of my titles he has heard.

And there are enough to be confusing. Sometimes I have to stop and think to remember them all.

Sujanha gave a polite nod of assent, but that was as far as she went in mimicking human body language. A small smile of greeting as their guest had done would … well … showing teeth is usually considered a sign of anger … or a threat. “Doctor Jackson,” she replied in slow, rather accented English, “Safe journey?”

“Yes, thank you,” he nodded. There was a small thump as he set his bag down on the ground at his feet.

One bag only?

“Is that all that is to you?” She asked, gesturing with one paw in the vague direction of his bag.

Doctor Jackson’s brow furrowed for a moment, “All that I have? Yes. I only escaped earth with the clothes on my back. The Nox were generous and gave me some extra things.”

More than few people on his world need to be expelled from office.

Sujanha gave a nod of thanks, “All that you have, thank you. Our English,” she made a gesture that included herself and both her bodyguards, “is small, but we learn.”

He nodded again, “Thank you again for helping me.”

“Your story …” Sujanha paused, searching for the words she wanted, which she was struggling to find among her extremely limited vocabulary of English words. This is the quickest way to learn, trying to communicate with someone who doesn’t know our tongue. It is just the most frustrating in the meantime. “Those men are wrong. You act well. As we give you asylum, you receive soon …” there she paused again, giving a hiss of annoyance. How do you make past tense verbs or future? She reached into the waist pocket of her jacket to the small bag of coins she kept in it and pulled out one.

Doctor Jackson’s eyes brightened, realizing apparently what she was trying valiantly to say, “Money, though we call those ‘coins’ specifically.”

“Money, we give it to who we give asylum to help you settle,” Sujanha continued. He is kind not to be horrified at my English. “You buy here things you have to live.” She waved one paw in a circle to encompass and indicate the surrounding shops. “You have eaten since morning?”

Doctor Jackson shook his head, “No, but I don’t want to trouble you. I’m sure you are busy.”

It is extremely convenient that tone of voice crosses language barriers.

Sujanha waved away his words, “One needs me finds me.” She extracted a couple of coins from her pocket and dropped them into Ragnar’s hand, adding in Furling, “Get something simple for our guest and whatever you and your brother want.”

“What about you, Commander,” Ruarc added pointedly.

And of course, I should have been expecting that.

“I see Alaric’s stall over there,” Sujanha gestured in a direction vaguely behind Ruarc’s seat, “Get me a piece of fruit. I’m not really hungry.” (Alaric was a half-blood Furling who owned a food stall in the market. He had settled down to work in one place after years of traveling the galaxy as a merchant. He was widely known in the city and widely loved, especially by the children, for all the tales and songs he knew.)

Ragnar returned a few minutes later with his hands so full that Sujanha wondered momentarily how he hadn’t dropped anything. Ruarc jumped up to help his brother, and together the two parceled things out. There was a thick sandwich wrapped in brown paper for Doctor Jackson, a blue fruit for Sujanha, tea for Ruarc, and something hideously colored for Ragnar.

“Are you sure that thing is edible?” Sujanha asked, eyeing the thing in her bodyguard’s paw with only slightly feigned concerned, “What in Creation is it?”

“I know not,” Ragnar replied … in English, trying to limit how much they talked in a foreign language in front of their guest, “Alaric say it good …”

Which considering how widely he has traveled and how … exotic … his taste is means very little.

On your own head be it, though.

Doctor Jackson unwrapped his sandwich but seemed to be eyeing it surreptitiously after the discussion over … whatever exactly … Ragnar was about to eat, so Sujanha added in English, “No concern. The food to you not like that …”

The group talked quietly as they ate, making polite, meaningless chatter in English and pointing out interesting things to Doctor Jackson as their vocabulary allowed. Doctor Jackson, once he realized that corrections would not bother them, politely and a little hesitantly pointed out English errors here and there, often managing to weave the correction into his answers to any questions.

“Where will I be staying?” Doctor Jackson finally asked when he had finished eating.

Sujanha was silent for a moment. She had been looking away across the market as she spoke but immediately looked back at the sound of his voice. His question contained unfamiliar vocabulary, and it took her a moment to half-translate his question back into Furling—the place I will be living is what?—basing her guess heavily on both context and the fact that living quarters had been the one thing not yet discussed … by anyone.

Her eyes flicked over to her bodyguards. There was a question in her eyes: one last chance to give me something, enough to make me reconsider? Both dropped their eyes as she met theirs. They would not oppose her decision any further.

Sujanha turned her gaze to her bodyguards, saying in Furling, “You both are free to return home. Unless I call for you, I shouldn’t need you until tomorrow.” She pushed herself to her feet carefully, and the others automatically rose.

“Of course, Commander.”

Ragnar and Ruarc bowed quickly to Sujanha, and then, after saying their goodbyes, they departed, disappearing quickly into the crowds. When they were gone, Sujanha turned back to Daniel, “You are with me. I am outside the city. I have a big … place, too big for me.”

Doctor Jackson’s eyes went wide in surprise. His mouth opened and closed for a moment. He was at first lost for words, but then he managed to stammer, “Commander?” A look of sadness passed through his eyes even as he spoke.

What memory at such an offer could cause him such grief?

Sujanha paused for a moment, trying to formulate her thoughts as simply as possible so she could express them through some combination of her extremely limited English vocabulary and the basic gestures that they had already been using over the mid-day meal.

Some gestures are understood across cultures.

It will be good to be done with those when we know more … before we come across a gesture that is commonplace for one and insulting … or worse … for the other.

“Ragnar, Ruarc, and I are the ones who know your tongue, but our ways, our things,” I wish I knew the word for ‘technology’, “are not like yours. It would not be our way for you to come across peoples alone.” What she was trying and failing to say well was that it would not be the Furling way to accept Daniel for asylum among their people and then not give him the resources to adapt to a new society with very different cultures, languages, and habits. She also did not know the words to express why exactly staying with her bodyguards would be impossible.

“Your home … I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Doctor Jackson still seemed hesitant.

That statement Sujanha also had to stop and consider momentarily “My home is too large. Only I am there. You are welcome.” Even the knowledge that she was probably breaking a horrifically high number of language rules in her attempts at conversations in English made her want to cringe.

Doctor Jackson finally nodded and bent down to pick up his bag, tucking the folded sandwich paper into the side. We can dispose of it at home.

Sujanha made several small taps on her gauntlet, bringing the holographic interface that would allow her to input the coordinates to beam them back home. She could do it without the holographic interface, I’ve done it enough times, but it allowed her to give her companion some clue about what was going to happen—maps look like maps in a very general way. “My home is …” she held her paw a distance apart, “the end of the city.”

Doctor Jackson immediately began to nod, “It’s quite a distance outside the city, okay.” What is “okay”? “Are we beaming there?”

Ah, yes, he would have become familiar with our beaming technology entering and exiting the Hall of the Stargate, at the very least.

“Yes.” Sujanha replied, inputting the final instructions. A moment later a hum sounded, and there was a blinding flash of light.

For the sake of being a good host, Sujanha had set the beaming coordinates for the front walk that lead up to her house from the street, not the entrance hallway as usual. Her house was built in an isolated area, and few other houses were nearby. A stone wall as high as Sujanha was tall encircled her property, enclosing the house and a small garden filled with trailing veins that climbed their way up any available vertical surfaces if given half-a-chance, as well as colorful flowers from many worlds.

The flowers remind me of Mother for some reason.

Motioning for her guest to follow, Sujanha headed up the path, wide enough for her and her brother to comfortably walk abreast, toward the house. The front door slid open automatically as Sujanha and Doctor Jackson climbed the two steps up from the path, the AI program that run the house recognizing her return, and then slid shut again as soon as the two were inside.

“Greetings, Commander,” the automated voice greeted Sujanha in Furling.

I will need to have a new language package uploaded, as least for the basics.

I just have to understand those basics first before I can get the work done.

“This is Doctor Jackson,” she replied, “He may access any rooms except my sleeping chamber and my office unless I give express permission.”

“Acknowledged.”

Sujanha switched back into English with an effort, making a motion in the vague direction of the nearest set of speakers, “That is a … small,” how by the stars do I say “modified and simplified”? “small kind …”

“Simplified?” Doctor Jackson suggested, glancing around.

Maybe?

Sujanha nodded, “of that used on our ships at sometimes so we can rest.”

“An ‘auto pilot’!”

A what?

“It orders the small things of the house and sends messages,” Sujanha concluded, “My English is bigger, I change it so you understand.”

“Thank you,” Doctor Jackson replied.

Sujanha motioned for Doctor Jackson to follow and led the way up the hallway into the interior of the house. She familiarized him the best she could with the basic layout of the house. She was constrained by her lack of knowledge of the applicable English words, though her guest was kind enough to suggest the most likely words after her fumbling explanations. She pointed out the sitting room, a room on her left hand that overlooked the garden and contained a number of comfortable-looking and dark-colored seats; the eating room and kitchen, which contained more austere seating and the food preparation area with storage containers and the cold box for the food.

It is a good thing that I had the food restocked yesterday.

Sujanha continued up the hallway until it ended with a doorway just past a steep staircase that led upstairs. The doorway led to Sujanha’s library, a separate room from her office, that contained a modest collection of books, maps, star charts, and a handful of her favorite pieces of art and sculpture gifted to her by their allies. Knowing that her guest was a scholar and linguist of some skill from what he and Ohper had said, she made sure to indicate to Doctor Jackson that her library was open for him to peruse at his leisure.

He will need to learn our tongue first before he can make much use of it.

Climbing the staircase was tiring and somewhat painful. It’s easier going downstairs than up these things. Sujanha fought to keep her weakness from showing. There are some things he does not need to know yet. “My rooms,” she began once they both reached the upper floor, gesturing to a closed door off to the left of the stairs. Turning right, she led the way down a short hallway, “This has many old things” that I really need to clean out one day, “and this,” she finished, stopping at a room on the right side of the hallway, “is your room.”

Given the privacy settings that limited the automatic opening or closing of doors, the door to the guest room did not automatically open as Sujanha and Doctor Jackson approached. A small crystal stone was set on the wall to the right of the door frame itself. When she passed her hand across the front, there was a small chime, and the door slid open. Sujanha took a step back and then motioned for him to do the same. He did. There was another chime when she passed her hand across a corresponding crystal on the inside wall, and the door slid shut.

“That …” How do I say ‘control’? “… powers … the door. This is the room to you.” Your room only. If “You are inside, you must say to have a person be in by speech or with this,” Sujanha explained briefly, gesturing to the stone again at the end.

“In English?” Her young guest asked.

“Yes,” Sujanha replied, “You tell me what word. I make” …. the changes. She tried to make a gesture of switching something with her paws, “for your room.”

“Ah,” he nodded, “The word you want is ‘enter.’ Since this is my private room, I have to give someone permission to enter or have to allow them inside physically myself.”

Sujanha understood immediately only about half of that last sentence but filed it away to parse and consider later. Via context, she figured she would be able to understand what he was saying with a little more time for thought.

The room the two had entered was not massive, but it was large enough to hold a good-sized, comfortable bed; a chest for clothes that also held extra linens; and a desk to work at. Another door led out to a private washroom. Sujanha, who had stopped just inside the door, as Doctor Jackson had stepped further inside to look around, pointed out these features as best she could, adding in a demonstration of how to manipulate the room’s light.

“Thank you, Commander,” Doctor Jackson said.

Sujanha bowed her head in acknowledgment, “You seek me. I am below in my books room.”

I don’t want to know how many language rules I am breaking speaking like this. At least, it won’t be forever. Simplifying and throwing out excess words aided communication until they learned more of each other’s languages … it just sounded horrible in the meantime.

With those words, Sujanha departed, leaving her guest to unpack what little he had and rest if he wished. She took the steps slowly back downstairs, considering what to do next.

A list of new English words for Ragnar and Ruarc.

And I think there were a couple of reports I didn’t finish reading yesterday.

And later … dinner.

[1] Nearly 70 years old in Earth-years.

[2] All of the members of the High Council, save for the High Chancellor and the Supreme Commanders, bear such antiquated titles, which are holdovers from the early days of the High Council, and no long exactly indicative of the duties each High Councilor bears.

[3] Equivalent to someone from Earth saying that they would follow someone to Hell and back. According to Furling religious beliefs, the soul at death is freed from the confines of the flesh and is set free to set sail on its final journey across the Sea of Night until it reaches the Eternal Halls, the home of the Maker in the uttermost north.

[4] Paraphrase of/reference to: “One works for justice not in the hope that the evil of the past can be undone but in the hope that there shall be a livable future.” Leonard Kriegel.

[5] C. S. Lewis, The Horse and His Boy.

[6] The Furling language has multiple sets of pronouns, which can refer to both a group of people specifically or, as here, a concept generally in that Sujanha is saying that it is our duty, i.e., the empire’s duty, to do thus-and-such.

Chapter Text

29^th of Xuxiq, Fall, 6544 A.S.
(c. March 11, 1998)
Uslisgas, Asteria

Ruarc had had the honor and the pleasure of serving under two previous army Supreme Commanders and with one previous fleet Supreme Commander before the current Supreme Commanders had come to power. Yet, of all those he had served under or known of from those who had more years in the service than he, Supreme Commander Anarr and Supreme Commander Sujanha were by far his favorite. None of those others had been bad, ill-skilled in the art of war or unlikable personally, but Anarr and Sujanha were … special.

There were good reasons why most anyone in the Furling military … and many of our allies, too … would follow the two Commanders to the very shores of the Sea of Night.[1]

A Furling scholar from a past age had once written a long treatise on politics and the nature of kingship, discussing what made one a good ruler and how one might be a good man and a good and just ruler simultaneously, given the difficult decisions a ruler was sometimes called upon to make.

Especially a ruler who rules as many worlds and as many peoples as our High King.

Though he enjoyed reading more than his brother did, Ruarc was not one for reading political treatises, but there was one particular passage from that work, which he had never forgotten.

Of what does the nature of kingship consist? A king does not abide within his tent while his men bleed and die upon the field. A king does not dine while his men go hungry, nor sleep when they stand at watch upon the wall. A king does not command his men's loyalty through fear nor purchase it with gold; he earns their love by the sweat of his own back and the pains he endures for their sake. That which comprises the harshest burden, a king lifts first and sets down last. A king does not require service of those he leads but provides it to them. He serves them, not they him.[2]

That passage was discussing kings, but it fit the two Supreme Commanders just as well. Both were terribly aware that every order they gave had life and death consequences, and they never gave orders that they were not willing to carry out themselves. During the worst years of the Great War, both Sujanha and Anarr had fought on the front lines, not commanding from the rear, and were the first in any desperate attacks and the last to retreat off the battlefield when a battle went against them.[3] When rations were short, the Commanders’ tables suffered that shortage the same as any line troop, and the same went for when pay was short.

No sacrifice was forgotten.

No names were left unmourned.

Sujanha Staðfastur[4] was one of the greatest commanders Ruarc had ever had the privilege of serving under, but she also had a way of frustrating him—infuriating him on the bad days—like no other, not even his brother. Her devotion to duty was absolute, her loyalty to her men unquestionable, her strategic genius undeniable, and yet at the same time … she was terrible at taking care of herself. Though Commander Anarr had appointed them as her bodyguards, they had done more guarding her from herself than from outside threats.

She would forget to eat half the time if not for us.

As great a commander as she was, she was also simply a good person. The Furlings were known for their hospitality and generosity when it came to the treatment of strangers and wanderers, but there were probably few, Ruarc thought, who would want to invite an almost complete stranger, especially one with whom there was an extreme language barrier, into their homes to give them a place to adjust.

Though I think there is more than generosity of spirit and the sheer practicality of this decision influencing her thinking.

Two days had passed since Daniel Jackson’s return to and settling on Uslisgas, and despite the two brothers’ concerns about the security risk of him staying with the Commander, nothing had happened. So far, at least, the jaded, cynical side of him wanted to argue before Ruarc reminded himself of the character references from the Nox, the Tollan, and indirectly from Supreme Commander Thor’s interest in SG1.

New is not necessarily a threat.

Unknown is not necessarily a threat.

It was something he was reminding himself frequently these days.

The Commander, while leaning towards the unorthodox at some points in her strategy and tactics, was not foolish or prone to taking unnecessary risk, and she was a good judge of character, and she seemed to be getting along well with her new house-guest.

At least having a house-guest is actually getting her out of the office and home a little earlier, and she hasn’t even slept at the office for three nights straight.

It was almost a minor miracle.

The Commander bore a heavy burden of responsibility as the leader of the fleet. Her sense of duty and her loyalty to her people and her driving need to protect them whatever the personal cost was a heavy burden on her shoulders. Heavy lies the head, as the old adage went. Maybe this Doctor Jackson will be good for her.

He was a very interesting youngling, Ruarc judged, from their interactions while giving him and Lady Lya a tour of Uslisgas. Looking, looking, looking, wide-eyed and interested. Not judging because of the many differences from what he was used to. Just wide-eyed and fascinated. And all the questions!! Doctor Jackson had asked about as many questions as he seemed to deem polite and which Lady Lya had been able to translate into Furling.

The morning of the 29th found Ruarc sitting at the table in Commander Sujanha’s kitchen, paging through the tablet he had brought along. He was sipping a mug of spiced tea drawn from the large pitcher she had told him he was welcome to before she left for work, while he waited for Doctor Jackson to appear. The Commander had sent him a message the previous evening asking if he would escort Doctor Jackson into the city to buy what things he needed now that a bank account had been opened in his name and his resettling money had been submitted to it.

Ruarc’s tablet—a portable holographic screen—was an extra tablet that he had semi-permanently borrowed with permission from the Commander’s stash. I’m not quite sure how she’s managed to accumulate like … what was it six of them? Yes, storage on these is limited, but not that limited, and I’ve never seen her use the others. On it was a language program of sorts of his own creation that he had compiled quickly over the last two days. Ruarc, his brother, and the Commander were quickly picking up English through everyday interactions—new sentences and words being shared among the three of them as quickly as they were acquired—but as far as Ruarc knew, Doctor Jackson had probably picked up little to no Furling over the past couple of days. Furling was a completely foreign and quite complicated language, and unlike Ancient which had been spoken long ago on Midgard, no likely derivation still survived in Avalon.

We can’t stand as escort all the time, and he would not want to be—and we do not want him to be—housebound without one of us to translate.

Facial expressions and gestures went a long way along with some basic phrases—there were enough different races and languages in the Empire that most were used to making do with imperfect communication at times. However, Doctor Jackson would need to know some basic phrases and words in Furling, even for times Ruarc or Ragnar were with him, just in case he gets separated. Uslisgas was a large city. The older parts of the city were laid out on a grid pattern, but the newer sections had grown organically and were less well-organized.

I don’t want to be the one responsible for losing him and not being able to find him for hours.

Given that he had been a linguist by trade on Midgard and that immersion was a frustrating if effective means of learning a language, Ruarc hoped that Doctor Jackson would be able to pick up Furling relatively quickly. It would make things more straight forward for him and open up nearly a galaxy of opportunity. Furling was widely spoken throughout Asteria, even among the Furlings’ allies who spoke their own tongues, as well.

Thus, Ruarc’s program—a series of illustrative pictures of some basic items and actions overlaid audibly with the corresponding words or sentences in Furling—was designed to fill that gap, and it would help Doctor Jackson to start picking up familiar words and their derivatives during conversation and thereby give him a foundation to build on. It was a rough job, quickly put together, but it would do for now. And I can fix it up later. The tablet was connected remotely to Ruarc’s main tablet, and he could send updates with new words or phrases as he created them.

Footsteps sounded midmorning, and Doctor Jackson appeared in the kitchen soon after. (Even if the rotational cycles of Midgard and Uslisgas were off, day and night on Uslisgas and Gaia were close enough to have helped him adjust.) He was dressed in the clothes he had brought him with from Midgard, the soldiers’ uniform of his people. The shadow of a beard was also growing on his chin.

Maybe add a razor to his list of needed goods … if his people aren’t opposed to cutting their hair … though with his hair that short, I doubt they would be.

The Idrore, one of the former human races within Asteria—they had been totally wiped out during the Great War, most dying when their planet had been bombarded from orbit without warning—had been well known for never cutting their hair, which thankfully for their sakes had grown quite slowly. Or that much hair would get out of hand!

Even years after the Great War, it still seemed strange to think of some of those peoples in the past tense, almost unbelievable to comprehend that a whole people had been lost to history.

“Good morning, Doctor Jackson,” Ruarc greeted him in accented English. The English greeting, by chance, was near identical to the Furling one for the same circumstances.

Doctor Jackson had started in surprise in the doorway of the kitchen, probably at seeing Ruarc present, and stopped short in the doorway. He blinked and then pulled off his glasses to polish them on a corner of his jacket. “Morning, Ruarc,” that was apparently a slightly more casual greeting based on the fuller greeting, “I was not expecting to see you this morning.”

It was a relief after several days to be finally able to speak and understand more than halting, horrifically simplified, grammatically incorrect English. Not that their English was fluent yet by any means, but it was progress.

And every step of progress now helps make the next steps easier.

“The Commander has fleet business to deal with,” Ruarc replied, “She has asked me to escort you to the city to get needed clothes and goods.”

There was another long blink. “Lady Sujanha mentioned the money that would be supplied to me as an asylee, but the money can’t have come through yet, can it? It’s only been two days.” Dr. Jackson’s voice was puzzled.

The Furling government could move slowly in some things at times. Haste or slowness had a different meaning when one lived as long as the Furlings and most of the races in Asteria did, but in this promptness was essential and vital. Getting money supplied to those granted asylum were always a priority to help them get settled.

“The process is not greatly complicated,” Ruarc replied slowly. It had taken him a few moments to parse through what Daniel Jackson had said and then several more to try to find the words he wanted in his limited but quickly expanding vocabulary, “The money is available as an exchange when you buy at the shops. The money will be taken from your account.”

“Ah, credit, okay.” What does this “okay” mean? And what is “credit”? “Bureaucracies on earth never move that fast. Let me quickly get some food first, and then I can go.”

“There is food in the cold-box, the Commander said,” Ruarc said, pointing with one giant paw to the large burnished metal unit that stood to the left of a set of cabinets that held some cooking supplies, canned goods, and eating dishes and utensils, “and there is spiced tea if you would like some,” gesturing toward what was in his own mug. “The container is in the cold box on the tall platform.”

“Shelf,” Doctor Jackson replied absently, pushing his glasses up from where they had slipped down the bridge of his nose, “and in English, a cold-box is called a refrigerator.”

What a strange word!

It took Doctor Jackson a moment to figure out how to open the cold-box. It had no handle, just the same activation stone as the house’s doors, and a few seconds before Ruarc was about to speak up, he realized that and waved his hand above the stone, and the door slid open. There was material for sandwiches, and several covered containers of … something. Sujanha still had a taste for milder Dovahkiin food from time to time when she could get away with eating it without it souring her stomach, and that stuff lasted for a long time before it went bad, which is convenient with how much she’s away. Doctor Jackson was apparently not of the adventurous type, and he went for the sandwich material.

Food. That could be another big change. Ruarc hadn’t even thought about it before. Though I really should have considering how different food dishes tend to be between many of the main species within the Empire. As a melting pot of cultures, could find most any type of food in one city on Uslisgas or another, and especially in Uslisgas, the capital, the food tended be a strange mixture of foods from multiple different cultures.

“Will I be keeping you from your work?” Doctor Jackson asked as he fixed his food.

“No,” Ruarc replied with a shake of his head, “My brother and I actually have little to do when Lady Sujanha stays on Uslisgas, besides pass messages, run errands, or help around Headquarters.”

“Is Uslisgas the name of this city or the planet?” There was a note of unrestrained curiosity in his voice.

Ah, yes, that would cause some confusion.

“Both. Uslisgas is the name of the planet, which is our current homeworld, and of the capital city.”

I do wonder how that came to be.

Once Doctor Jackson had made himself food for the morning meal, gotten a glass of tea, and sat down at the table across from him, Ruarc pushed across the tablet he had been working on. The young man’s eyes went wide again in surprise—he was not good at hiding his feelings—but he finished a bit of food before he asked, “What’s this?”

“To help you start learning our tongue,” Ruarc replied, tapping on the screen with one claw.

Immediately, a two-dimensional holographic image of an injured person being attended to by a healer appeared floating in the air above the tablet, and a clear but automated voice said, “Uzfur.”

Doctor Jackson started slightly, but then he starred at the hologram intently. “Wow!”

Ruarc swiped his hand through the holographic image several times, new images with new, recited meanings appearing each time, to show Doctor Jackson how it worked. “Learning our tongue will require time, but this will help with … foundations … for listening. Our writings,” he mimed writing out something by hand, “is long and complex, so I only gave you the sounds.”

Doctor Jackson studied the holographic image of two figures greeting each other—one of the most complex actions because there were general greetings and greetings that varied by rank—the last Ruarc had paged to for a few moments, before speaking, “The Furling alphabet is complicated, you mean, so you gave me the pronunciation.” He paused, “So this is somewhat like an audible dictionary? Though some of these images look more like actions.”

“You would have to tell me what a dictionary is,” Ruarc replied before I can answer the first question.

“Oh,” Doctor Jackson gave a half-smile, “Sorry. A dictionary is a book that gives a list of words in one language with the corresponding meanings for each in another language.”

Ah.

“Then this is somewhat like that, yes,” Ruarc replied, “There are basic words and basic sentences, like if you do not know your place or need assistance.” He had been making updates earlier, so the ‘dictionary’ had started in the middle with the last of the basic words—Uzfur for medical assistance—and then gone into more complex actions.

“If I get lost, probably wise,” Doctor Jackson pushed his glasses up his nose again, “Thank you. This will be very, very helpful. I do hope you included how to say ‘I do not speak Furling.’”

How would I even depict that with an image?

Words were easy to depict with images. It was easy to find a picture of a wide enough spread of food-stuffs to show that the given word was for “food” generally, not one dish in particular, but sentences and actions were much more complicated, and Ruarc had limited himself to those that he or the scholar in the Great Library that he had enlisted to help him could conceive of an illustrative image for.

Ruarc shook his head, “No. I do not know how to show that with a drawing.”

Most will understand a blank look of non-comprehension or a shrug when they talk to you. Furlings and the other non-human races understood enough of human body language for that to work, and some gestures and movements seemed universal among different races of the same species.

“How many vocabulary cards are there?”

“About 60,” Ruarc replied, “That was what I thought of and created in two days. I will think of more and add more in time.”

“Thank you!” Doctor Jackson emphasized, his eyes shining in delight, “This will be very helpful.” He repeated.

It did not take that long for Doctor Jackson to finish eating, and once plates and mugs were washed and put away and Doctor Jackson had taken his new tablet upstairs to his room, it was time to go. Ruarc suggested walking, which was at first met with skepticism given that the Commander had indicated that it was quite some distance from the city to her house.

Ruarc shook his head, “I walk the distance in half-an-hour or so. The two of us walk it in a little longer.” The Commander’s conception of how far one place was to another in walking time and whether the distance was long or not was heavily influenced by her physical condition, not that Ruarc was going to explain that. “The walk is good. The land is good.”

I need to learn more descriptors! There was much more he wanted to say, but Ruarc lacked the words to convey what he really meant, but Doctor Jackson still seemed to get the idea and readily agreed.

Ruarc led the way out of the house and down the path through the garden of brightly colored fall flowers, trailing vines that crawled up the garden walls, and tall trees that cast long shadows across the grass. The gate swung open as they approached, and Ruarc turned left onto the road that would curve a few minutes’ walk away and lead straight toward the city. The road was flat and well-made, carefully cut stones set against carefully cut stones so well-erected that the line between two blocks could almost disappear. The road near the Commander’s house was only wide enough for two to comfortably walk abreast, but down the road where the turn came for the city, the road widened out into a much broader street where five or six broad-shouldered people could easily walk abreast without risking bumping arms or wings.

Doctor Jackson was unusually quiet for the first part of the walk … if all of his questions during the tour of the city was characteristic, and something about the paving stones on the road seemed to be unusually attention-drawing. Considering how little he’s paying attention to where his feet are going, it is very good that the road is so well-made! (Ruarc did not want to have to test his reflexes to keep the Commander’s guest from face-planting onto the stones.) Finally, Doctor Jackson’s gaze started to wander to the scenery: the towering ancient trees, the hardy wildflowers and shrubs that grow unhindered along the edges of the road … unhindered until they try to grow onto the road, the rolling fields that stretched as far as the eye could see between the gaps in the trees.

Wait until spring comes again! The hardy fall-flowers, as beautiful as they were, had nothing on Uslisgas in spring.

There was wonder in Doctor Jackson’s eyes as he took everything in, which made Ruarc wonder what it would be like to look at his home-world and all the worlds he visited with fresh eyes. These had been the lands he had wandered across and fought in all his life. The landscapes … they just … are … now for me … I’m not sure I’ve ever stopped to just look at them. A lifetime of war had made him jaded … made us all jaded.

Everything was new and fresh and wondrous for Doctor Jackson.

Maybe we all could use a fresh perspective.

Finally, Doctor Jackson broke the silence, and his inquisitive spirit reappeared, and Ruarc found himself on the receiving end of yet more questions, questions which he had now had more of the language ability to comprehend and respond to.

“Ruarc, what is the proper way to address the Commander since I’m not in your military?”

And he does not know of her status in the imperial household yet.

“‘Lady Sujanha’ or ‘Commander Sujanha’ will do. ‘Lady’ would be the less formal address of the two and the one she usually prefers. ‘Supreme Commander’ is reserved for the most formal situations.”

Or the times she is quite angry or trying to make a point. When the Commander’s tone turned biting cold and she insisted on being addressed as Supreme Commander, it was a clear sign that the discussion had just taken a massive turn for the worse, and back-peddling quickly was probably in order. I’ve only heard her do that a few times, and politics … and High Councilors … were usually involved.

“Is ‘Lady’ a courtesy title or a sign of rank or something else entirely?”

I’m not even sure what the conversation was that gave us that word in English.

Maybe it was a conversation with the Commander or something from the transcripts.

“It can be both,” Ruarc replied, “It is most often a form of address given as a mark of respect to the women of the Empire whatever the rank, though it can be a sign of rank at times.” Among the more distant members of the imperial family … not that there are any of those still living currently. “It is never not right to call a woman as ‘lady.’”

“Thanks. Do you mind another question?”

“I am at your service, Doctor Jackson. I will answer as many questions as you have that I know the answers to.”

Or have the English comprehension to understand and answer.

“Daniel.”

Ruarc made a questioning hum.

“You don’t need to keep calling me ‘Doctor Jackson,’” His companion clarified, “‘Daniel’ is fine.”

“As you wish, Daniel,” replied Ruarc.

What types of questions will it be this time?

“Yesterday, the Chief Judge said, after he granted me asylum, that I was granted ‘all the rights and privileges of one of our own people,’ of one of the Furlings. What exactly does that mean?” Daniel shoved his glasses back up his nose again.

Maybe you need some other means of improving your eyesight. Ruarc wasn’t sure whether his glasses were ill fitting, or whether the gesture was simply a nervous one.

And a very astute question.

“I suspect that it means much of what citizenship should mean on Midgard,” Ruarc was thankful that terms like had been used during that meeting, because he did not relish the thought of having to discuss “citizenship” without actually being able to use the straightforward term. How would I even talk around that?? “Protections by the laws; obedience to the laws; right to work, including in the government; free passage among our territories, and so on.”

“Since I am a citizen but not a Furling,” Daniel mused, “What jobs could I get?”

Why would there be a limit? You are not a Furling by blood, but you are the citizen of a Furling Empire. Why would the distinction matter?

Maybe Midgard politics or quirks I do not want to know.

“Under law,” Ruarc replied slowly, “You may serve any job you that you have the knowledge and experience for. Our allies in the Empire and those from other worlds granted asylum and citizenship have the rights of our own race. There is no … making apart.”

“Distinction.”

“Distinction, my thanks to you. There is no distinction,” Ruarc went on, “Once you learn our tongue, the galaxy shall be open to you. If you desire to work in the library, many of our scholars would desire the chance to learn of the peoples of Midgard and of Avalon that you have met. If you desire to work under Sujanha to help cause the downfall of the Goa’uld, you may.”

(As much as she thought his help would be useful in working towards the start of the War of Deliverance, the Commander had forbidden anyone pressuring Daniel toward one decision or another, but given that his concern for his wife had driven him towards the Furlings in the first place, there was no harm in mentioning the possibility.)

I doubt his wife is far from his mind. Daniel periodically touched his jacket over his heart, and since he did not look, smell, or act ill, I wonder if he has a picture of her in his jacket.

“You really mean any?” Daniel asked, his head swiveling to look at Ruarc instead of the road ahead for a moment, his face and voice … somewhat skeptical.

Is it not so on your world?

Politics sometimes could affect such decisions, and since his world’s … country’s! … that there were so many countries on Midgard still flabbergasted Ruarc … how does it even function? … politics were questionable in some areas, there could be problems in those regards there, too.

“Yes,” Ruarc replied, “Some of your species have even risen to sit on the High Council, though I must admit it is rare. Are matters different on Midgard?”

Daniel gave a snort, an expression Ruarc was not sure how to interpret. Among many of the other races in Asteria, it would be a sign of anger, but Daniel did not seem angry. “No,” Daniel replied with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, “Well … not necessarily. In the United States, some jobs are limited to any citizens, while others are limited to those who are citizens by birth. Politics, culture, it’s complicated. Why is it rare to have a human on the High Council?” His tone changed to the same curious tone that usually preceded more questions.

Not that it bothers me.

Daniel was refreshingly inquisitive and curious, and everything new about the culture he was living in seemed to fascinate him.

He has a very keen mind, a scholar’s curiosity.

“But in rare times” like Janth trying to unseat the Commander! Ruarc fought back a visible response to the anger that thought brought, “High Councilors and High Chancellors hold that position for life. There are few human peoples in Asteria. My people, the Furlings, and many of our allies are very long-lived. That means that it is only at times that those not of one of the long-lived peoples are able to rise to sit on the High Council.”

There was still a puzzled look on Daniel’s face.

Human peoples were always the majority, but have all the long-lived species in Avalon perished from the stars?

Ruarc decided to take a different tactic, “How long do your people live?”

“About 70 to 80 years on average.”

From the discussions on Gaia several days previously, Ruarc knew roughly how long a Midgard year was in comparison to a Furling year. He was silent for several minutes as he quickly did some rough calculations, wishing as he did so that Ragnar was there, for his brother was always the quicker in doing figures mentally.

Stars in Heaven!

Even the shortest-lived of the human peoples here live twice that long on the whole!

“The short-lived human peoples in our galaxy live around 130 of our years on the whole, which is about 150 of your years … if my numbers are right. More common life-times are between 800 and 2000 years. I am one of the Sukkim, a … under-kind of the Furling, one of many. One of the Sukkim or one of the Maskilim like Commander Sujanha’s brother can live as long as 6000 of our years on the whole—about 6800 of your years—though some of the other under-types might only live half-that. Of the other peoples of Asteria, only the Dovahkiin are believed to live longer than my people.”

Daniel’s mouth dropped open, and his eyes went wide, “My …” He cut himself off at the beginning of what sounded to be some sort of imprecation. “I can’t imagine …” He shook himself, “How old are you? … If that’s not wrong to ask.”

“It is not wrong … not in private,” Ruarc replied. “What year is it on your world?”

“Noted. Uh, it’s 1998 AD, about a quarter of the way through the year … if that matters.” He had a glazed look in his eyes like the one the Commander could get if she was thinking too much.

Okay … 1998 … so assuming they have an age system the same as we do … and that they have not changed the calendrical system …

“These numbers are rough, but …” Ruarc paused, doubling checking his math, “My brother and I are womb-mates, so we were born at the same time. We are 1263 years old as of the previous month, and in your years, we were born in … 556 AD. The Commander is older than us.” He paused, quickly did another set of figures. “She was born around 424 AD.”

“I can’t imagine living that long,” Daniel murmured, apparently stunned beyond belief, judging by his wide eyes and stunned voice, “All you could see! All you could do! The possibilities …”

I wish it were that simple … of long-life giving you more possibilities.

It was not.

A scholar’s thought to think so … I could imagine Odin have thinking so in your position.

Long-lives meant that wars could last for thousands of years. Long-lives led to feuds that otherwise might die out in a handful of years among one of the shorter-lived races lasting for hundreds of years, instead. I think the feud over Odin’s death is still a problem in the Imperial House! Political issues could drag on for tens of years.

Long-lives meant that there was not necessarily a need to do some things more quickly.

We always thought … ‘there is time.’

The Great War had shattered that illusion. To many people had said ‘I have time,’ and then never returned from the wars, never made peace, never done this or that. Long-life meant living on and watching person after person of the shorter-lived races die, meant sometimes watching a whole people die out. Long-lives could breed resentment among those not so blessed with length of years.

Long-life was not always a blessing … thought sometimes it has its mercies.

A short-live … that would teach you to make the most of every day that you have, live every day to its fullest … when you have so few.

Daniel seemed to be caught up in those thoughts, probably imagining as a scholar what could be accomplished in a lifespan that long, and silence returned. That silence lingered for most of the rest of the walk to the city, until they crested one final small hill and saw Uslisgas spread out before them. It was a beautiful sight, if now a somewhat sad one for Ruarc. The city had greatly changed because of the war, and it still felt strange to see the city so much less … busy … and alive than it had been years before when the war had not been at its worst.

And I never even knew the city BEFORE the war!

“So, Ohper told me that we are in a different galaxy. How far is Asteria from the Milky-Way … from Avalon, I mean? Why do you call it Avalon?” Daniel asked at that point.

“We call your galaxy Avalon because that is what the Ancients called it long ago, and the Furling never made a separate word for it,” Ruarc replied. “Asteria is … I do not know the length measurements in Midgard terms, but it would take a Goa’uld mothership about 111 of your years to reach the borders of this galaxy.”

“Yikes,” Daniel muttered.

That is a strange word.

Silence fell again, and Ruarc led the way into the city through the sparse late-morning crowds. The two wound their way through the streets of the residential district of small-to-medium sized stone-structures built to last for thousands of years or the larger six-to-seven story residential buildings with smaller homes.

When they reached the edges of the broad north-south street that led into the Great Market, Ruarc asked, “What stores do you desire to visit first?”

“Clothes would be helpful,” Daniel replied, “I only have two pair. I could use a razor, too.” He motioned to his chin.

That is what you call it then. An interesting word.

They had entered the Great Market at that point, and at the mention of clothes, Ruarc turned left instead of continuing straight, since the shops for the clothes maker and sellers were along the southern edge of the Great Market generally. Rho should have a clothing to his taste, I think. Ruarc led the way to a small two-story stone building outside of which hung a small sign advertising clothing for sale in both the Furling and Lapiths scripts. The inside of the store was somewhat warm for his tastes, but since Rho has to work here all day, the temperature is set to the needs of her biology. The walls were decorated in colors that brought to mind the marshes of Noreia, the Lapith homeworld. One half of the store was devoted to shelves upon shelves of cloth of all types and colors with the other materials needed for sewing garments in boxes further back in the store. The other half of the store held racks of pre-made clothing.

“Rho,” called Ruarc as they entered, careful to pitch his voice to carry but not to shout. The Lapith were known for their acute hearing, which aided them in hunting, but on a busy world, the louder environment noises could be physically painful.

A hiss of acknowledgement drifted back from the rear of the store within seconds, and within a few moments, the soft tap-tap-tap of footsteps approached where Daniel and Ruarc were waiting just inside the door, and then Rho Trunec, the Lapith shop owner, appeared. Out of the corner of his eye, Ruarc saw Daniel start … but only slightly.

The Lapith are certainly … surprising … to those used to human peoples.

The Lapith were a humanoid species, though no one who was not blind could mistake them for humans.[5] You’d have to be deaf, also! Instead of fur or skin, Rho had dark grey scales that overlapped so closely as to make an almost impenetrable armor against bladed-weapon. What nose she had was flattened into her skull with only large openings where nostrils otherwise would be. Her ears and her dark eyes were similarly recessed into her skull. Like with the Dovahkiin, large claws on her feet were the cause of the tapping sound when she was walked, and a tail trailed the ground behind her, giving her almost impossible balance. And a weapon … especially with those spikes.

“Daniel, this is Rho Trunec, the shopkeeper. Her people are the Lapith,” Ruarc introduced Daniel first and then switched into Furling, “Rho, this is Daniel. He was granted asylum two days ago and is a guest of the Commander. He escaped his world with only the clothes on his back and is in need of a full wardrobe.”

Rho tilted her head and scanned Daniel from head to toe and then looked back at Ruarc, giving a long hiss with an upward lilt at the end and making several quick gestures with her claw-tipped fingers. Before she had been a shopkeeper, she had served as a scout for the Lapith Army during the Great War, and during one mission, which Ruarc had never learned the particulars of, her neck had been injured, and she had lost the use of her voice. She could still make noises, hence the hisses, but not form words, and relied on both those hisses and sign-language to speak.

I wonder if Midgard has non-verbal languages … The ranks of the injured among all the peoples of the Empire who had lost either the ability to see, hear, or speak … or sometimes multiple of those … had been much too high, and standardizing the various sign-languages amongst the Empire was still a work in progress to ease the ability of all of those to communicate

“Do you have a preference as to clothing … a kind?” Ruarc asked.

Daniel paused, frowned for a moment, and then gave a half-shrug, “Something practical and durable … long-lasting … and not completely foreign.”

I think I know what he means by that.

With Ruarc trailing along behind, Rho led Daniel toward the back of the store where the racks of pre-made clothes were, and they set to work finding him a new wardrobe. By the time midday was passed, Daniel had a complete wardrobe of five new sets of practical clothes, somewhat similar the Midgard style that he had been wearing, all in dark colors and two pairs of nightclothes along with under clothes, a light jacket, a heavy jacket for cold weather, and a good pair of gloves.

That style looks Boii, I think.

Ruarc settled the accounts with Rho, giving the banking information that the Commander had forwarded to him that morning … I’ll explain all of this to him at lunch and he can change the protecting information later … and then led the way outside, leaving Rho to box up the clothing and send it along to the house once she was finished, “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” Daniel said, a note of confusion in his voice, “but don’t we need to get my clothes?”

Ah, yes, I probably should have explained that before we left. He was so used to that way of doing things, of having heavy packages sent along to the residence he and his brother shared, that he had not even stopped to think about it.

“We still have stops left to complete.” Ruarc replied, glancing across at Daniel, “That box will be heavy enough that you would not want to carry it for several more hours.” I wouldn’t want to carry it around for hours! “Rho will have it sent to the lady’s house. It will be waiting for you there when you return.”

“Oh, okay.”

The two bought their lunch at a different outdoor shop than from several days before. This shop sold mugs of spiced tea, sandwiches, and fragrant, spicy soup that had changed over time into a unique version of whatever culture or cultures’ food it had originated from. The seller was one of the Cesneors, a frail woman named Deayi.

Over lunch, Ruarc explained … in fits and starts … with internal curses against the necessity of having to explain anything about money and banking in a language of which he not only had an incomplete grasp of but also had a complete lack of technical terms. But by the end, he thought that Daniel had at least a basic idea of the Furling banking system, how credit worked in stores, and where and when it was generally custom to buy with coin.

After lunch, the two wandered around the Great Square for several more hours, picking up the other things that Daniel still needed: a razor; a stack of books with blank paper for Daniel to keep his journals in, he said, though what a journal was Ruarc had no conception; a clock that Ruarc promised to adapt to tell time in Midgard numerals … once I know what those numbers ARE and how they actually correspond; a picture-stone for the picture that Ruarc assumed Daniel was keeping in his jacket pocket, if he doesn’t have one, he’ll find use for it eventually, and the cost is small … the nature and use of the stone Ruarc promised to explain later a small contraption; as well as a few random other things.

The sun was setting when Daniel and Ruarc returned to the Commander’s house, and the internal lights were on, signaling that she had already returned from work. It’s a wonder! It’s time for the evening meal, and she’s already left!

“Your boxes will be in the house. The money for those things will be deducted from your account at the end of the week,” said Ruarc.

“Thank you for the help today,” Daniel replied.

“I am glad of the time to be of help. I will return tomorrow after the mid-day meal to help set up your clock for your way of writing and make some adjustments to the program that helps run the house.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, and thanks for the help today.”

“It was my pleasure.”

[1] Equivalent to someone from Earth saying that they would follow someone to Hell and back. According to Furling religious beliefs, the soul at death is freed from the confines of the flesh and is set free to set sail on its final journey across the Sea of Night until it reaches the Eternal Halls, the home of the Maker in the uttermost north.

[2] Quoted from Prescot, Gates of Fire.

[3] Paraphrased from C. S. Lewis, The Horse and His Boy.

[4] An Asgardian epithet meaning “Steadfast” that was granted to the Furling Supreme Commander during the Great War.

[5] One inspiration: https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c5/02/ab/c502abc541aff10ec2246bff1afb98c6.jpg

Chapter Text

It was absolutely amazing, staggering, mind-blowing, how much one’s life could change in less than two weeks. Less than a week ago Daniel had still been on Gaia trying to absorb the monumental shift in his life, one in a string of “how is this my life moments?”, and trying to figure out where to go from there, both literally and figuratively. Less than two weeks earlier, Daniel had still had a job with Stargate Command, with his friends and his teammates on SG1, still had his apartment and his office with all his journals and his books and his research and his artifacts … and oh, how he missed all those resources now that the galaxy … galaxies had opened up before him. He had been happy with his life, and all that was missing were Sha’re and Skaara. Then … everything had changed in a matter of days. Daniel had tried to do the right thing by helping the Tollan escape from earth to keep them from being virtual prisoners of the NID. In return he had been accused of trumped-up charges of treason and had been himself forced to flee.

But now …

Now …

The Furlings. He was living in another galaxy … a galaxy far-far away, literally. (Thinking about Star Wars made him nostalgic for earth and made him miss his teammates all the more. I’ve lost track of how many times Teal’c has watched Star Wars.) He was living with the Furlings, one of the member-races of the Alliance, of which the Asgard and the Ancients, the gate-builders, had been a part.

It was staggering.

So much history.

So many new cultures.

So many new languages!!!!!

So much to learn!!

Uslisgas … the planet and the city … were … was? … already proving to be a far cry from Abydos and the other alien worlds in the Milky-Way Daniel had spent the most time on. On Abydos, if it weren’t for the multiple moons in the sky, Daniel could have fooled himself sometimes into believing he was in Egypt … if time-travel was a possibility … or … is it?? Now he was in a completely separate galaxy, so far it would take the Goa’uld over 100 years to reach it.

(It was rather mind-boggling.)

The Furlings and their allies … he still needed to learn how exactly the Furling Empire was comprised … not since Nem had Daniel seen any humanoid races as alien in appearance as them. And while Uslisgas’ style of architecture was much less alien and much more normal … to my conception thereof … than he had been expecting … I was expecting something more Star Wars-ish and less earthy … even Goa’uld architecture and artistic motifs had been very similar to earth … the casual use of advanced technology, everything from the beaming technology like the Asgard’s to move from place to place to Ruarc’s personal shield that he had used to keep from getting bowled over by a tumbling box while he was giving Daniel and Lya a tour of the city, had helped impress on Daniel that … as Jack might say, I’m not in Kansas anymore.

And when it came to alien … Daniel was still trying to absorb the mere idea of living for thousands of years. Even in earth years, which were shorter than Furling years, an average lifespan of 6000 years for those two Furling subspecies … six-thousand years ago, Narmer had not even united Egypt under his rule, and there were not even proto-writings in Sumer yet.

The Roman Empire was still a thing when the Commander was born!!!

It was staggering how much you could see and do, how many peoples you could meet, how many cultures you could experience in a lifetime that long. The possibilities were endless and staggering.

For every similarity Daniel could find himself drawing to a culture from earth or a culture from the Milky-Way more broadly, there was something eye-openingly or shockingly different.

The government for one! It was going to be strange living under a king … in an empire … which was a really strange mixture. And their method for determining asylum! It seemed basically to be the equivalent of just talking to the Chief Justice and answering a number of questions!

At least I have notebooks again! It had been so frustrating the first couple of days to have so many thoughts he wanted to put down on paper … and nothing to write on or with.

This was cultural immersion … even more immersive than it had been on Abydos. The culture had been familiar because of his studies. It had only taken some vowel shifts, and then, with his knowledge of Egyptian, he had been able to speak to Sha’re. Not so with the Furlings. The Furling tongue, which seemed to be only one of multiple languages widely spoken on Uslisgas, given the mish-mash of languages he had heard at the market, was one that his prior language training would be no help with.

At least they’re picking up English fast like the Nox did, or we might be stuck with charades for longer.

Commander Sujanha, as well as Ragnar and Ruarc, her two bodyguards, had been, politely, trying to stick to speaking English as much as possible in front of him, which he appreciated and felt frustrated with at the same time.

I can’t listen for familiar words if they don’t speak Furling!

Not that he had heard any familiar words or possible derivations from his small corpus of Nox words or with the even smaller corpus of Asgardian words he remembered hearing Commander Thor using during the events on Cimmeria … the second time around.

Ruarc’s tablet with the language program/flashcards was going to be invaluable. Daniel wished Sam was there just so that she could get a look at the tablet itself, which was similar to a computer in some ways … but much higher tech.

And it can make holograms!!

Daniel was not totally sure what to make of the Furling Commander and her bodyguards yet. They were all … nice was a very poor descriptor. Patient, unfailingly polite, restrained, but kind, too. Sujanha seemed the most … different, restrained of the three, though that probably came from being Supreme Commander, having the responsibility for so many people … however many that were. He didn’t even have any idea how large the Furling civilization was, though considering they had what was sounding like a galactic-wide empire, probably quite large.

I wonder why the Asgard and the Furlings have the same military title?

And that was an interesting thought because the Commander seemed to have Asgardian blood. She was trying to be a good host, but she was gone at work more than she was at home, but from the time that Daniel had spent with her, there was no mistaking the out-of-proportion, too long limbs, the entirely black pupil-less eyes … which the other Furlings he had met did not seem to have, and the short stubby fingers on her hands … paws?. Yes, he had only met one Asgard—Thor—once, but their appearance had stuck in his mind given the resemblance to the Roswell Greys, and there was no mistaking those features.

But those thoughts were about to lead him down yet more mental rabbit trails, and it was time to sleep. He had nothing but time now, it seemed, and there would be time to absorb the Furling culture, to think about Sujanha’s comments over dinner when she had seemed exhausted from work and he had asked how he could help.

If the Fleet needs intelligence about the Goa’uld, they’d be better off with Jack … or Teal’c … both.

But Jack and Teal’c and Sam ... they weren’t there. It was just Daniel now.

But anything Daniel knew about the Goa’uld, their numbers, their worlds, about possible allies for the Furlings in the Milky-Way, anything that he had learned from Teal’c or Earth’s allies or on his missions, anything that he knew he would gladly share if in any way it might help bring Sha’re and Skaara home.

There will be time for that later.

Rome was not built in a day.

29^th of Xuxiq, Fall, 6544 A.S.
(c. March 12, 1998)
Uslisgas, Asteria

It was still early when Daniel woke the next morning, or at least it felt early. The sun had already risen, though his watch said it was the wee hours of the morning on earth. Well, that’s no help at all. He was looking forward to Ruarc getting his clock set up so he would have a better idea of the Furling time schedule.

Has he said how many hours are in a day on Uslisgas?

Or how a day is usually structured? Daniel made a mental note to ask both questions once Ruarc arrived.

Daniel pulled on a pair of clothes he had bought from … Rho Trunec … the Lapith shopkeeper the previous day, and by the time he had brushed his hair and teeth and pulled his boots on, he thought that he might like his new clothes better than his BDUs. Despite the familiarity of his old clothes, these new ones seemed sturdier, felt nicer, and were cut better. He did pull his BDU jacket on over his clothes, though, since the house felt a little cooler that morning.

Commander Sujanha had already departed, but there were fresh dishes in the sink soaking and waiting to be washed and a fresh pot of spiced tea in the refrigerator. The tea was not coffee, which Daniel found that he missed … though not so much after the caffeine withdrawal had passed, but it was good, reminding him of some of the drinks he had been served during his various digs in the Middle East.

(Daniel still found it amusing how Furling culture … or what he knew of it so far … was a strange mix of the very advanced and the perfectly normal. They could beam instantly from one place to another, but they … or the Commander, at least … still washed dishes by hand.)

Um, okay.

Breakfast was the same as the previous morning: breakfast sandwiches, but there was a new kind of meat and a new type of bread, and the bowl of fruit on the counter had been refilled … since dinner the previous night. Judging by the contents of the fridge since he had arrived, the Commander did not seem to be one for variety.

(But that was okay, Daniel wasn’t particularly picky.)

Once he had finished eating and left his dishes to soak, Daniel retrieved his notebook and the tablet Ruarc had given him from his room. Finding a nice seat in the living room with a good view of the garden with its colorful flowers, he spent the morning starting to catch up, in great detail, on his journals that he had been neglecting since, until yesterday, he had no good writing materials since leaving earth.

I hope nothing happens to all my books and my old notebooks.

Hopefully Jack or Sam can keep them safe.

Eventually, his hand began to cramp from writing so much. I’m half-way caught up now, at least! He switched at that point to studying the vocabulary card program that Ruarc had made, listening to the words and sentences again and again. He did that until he grew hungry again, and after eating a quick lunch, he decided to go examine the Commander’s library, which he had been granted permission to do from the first but had not done yet.

Sujanha’s library was a medium-sized room that took up the entire back section of the house on the lower floor of her two-story house. There were no windows, and the only light came from artificial lights along the ceiling, which were thankfully natural-colored, not blue-colored like the strange blue lamps that seemed to be widely used in some of the governmental buildings downtown. They make everything weirdly tinted. All four walls were covered with tall bookshelves that Daniel would have needed a step-ladder to reach the top shelves of, and the only free wall-space was the door. Her library was extensive.

You live for thousands of years. ‘s not like you’re short of time to collect books!

On top of each bookcase—in the short space between it and the ceiling—were set different knick-knacks: large and colorful shells; several odd statues, whose significance Daniel wondered at; two model ships … the one on the right looks like Thor’s ship … is the other a Furling ship? (He had no way of knowing for sure.); a handful of wooden carvings, probably of animals. Those carvings, from what he could see from floor level … with my eyes! … looked the most interesting. One looked like professional work, but the other three were much rougher in quality.

Looks like a novice’s work?

Maybe a child’s?

A desk took up most of the floor space at one end of the room. There was a lamp—another one of those blue ones?—on a stand on the desk along with several massive books, another one of those computer-like tablets, and a handful of scarab-like stones. A large stuffed chair stood behind the desk and two more in front.

The shelves were covered in books of all sizes and a handful of scrolls. Several books that looked quite old and fragile were deposited separately on their own shelf. Not knowing the languages in which any of Sujanha’s books were written or even the manner in which the library was organized—definitely need to find that out—Daniel settled for pulling a book at random off a shelf.

The book he ended up choosing was a large one, several hundred pages long at least … the pages were numbered, not that he could read the numbers, and it was finely bound. Taking a seat in one of the comfy chairs, he carefully started to flip through it. The label on the front cover (a title, perhaps) was written in Asgardian runes which he recognized from the pictures he had had of Heliopolis, and the rest of the book except for select spots (probably quotations from other sources) seemed to be written in the same script.

I see at least half-a-dozen other scripts in this book, and only one of them is Furling.

From the copious number of diagrams of what looked like battle plans from the layout and pictures of spaceships (some similar to Thor’s ship, others different designs including one that matched the other model ship), Daniel guessed that it might be a book of military tactics or perhaps a book of military history.

Returning that book to its shelf, Daniel picked up another book at random from a separate shelf. This book was also carefully bound and had what appeared to be gilt edges. It was written in the spiky, curved script—it looks like someone smashed Urdu and Tolkien’s elvish together—that the Furlings used. There were no pictures or diagrams to give him a clue as to the book’s contents, so he used the chance to study the orthography instead. After slowly studying this book and another book also in Furling … short lines of varying length … poetry? … that he grabbed off the shelf, Daniel was able to conclude that the Furling language had an alphabet longer than English alphabet given the number of different signs he could count on two pages (over 40 before he lost count), no obvious punctuation marks … at least it has spaces between words, might be an inflected language, and might be made up of bound groups similar to Coptic.

Daniel lost himself to exploring Sujanha’s library for a while after lunch. There were so many books to examine. Aside from the books in Asgard and in Furling, he discovered books written in several other languages, as well, which was interesting.

I wonder how many languages the Commander knows.

Finally, the ‘auto pilot’ that ran the house suddenly spoke. “Doctor Jackson, Ruarc arrives,” the voice surprisingly spoke in English (Sujanha had not mentioned making the adjustments to the program yet) that was somewhat stilted and not quite right, but still very close.

Grammar is almost right … for a two-word sentence.

Inflection is way-off. It sounds like a robot.

“Thank you,” Daniel replied automatically before he remembered that he was talking to a very advanced computer program … it isn’t sentient, is it? (What would have been impossible on earth was not necessarily impossible here.) Filing that thought away for later, he put the book he had been examining away and then made his way out into the hallway.

Well, it is a computer program … so close enough???

Ruarc, with a large box tucked under one arm, had just entered, and the front door was sliding shut behind him. Apparently, he had permission to come and go as he pleased without someone letting him in.

“Good afternoon, Ruarc,” Daniel greeted him.

“Fair afternoon, Daniel,” Ruarc replied, “I have brought extra food. The Commander is not known for her varied taste.” It was confirmation of what Daniel had already noted.

“I already ate, but thank you.”

“The food will keep. Just let me put it away in the cold box, and then we can get to work.”

“What do I need to bring down?”

“The clock and the other small stone to start.”

By the time Daniel had returned from his room with those two stones, Ruarc had put away the food and was already in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor. A massive hologram that bore a striking resemblance to an oversized spreadsheet was floating in midair before him.

Did the Furling invent Excel, too? Was Daniel’s first thought, quickly followed by. Sam would love this.

As soon as Daniel entered, Ruarc swiped a hand … paw? He has fingers and opposable thumbs, but … much more paw-like … through the hologram, which immediately shrunk to a much smaller and more manageable size … that doesn’t take up half the room. What would happen if I stepped through it? … and pushed it out of the way.

“Which do you want first?” Daniel asked, folding himself down to sit on the floor, his back against the couch.

“The other small stone, not the clock stone.” Ruarc replied.

Daniel pulled the stone Ruarc had indicated out of his pocket and studied it for a moment. Small enough in diameter to just fit inside the palm of his hand, though relatively deep, the stone was the color of black onyx and was finely polished until it was almost reflective. Straight down the center of the stone was a long notch, less than an eighth of an inch thick and less than half-an-inch deep. What the function of the device was—I have a feeling it’s not just a nice-looking stone—or why exactly Ruarc had added it to the to-buy list, Daniel did not know.

But I’m about to find out.

Motioning for Daniel to place the small stone on the small tablet next to where they were sitting, Ruarc said, “I told you to get this because I saw you touching a spot over your heart many times these past days.”

I suppose I have. It was an instinctive gesture now, one Daniel was not always cognizant of doing.

“I keep a photo of my wife in my pocket,” he replied, “It’s the only one I have left of her that is with me.” All his other pictures and relics of his time on Abydos were with all of his other belongings … back on earth … and far out of reach.

“May I have it for a moment?”

Unzipping the chest pocket of his BDU jacket, Daniel carefully pulled out his only photo of Sha’re and handed it across to Ruarc, who took it gently. He rested the photo inside the notch in the stone and then tapped the stone twice with one claw. A blue line sprang up suddenly and scanned across the photo. When the light had disappeared, Ruarc carefully returned the picture to Daniel, who returned it to his pocket, and then double-tapped the stone again. From it, a hologram—a perfect duplicate of Daniel’s picture—sprang up.

“We all have images that are dear to us,” Ruarc said quietly, a distant look in his eyes, “And these stones are quite hard to break. Tap twice to make an image come or go. An image will not appear while the top is covered if the stone gets knocked while in a bag or pocket.”

Tears stung at Daniel’s eyes as he looked at the projected picture of his wife’s smiling, carefree face. “Thank you,” Daniel finally forced the words out through the lump in his throat, “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Ruarc bowed his head in acknowledgment, “You can add more pictures to the stone in the same manner and then page through them.”

I wish I had a photo of us as a team to add. Daniel scrubbed the cuff of his jacket across his eyes.

With the high-tech photo album complete for the moment, the two set to work on the clock next. Ruarc took the clock-stone over to a small desk on the other side of the room and set it on top of some sort of panel. A holographic screen immediately appeared in front of where Ruarc had been sitting, a different screen from the high-tech spreadsheet.

“Many of our stones, whatever their use, are based upon the control stones that the Asgard use in much of their technology. Simpler ones like the photo screen have very simple controls. More complicated ones like the clocks require a more complex control set, because of the variations by race and planet of scripts and day-lengths.”

“How many hours are in a day here?” Daniel asked. “Actually, how does the calendar break down? Where could I find a calendar?”

Ruarc shot him an amused look, “You will have to tell me what a calendar is first.”

Oh, for ...

Daniel thumped himself on the forehead, “Sorry. A calendar is just a chart of the days, weeks, and months in a particular year, usually with the addition of particular holidays or important events.”

“Ah,” Ruarc tapped a few more virtual buttons, “There are approximately 25 of your hours in a day. There are eight days to a week, five weeks to a month, and ten months to a year. Those measurements hold for Uslisgas and for the imperial … calendar … used to line up events among multiple peoples. It can get … confusing … else with multiple peoples with just as many calendar forms.”

I bet!

On earth, it would be like trying to coordinate events between countries while using the Gregorian Calendar, the Julian Calendar, the lunar-solar calendar used by some Middle Eastern countries and maybe Ab urbe condita and a few other for good measures … all at the same time.

Sounds like a recipe for disaster and disorganization … and a good way to get nothing done quickly … or have a lot of people pull their hair out in the process.

“The current date is Day 29, Month 7—called Xuxiq—Year 653 of the reign of Ivar or in the Year 6544 of the post-settlement era,” Ruarc rattled off the date, “At some times you might hear Day 5, Week 4, Month 7. Government records usually go day, month, year. Oh, and it is currently the fading season.”

Post-settlement? I need a history book … and the ability to actually read it!!!!

Fall then?

Ruarc paused, tapped a few more virtual buttons. “As for seeing a calendar,” he switched abruptly out of English and back into Furling, speaking several quick sentences into thin air, and a few moments later a hologram appeared next to Daniel’s head. It was a calendar … not quite identical to one he might see on earth, but close enough for easy recognition … with the current day highlighted in a colored box. The name of each month topped the box for that month, each of which had exactly five weeks, beginning on the first day of the first week and ending on the last day of the last week.

No weeks overlapping between months.

How does that work?

“Thanks,” Daniel murmured, still starring at the screen. He was studying the month names. All were short words. Seven of ten began with one of three different characters. Interesting, though not necessarily useful. “How is a week structured?”

“Days 1 and 8 are considered rest days, though the Commander often works at least partial days. A day lasts from dark-night, deemed the first hour, to dark-night. It used to be from dawn to dawn … several ages back. The sleeping period usually last from hour 24 to hour 5 or 6. Furlings need less resting than many peoples. At Headquarters, work begins at hour 8 and ends at hour 21 … with breaks for meals. Given the varying needs of races, we do not require others to fit line by line to our daily structure.”

Not horrendously different from earth then. Daniel was used to keeping long hours anyway, especially when he got wrapped up in an interesting project or translation. Then … sometimes … he forgot to sleep. I might start missing coffee again.

Ruarc paused and spun the holographic screen—the oversized spreadsheet—that he had pulled back up so that so it was facing Daniel. He then ‘zoomed’ it in so that there only two columns of text visible. The column on the left had a row of Furling characters, probably numerals, since they were dealing with a clock. The right-hand column was blank.

“In the blank column, I need you to enter your numerical symbols from smallest to largest for the full 25-hour period,” said Ruarc, “In other words, you need to write down the signs that you wish to represent the hours.”

Easy enough … except … What am I supposed to write with? And how?

“With what?” Daniel asked, unsure of how to work with these holographic screens.

Ruarc picked up what seemed to be a stylus off the small table and handed it to Daniel. The stylus looked much different than the styli Daniel was used to working with in the context of ancient Mesopotamian cuneiform texts. This stylus bore more of a resemblance to an extra thick pencil, though it felt like it was made of metal. It was perfectly cylindrical and was flat on one end and rounded on the other. After a few moments of fumbling, Daniel realized if he held the stylus like a piece of chalk, then he could ‘write’ or ‘draw’ on the holograms like on a chalkboard. His handwriting was a little shaky, but whatever program Ruarc was working with seemed to be standardizing his numbers. His straight lines became straighter, and his curves curvier.

Interesting that it knows how to do that.

Even after Daniel had entered the numbers in the spreadsheet and turned the screen back to Ruarc, it was about half-an-hour before Ruarc finished his work updating his clock.

Knowing the hour on earth is useless here, but the minutes are still helpful.

(Daniel figured that he would stop wearing his watch on a daily basis once he had a Furling time-piece, though he’d tuck it away for safe-keeping … just in case he got to go back one day.)

Ruarc explained why the updates were slow as he worked, “On all occasions, it requires more times to update a clock or a language package in the house-program or a stone to account for a new language or script. The lands of our people span almost the entirety of this galaxy. Within our lands are many cultures with their own systems of writings, some of which are extremely different from our own. It is a time-consuming, though not extremely complicated, task to enter their writing systems into the matrices and update the equivalences.”

By ours … you mean the Furlings?

Daniel nodded. He understood the gist of what Ruarc was saying, though some of the more technical elements went over his head. Daniel was more interested in the snippets Ruarc mentioned about the Furling system of government. “So the king rule all the lands of the empire then?”

“Yes and no,” Ruarc said. He was either good at multi-tasking or had done this work before, as he seemed to have no trouble talking and paging through screens at a very quick pace while he talked. “Our king’s exact title does not translate well into English but is close to ‘High King’ or maybe ‘Great King.’ He is called that because there are other kings or councils who rule the other peoples of the Empire, not the Furlings, themselves, and Ivar King rules over them all. The depth of Furling control over these other territories varies by people and planet. No land is forced to come under our rule, and no territory is coerced into staying by violence or even threat of if they prefer to leave. Any people may leave if they wish, but the peoples who remain under our rule have certain obligations towards the king.”

“Like?” Daniel asked, his fingers itching to start scribbling in his notebook again.

“Military support, trading rights, forwarding of some criminal cases to our law courts, use of a standardized money system. And in return, we have certain important obligations toward the peoples under our rule: military support, supplies and aids after disasters or famines, fair treatment at all times, and the like.” He paused and then added, “Once you know our tongue, you could read the treaties that bind the empire … though the texts are very … wide?”

“‘Thick’ or ‘dense’ is probably the word you want in English if you mean those legal texts are hard to understand,” Daniel noted, before asking, “So, is the king the law? Why do you have a High Council?”

Is this an absolute monarchy? Constitutional?

Half-way in between … if there is such a thing.

Daniel was in his element now, parsing through all he was learning and filing away salient point to scribble down later. It was nice to be able to sit and learn and ask questions without fear of being prodded into hurrying up … like with Jack. He never understood.

“Yes, that is what I meant, so I thank you,” Ragnar replied, “As to your first question, the answer is both yes and no. The High King’s word is law and cannot be overruled except in extreme circumstances. However, he must act and is bound to act within the confines of the already established laws, both religious and political. It has never been necessary in our history, but the King can be overruled by a united vote of the High Council.”

So … the king has actual power, not just influence like with a constitutional monarchy, but there are checks and balances to his power.

“As to the High Council,” Ruarc continued, “it is the main governing body for the empire, as I said before. Its power is greater than the courts’, usually, and less than the king’s, also usually. It exists because the matters of state by this period in our history are too great for one man to handle. Our empire spans almost the entire galaxy and in years past spanned almost two galaxies. Our King is only one man. He must have aid to do justice by his people."

Two galaxies!? My …

The Goa’uld as a whole ruled most of the Milky-Way Galaxy … for now … but any sense of unity was a veneer, and the Goa’uld ‘Empire’ was more like a series of petty kingdoms ruled by the System Lords under the authority of a Supreme System Lord, which had been Ra … until we blew him to kingdom come. As far as Daniel knew, a new one had never been appointed.

The Furlings also ruled a series of other kingdoms, but Daniel seriously doubted that the entire empire was ready to blow apart at the seams or that the kingdoms would start trying to destroy each other … like the Systems Lords. For them, fighting each other was just another day at the office.

“Makes sense,” replied Daniel.

After a few more minutes, Ruarc paged out of the complicated screens and retrieved the clock stone from where it was sitting on the desk. He brought it back to where they were sitting and placed it on the table. He tapped it twice with one claw, and immediately a holographic projection appeared. Their labors had been successful, for in front of them appeared in Arabic numerals the current time: 16:21. It was later than Daniel had realized, glancing down at his watch and seeing how far off it actually was.

Just past ten in the morning on earth.

Late afternoon here.

Uhhh, definitely far off.

“Thank you,” said Daniel, “It really has been hard without a working clock. This will be very helpful.” Especially with the information about daily schedules.

“I’m very glad to be of assistance,” Ruarc replied with a nod of his great head. “My lady said that the language matrix for the house needed some more upgrades since its updates are rather stiff right now. Are you weary of this type of work, or do you feel like helping me a while longer?”

Rather wooden? Yeah.

“I’d be glad to help, if you’ll try to explain what these language matrices are and what you are doing.”

“With pleasure, though you will need to explain aspects of your language for me to make the adjustments.”

Thus, the two started back to work, English lessons and all, and the hours slipped away.

Ruarc was kind enough to give up the rest of his week, as well, to accompany Daniel around Uslisgas further and continue to help him get adjusted. After exploring the city some more and pointing out more important locations and shops in the Lower City, Ruarc took Daniel back up to the Acropolis, the Upper City located on a cliff that towered above the plain and contained military headquarters, various governmental buildings, the Royal Palace, and … most importantly … the massive Great Library of Uslisgas.

The library was the type of building that, if Daniel had no other responsibilities and a lifespan as long as the Furling, he could help lose himself in the stacks and stacks of books and forget to reappear, forget to eat … sleep … because of all the books, all the knowledge just waiting to be read and absorbed.

An academic’s dream!

The more Daniel saw of the library, the less he could wait to learn Furling so that he could start reading and reading and reading and reading.

That being said, he was also coming to the conclusion quickly that learning Furling would only be the beginning. The Great Library held texts of almost every species in Asteria, as well as texts of the Asgard and the Ancients, as well as texts of their ancient allies and of races from Asteria now lost to time, and its collection of texts was continually expanding.

I already know 20 languages.

What’s a few more?

The Great Library of Uslisgas had an old-world feel with room upon room of shelves that stretched up to the high ceiling and exquisite wood and stone architecture. It remained him of being at Oxford or in the New York Public Library. Considering that the library had ten floors of stacks in five separate wings, along with several more floors of varying usage below ground, Daniel was almost positive that the Furling’s library dwarfed the British Library, which was probably earth’s biggest library.

The visit to the Great Library only magnified Daniel’s desire to learn Furling as soon as possible. In return for all the English help Daniel had given them, Ruarc spent part of his weekend with Daniel, starting to teach him the basics of the Furling language. (He had already uploaded a large new stack of vocabulary words/phrases.)

Furling, Daniel quickly learned, was a language that was as precise as it was complex. No reading between the lines necessary. Its alphabet was longer than he had thought with 58 separate mono-syllabic signs, making it much lengthier than most alphabets on earth, though not as long as the Khmer alphabet of Cambodia with 74 letters. Thankfully. On top of that, there were a handful of multi-syllabic signs as well as non-phonetic determinatives as in Egyptian. Like Arabic, it also contained many sounds that were not even a part of the English alphabet.

With nouns, pronouns, and adjectives, gender and number were indicated by articles, while case was shown through inflections. With verbs, number and gender were shown through prefixes, unlike the inflections in Latin, and tense, mood, and voice were indicated through separate conjugations of the verbs. A strange combination of grammatical features … compared to what I’m used to.

To affect this precision, Furling vocabulary was quite complex, enough that Daniel couldn’t imagine how much it must have driven Sujanha and her bodyguards up the wall to be scrambling for a word only half-approaching what they wanted when speaking English.

The situation with the Furling vocabulary was similar to that of the Eskimo tribes on earth who had words not just for “snow” but for different types of “snow.” Likewise, Furling had words for basic concepts and then many other words for iterations of those concepts depending on context, nuance, and connotation. Daniel wondered if this precision in vocabulary and its ability to express very slight variations in meanings resulted from their physical forms and, from what he had seen, a lesser ability to convey some expression through physical body language than a human face; their alliances with other races with vastly different forms … thus compounding the body language problem; or some combination of both.

Chapter Text

34^th of Xuxiq, Fall, 6544 A.S.
(c. March 17, 1998)
Uslisgas, Asteria

Even in the midst of his ‘geeking out,’ as Jack probably would have called it, over all the new opportunities for study and learning about the Furlings and their allies, Daniel could never forget why exactly he was not with SG1 any longer, not helping in earth’s fight against the Goa’uld, not searching for Sha’re and Skaara. Nor had he forgotten his conversation with Sujanha at dinner several nights before and her statement about the Fleet badly needing intelligence to further its way toward their war against the Goa’uld.

“I have need of detailed information about the organization of the Goa’uld, about their numbers, about their home worlds, and about what worlds or peoples could be possible allies or must be protected from the Goa’uld. Thor has been able to provide me with some information, via his contact with the Goa’uld over the Protected Planets Treaty, but his information is less in depth over some of those issues than I suspect yours will be, considering your exploration of the galaxy and the fact that you had a Jaffa as a teammate,” she had said that night, rising from the table to put away dinner.

If the Fleet needs intelligence about the Goa’uld, they’d be better off with Jack … or Teal’c … both.

But Jack and Teal’c and Sam ... they weren’t there.

It was just Daniel now.

But anything Daniel knew about the Goa’uld, their numbers, their worlds, about potential allies for the Furlings in the Milky-Way, anything that he had learned from Teal’c or earth’s allies or on his missions, anything at all that he knew he would gladly share if in any way it might help bring Sha’re and Skaara home. He had joined the Furlings because he needed shelter, yes, but he also wanted to help bring about the fall of the Goa’uld who had stolen his family from him, and that could not be done while he sat idly by far away from the fighting.

With all those thoughts floating around in his mind, by the time Daniel had been on Uslisgas for a week, he was ready to get to work. The information Ruarc had given him about Furling daily schedules as well as his new clock set to Uslisgas time meant that he could conform his schedule’s more to the Commander’s and actually speak with over breakfast before she left for work every morning.

Daniel rose a little earlier than his new usual on the 34^th, a little before Sujanha’s footsteps would usually be heard going downstairs for breakfast. She could move very, very quietly, ninja-like, much of the time, but a couple of unavoidable creaky spots on the second-floor hallway and one on the stars sometimes gave her away. Daniel, however, as quietly as he tried to move could never move quietly enough to not be noticed, and that morning like the last couple of mornings, the Commander had heard him coming and greeted him right as he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Fair morning,” Sujanha greeted him in Furling.

Under Ruarc’s tutelage and with the aid of his ‘vocab’ program, Daniel had already learned a handful of basic greetings as well as “please” and “thank you” and some random other words or phrases. He was not even close to being able to hold even a basic conversation in Furling yet, but he was trying to use what he knew where he could for practice, and the others were reciprocating. As he began to speak some Furling and was able to listen more closely to the others speaking, he was starting to pick up on slight variations in speech pattern and accents between the Commander and her two body-guards.

“Fair morning,” Daniel replied in Furling, before switching back into English and continuing as he fixed himself a plate of food. Yay, something besides breakfast sandwiches. “You said a few days ago that I might be able to help by telling you what I know of the Goa’uld and their worlds and potential allies and all that.”

The Commander simply looked up from her tablet and plate of food and made a wordless motion of acknowledgement for him to continue.

“I know you said it could wait until I had had some time to adjust to Uslisgas, and I really appreciate all the time Ruarc has spent helping me, and I know it’s only been a week, but I’m getting a handle on things, and I can’t stop thinking …” The rush of words stopped.

About Sha’re.

About Skaara.

About earth and my friends.

Sujanha put down her fork—she seemed to be picking at her food more than eating—and studied him intently, “I would be speaking not right if I said that your help would not be of great use, but you are a refugee here. You have been granted asylum. If you wished to live out your days in peace, studying, no one would lay a charge against you.” I would hold it against myself, as desirable as that prospect might seem some days. “But if you wish to begin today, I have no objection. It would save me from a day of reading reports, anyway.”

“Not a fan of paperwork?” Daniel asked dryly, hoping that the less familiar word would be clear in context.

The Commander gave a rough laugh, “Not especially. It grows tedious as the years pass by.”

Daniel began to devour his food, not wanting to slow her down, but Sujanha shook her head and urged him not to rush, “It is not even half-past the sixth hour yet. There is time yet.”

Slow down.

Don’t make yourself sick.

When he had finished eating and had drunk a small mug of tea—I miss coffee—Daniel returned upstairs to collect his bag with his tablet, notebooks, and pen and get his jacket. By the time he returned downstairs, Sujanha had also collected her things, a tablet and a book in yet another unfamiliar script, and was waiting for him in the entrance hallway. She motioned him close without words and then inputted something on her gauntlet on her left arm. There was a noise that Daniel was growing quite accustomed to, since I’ve heard it at least twice a day for basically the past week, and a flash of light, and the two were beamed away.

The place they were beamed to was on the acropolis, Daniel knew from Ruarc’s description of the layout of the city and from a translated map Ruarc had made for him later. The building they were in front of, however, was totally unfamiliar. He had spent a good amount of time in the Lower City but had only beamed into and out of any specific locations he needed to go to on the Acropolis, even the library.

What had to be military headquarters was a massive four-story stone-building abutting a large cobble-stone plaza. Spinning on one heel to quickly get a wider view of the entire area, Daniel picked out the couple of familiar buildings he could recognize, saw one large sprawling complex built up to edge of and even … down? Seriously? … the edge of the cliff face that he guessed had to be the Imperial Palace.

That vaguely reminds me of some palace in Europe. Was it Spanish? I can’t remember now.

Headquarters was located some distance from the edge of the cliff, but there was an unobstructed view to the edge of the cliff itself, and Daniel could see down … down … down … down and pick out the far edge of the Lower City. That is a … long drop. Don’t think I want to go to the edge to see exactly how far. He wasn’t afraid of heights, but … nothin’ doin’.

The Commander gave Daniel a moment to look around but then touched his arm to regain his attention. (He noticed that as she usually did, she touched him with the back of her hand. A cultural quirk? Or are you watching your claws?) “As you have probably already thought,” guessed, “This is headquarters for both the Fleet and the Army.” Sujanha’s brother Anarr was the Supreme Commander of the Army, which I’m pretty sure wouldn’t fly in the US. “The top floors are my brother’s, the bottom mine.” She said, motioning for him to precede her across the courtyard toward the main entrance.

Work did not officially begin until the 8^th hour, and it was not even the 7^th hour when Daniel and the Commander arrived, but Furling Headquarters was already quite busy with many peoples of many different races coming and going, heading hither and thither on the way to whatever they were doing. All made way immediately for Sujanha when her arrival was noticed, and she was slowed down by the number of salutes—hand over the heart and a deep bow—and by several soldiers … sailors? Do you even call spaceship crews sailors? … who stopped to speak with her. No one seemed to be wearing uniforms or BDUs like the US military did, but all seemed to be wearing dark, unobtrusive colors, and the exact shape or cut of the clothing seemed to vary by race. Most seemed to bear either a silver insignia shaped like a five-pointed star or a gold insignia in the shape of something Daniel could not make out.

Probably distinguishes the fleet from the army. Though which one was which, he had no idea. Though … stars are probably for the fleet, if I had to guess. It would fit.

From the lobby, a lift took them up to the second floor. The ride up was short and smooth, and soon the doors opened, revealing a long-hallway that seemed to stretch the length of the building. The hallway was as plainly decorated and as utilitarian as the rest of the building. At regular intervals multiple doorways led off the hall to other rooms or offices. Sujanha made her way half-way down the hall, stopping in front of one particular door. What looked like a small blue stone was set into the wall a little above waist-height, and the Commander waved one paw across the stone.

With a soft chime, the door slid open silently, revealing a large office within. A large desk, large enough for two people and covered with papers and tablets, dominated one side of the room directly across from the door. The wall behind the desk was lined with shelves covered with more tablets and papers. A large table was set up along one wall, ornate blue lamps set high on the wall casting a strange glow over the table, its contents, and the rooms. The rest of the furniture in the room was only several chairs. Another door inside the office—opaque this time—led off into another room.

Probably her personal office.

There were four people inside. Ragnar was sitting in one chair along one wall, while Ruarc was half-sitting on the edge of one desk, speaking to a slight human with weary features, next to whom sat a humanoid figure that bore a striking resemblance to a Wookie with grey eyes, black fur, and unusually flat features … and a mask of some sort. All looked up as Sujanha entered with Daniel a half step behind. Ruarc and Ragnar greeted them both in Furling as did the other two people, probably her aids.

“Dr. Jackson, may I introduce to you my two aids: Asik Geatam and Jaax Nenth,” said the Commander, gesturing first to the ‘human’ and then to the ‘Wookie,’ “They both understand a very little English.”

“Can you tell them, ‘I am pleased to meet them’?” He asked Sujanha. Daniel wanted to get off on a good footing with both aids. He knew from his career on earth what a valuable resource someone’s aid or secretary could be.

Amazing how much they know. Good for advice.

The Commander gave him what seemed to be an approving look and nodded, rattling off a quick sentence in Furling to which both aids gave a shallow bow of greeting in acknowledgement. With introductions apparently then complete, Asik rose from his desk and followed Sujanha and Daniel into her inner office, all the while speaking quite rapidly in Furling. From his tone, nothing seemed to be amiss. Asik just seemed to be one of those people who talked like a machine gun, a habit that did not quite fit with his frail appearance. Though thinking he’d be soft-spoken might be a stereotype. After sinking into her chair with a noise that was half-sigh and half-groan, Sujanha replied in the same language briefly. Whatever she said seemed to satisfy Asik who then departed, leaving the door between the outer and inner offices open.

(Daniel was starting to get a feeling that there was something not quite … right … with her health. He knew that he could be rather oblivious and laser-focused on nothing but the artifact, text, etc. of the day when he was “geeking out,” as Jack’d say, but Daniel was not stupid or blind.

Foster care had taught him how to study people, watch for small tells, and there was something not quite right with Sujanha: the slight groan sometimes when she rose or sat down, the limp that she sometimes had at the end of a long day, the way she kept a hand sometimes on something solid when she rose like she was afraid her legs might not hold her, the way she barely ate at some meals.)

And the way she bumped her leg on the counter the other day, and I heard a very non-fleshy thunk.

“Asik will bring us both something to drink,” Sujanha said, bringing up several holographic screens and paging through them quickly, “Then we may begin. Take a seat wherever you like.”

Daniel took a quick look around her office as she spoke. Besides the large desk and chair straight in front of the door, there was a large table with several chairs on the left side of the room and a medium-size pedestal with something … with several control stone sitting on top of it on the right side of the room. In front of Sujanha’s desk was also another chair. Behind her desk was a large mostly opaque window that let in some light but did not allow one to see out … or in, probably more the point. A lamp stood on Sujanha’s desk along with two tablets, a sheaf of papers, and a handful of control stones.

Daniel took the seat across from Sujanha, who worked in silence, probably checking those reports that she had mentioned at breakfast, until Asik returned bearing two mugs of spiced tea several minutes later. He had drunk a cup at breakfast, but given that he was probably going to spend the next several hours, at least, talking the entire time, he was going to need something to drink … badly.

“Thank you,” said Daniel, switching quickly into Furling. I’m glad Ruarc taught me that phrase already. When thanking someone, tone and body language could often convey the intent behind the words, even when there was a language barrier, but actually knowing basic polite phrases in a foreign language … just makes everything easier.

After passing out the tea, Asik turned to Sujanha and said several quick sentences in Furling. From his tone and the way his second sentence ended on a higher note, Daniel guessed that it was a question of some sort. I really wish he’d speak slower. Sujanha shook her head and replied briefly, and with that Asik then departed, though the door between the two offices remained opened, and the indistinct murmur of voices drifted in.

“Let us begin then,” said the Commander.

“What do you want to know first?” said Daniel, wishing again that he had his mission notebooks from his office in the SGC or SG1’s mission reports. That’d would make all this a lot easier. His memory was excellent, but he couldn’t remember every detail of every mission and debriefing, and what stuck in his mind was more cultural and personal. Some of the comments that Jack or Sam or Teal’c made would make explaining any military aspects easier as well as providing extra notes on the Goa’uld.

Sujanha nodded, mimicking human body language again. (At least nodding works better on them than smiling. Smiling was supposed to a friendly gesture. For the Furlings it lost any friendliness because of … all the teeth. Even when they were trying to be friendly by mimicking a smile, the gesture ended up looking more like a threat. I’ve seen her do it once. Once was enough). “It is the hope of the Furling Empire to soon begin a war of deliverance against the blight that is the Goa’uld and bring their reign over your galaxy to an end. However, to do that we need information. We used to control many worlds in your galaxy, but that was ages ago, and only recently have we started trying to reestablish bases on abandoned or uninhabited worlds.”

Considering how long the Furlings lived, Daniel wondered what time period was long enough for them to consider it an “age.”

She continued, “Supreme Commander Thor, whom you met once not long ago, has provided me all intelligence that he can through his contact with the Goa’uld during negotiations over or disagreements about the Protected Planets Treaty. However, that intelligence is greatly limited. My brother and I need more than he can provide before we battle the System Lords and limit the death-toll at the same time. We need intelligence from the ground, information about homeworlds and numbers of troops and ship, lists of potential allies, and lists of worlds that will need to be protected. Some of that the Asgard can provide but not enough.”

Makes sense. You want to know the ground before you stick your neck out.

I really wish Teal’c was here. He’d know this better than I do.

“What is the Protected Planets Treaty?” Daniel asked, puzzled.

“The Protected Planets Treaty is an ongoing armistice between the Goa’uld System Lords and the Asgard High Council. Under the treaty, twenty-six planets currently are kept free from Goa’uld control, habitation, and enslavement. Any violation of the treaty where the offending Goa’uld does not retreat will be met with force by the Asgard. All the Treaty planets are guarded by Asgard technology.”

That explains Cimmeria then.

Cimmeria had been lingering at the back of his mind since that … incident … and meeting Thor. The Hammer had been repaired with an exception for Teal’c, and maybe if … when. When. He had to keep believing that … he or the Furlings now found Sha’re, maybe that device could be used to free her like he had hoped in the first place.

Before I broke it.

At least, it's fixed now, though not before their actions had spawned diasters for the Cimmerians. Many had died because of the loss of the Hammer.

“That’s explains the beat down with Heru’ur on Cimmeria,” said Daniel quietly to himself, slipping back into English slang for a moment

“Cimmeria?” replied Sujanha, “Oh, yes, Thor spoke to me of that encounter.”

Not all of that was exactly our finest hour.

Destroying the Hammer to free Teal’c had left Cimmeria free to be invaded, and they had not considered that risk enough after the mission. Many Cimmerians had died because of SG1’s actions. We wanted tech to protect earth. We wanted alliances. They had made a new ally, but the whole thing had come at a cost, and it had not been the SGC paying the price.

The reminder of how Thor’s timely arrival had saved all of SG1 from a stent as Goa’uld prisoners made him think of all the Jaffa who had disappeared, taken away by Thor’s beaming technology. Thinking about the hatred of the Free Jaffa for the Goa’uld and how Teal’c had switched sides, Daniel asked, “What happened to the Jaffa of Heru’ur who Thor removed from Cimmeria?”

Sujanha looked up. She had pulled one of her tablets over and was doing … something, maybe making notes or preparing to. “Thor brought them to us, since he was unwilling to set them free,” she replied, “They are our prisoners and are currently confined on a world with no Stargate. They are well cared for and not mistreated. My people have several worlds where prisoners taken during our war with Goa’uld may be safely confined without being a danger to us or those of an opposing alliance. Hopefully, one day we will be able to show them the error of their ways and may set them free.” She paused and took a sip of tea.

Eight days, and all three of them are basically fluent in English … aside from the idioms and technical language. There was nothing like knowing multiple languages or having to teach someone your own to make you realize how odd some phrases or idioms that had seemed normal really were. I wish I could give her a dictionary. Doesn’t Oxford have a dictionary of idioms or phrases or something?

After a minute Sujanha continued, “Since the intelligence I need is very wide, which makes answering some questions difficult, why do we not start with several specific questions? First, are there any peoples that you know of that might make worthwhile allies for the Furlings? Second, what worlds have you encountered that are not currently under Goa’uld control that must be carefully avoided or protected so as not to be caught in a crossfire? I know that any planet without the technology to oppose the Goa’uld, including Midgard, could fall under that category, but are there any worlds that especially come to mind? Third, though this is not a question, I need you to list any addresses of currently Goa’uld-controlled worlds, especially homeworlds. Any other information you have would be useful as well, however random or inconsequential that it might seem to you.”

So basically, if I know something about the Goa’uld, just tell you. I can do that.

Allies … so the Furlings always know of the Tollan because of my coming. They’re certainly advanced enough for the Tollan to consider sharing tech with, I’d think. The Furlings already knew of the Nox and the Asgard, of course, because of their ancient alliance.

So who does that leave? Most of the worlds the SGC had encountered were at least a millennium or two behind earth when it came to technological advancements.

The only obvious ones are the Tok’ra and the Free Jaffa.

“As to possible allies,” said Daniel after thinking for several minutes, “There are two groups you should try to make contact with: the Jaffa Rebellion and the Tok’ra.”

That certainly got Sujanha’s attention if the sudden gleam of interest in her coal-black eyes was anything to go by. Does she understand Goa’uld? She looked past Daniel to Ragnar who was leaning against the wall just inside the door to the outer office and asked him something. I can understand “Tok’ra” and the question particle. Not exactly helpful yet. Once Ragnar had answered, Sujanha turned back to Daniel and said, “I have heard nothing of either group before. Tell me of them in as much detail as you can, please.”

“I’ll cover the Tok’ra first as I know less about them,” I know precious little about them except what Teal’c has said, “and most of what I know is second or third hand,” at best, “A few months ago, my team and I were on a mission to a planet called Nasya,” the SGC’s system of naming planets will just be confusing, “While we were there, the planet came under Goa’uld attack, and we were trying to evacuate the people to safety. During the evacuation, Samantha Carter, one of my teammates, was taken as a host against her will by what we first thought was a Goa’uld. In later discussions with her symbiote after it was discovered and Sam was put in custody on our base, we learned that her symbiote was Jolinar of Malkshur, not actually a Goa’uld, but one of the Tok’ra, a body of Goa’uld resistance fighters and enemies of the System Lords.”

Daniel paused, took a sip of tea, and then continued, forcing himself not to speak at his usual rapid-fire pace, “Jolinar was a former Goa’uld who became infamous for mounting a rebellion against Cronus. She was successful until Apophis interfered, and Jolinar was forced to flee, later becoming a member of the Tok’ra. Ever since, Jolinar was wanted by the System Lords. Teal’c had heard the legends of Jolinar and the Tok’ra from his master Bra’tac, the former first prime of Apophis and a leader among the Jaffa Rebellion … uh … maybe I should have just started with Bra’tac.”

Definitely probably should have started with Bra’tac.

“Do not concern yourself. Please, keep going,” said Sujanha, still making notes on her tablet, “We can clarify points later.”

Okay … so where was I?

Oh, yes, what Teal’c told us.

“Teal’c had previously thought the Tok’ra were just a legend, which is not that surprising given the ideology and power structures of the Goa’uld who need to keep the Jaffa and their slaves believing in them and under their thumb. Widespread knowledge of an internal fifth-column would not exactly go to further the claim of the Goa’uld that they’re, uh, ‘gods.’” But now you’re lecturing, and Daniel stopped himself from rambling further.

Sujanha, however, didn’t seem ready to cut him off but was nodding along. She made a few more notes and then asked, “What happened to your friend, Carter?”

“Jolinar was killed by an Ashrak…uh, a Goa’uld assassin…who managed to infiltrate our base not long afterwards. Jolinar spent her strength making sure Sam would live.”

That had scared years off of Daniel’s life, seeing Sam collapsed on the floor of the holding cell, half-dead, and then spending the hours in the infirmary waiting to see if his friend was going to live or die.

“Showing that she was different, despite her … mistakes. Very interesting,” Sujanha concluded, “Do you have a gate address for the Tok’ra?”

I wish. They’d be a good ally to have.

“No, I’m sorry,” replied Daniel, shaking his head, “That was the only interaction that we … the SGC had had with the Tok’ra … before I left. Something could have happened in the interim for all I know.” Considering the injury and mortality rate for the gate teams, sometime could have happened to Jack and Sam and Teal’c for all he knew, but that was not a thought he wanted to dwell on. “Teal’c wasn’t able to tell us much else.”

“That is not a problem. The information you have will be of great use to me and to my brother. Tell me of this Bra’tac and Jaffa Rebellion.”

Where to start? Our very interesting first meeting.

“Bra’tac is a Jaffa and the former first prime of Apophis. For years he has been working secretly to foster rebellion among the Jaffa and teach them that the Goa’uld are false gods. Even though Teal’c had joined us, Bra’tac was rather suspicious of us at first but has provided us with invaluable help multiple times and has come to be a valued ally. With his help, earth managed to repulse an attack by Apophis and his son Klorel, whose host is my wife’s brother, several months ago. Last I knew, Bra’tac was still on Chulak, one of Apophis’ main worlds, though not his homeworld. I can give you the address,” said Daniel before spiraling off into a lengthier description than he intended of Apophis’s aborted attack on earth and Bra’tac’s help in defeating him.

“Yes, I will need the address eventually but not this moment,” said Sujanha, “Do you think Bra’tac and the Rebel Jaffa would be willing to work with us?”

“Yes,” replied Daniel slowly, “Bra’tac is an old and skilled commander, but you don’t survive as long as he has seeding rebellion by trusting easily. It would take a little while before he would trust you, but he had aided earth multiple times, and he wants to see his people free and the Goa’uld fall. Once he came to trust you … I think he would be willing to aid the Furlings. His knowledge of the Goa’uld would make him an invaluable ally.”

I’ve not always been sure what he thinks of me, but … I’ll put in a good word … more than just one.

“It is as you say.”

There was silence for several minutes as Sujanha made notes on what Daniel had just told her about the Tok’ra and the Free Jaffa. While she wrote, Daniel went back over carefully all the interactions SG1 and the SGC had had with Bra’tac, other Free Jaffa, and Jolinar as well as all the intelligence Teal’c had shared to make sure that there was not anything vital that he had forgotten. Suddenly, his … time … with Nem, which had occurred not that long after SG1’s first meeting with Bra’tac came to mind.

From what I saw of his … home, the Oannes seem pretty advanced.

“And there might be one other race, too,” Daniel began in a rush of breath, his words about tumbling over each other in his haste to speak, “I just thought of them.”

Sujanha looked up, a gleam of what looked like interest in her eyes, and motioned for him to continue. “Continue,” she prompted.

“Not long after we first met Bra’tac, SG1 and I had a rather … interesting,” one way of describing that mission and everyone thinking I was dead! “encounter with a creature called Nem, a member of a race called the Oannes …”

Sujanha had just taken a drink of her spiced tea as Daniel spoke, and at the mention of the “Oannes,” her eyes went wide, she started violently, and she swallowed wrong, beginning to cough harshly. Her paws shook as she tried to put her mug down without sloshing the contents.

What the?

“Commander!” Exclaimed Ragnar, starting forward from his position in the doorway to assist her, but Sujanha waved him away.

Once she could breathe easily again, she asked in a rough voice, “You have had contact with the Oannes? Recently?” For some reason, that seemed shocking beyond belief.

“Yes,” replied Daniel, cautiously, “You know them?” He then promptly kicked himself because the answer was rather obvious. Of course, they knew them from that reaction … or, at least, of them.

“The Oannes were near allies of ours ages ago when we still dwelt in your galaxy. They are a very advanced race technologically and physically, one of few peoples with a span of years that matches our own. I cannot imagine that they let the Goa’uld rise unopposed. At the beginning of this age, after we settled in this galaxy, we attempted to make contact with them but with no success. When we learned of the Goa’uld, we believed the Oannes lost and mourned their passing greatly. I am very relieved to hear some, at least, still live.”

I really, really need a history book now … with a timeline of who dwelt where, when and why they moved.

Why did you leave the Milky-Way in the first place?

“I … we, SG1 … only met one once, and there were some … misunderstandings that did not exactly facilitate … lengthy discussion.” Understatement of the century. “Nem, that was his name, has been around at least 4000 years--he and his mate were alive when Babylon, uh, a really old city on earth, still existed--so he must be pretty old for his race.” Seemed pretty spry, though.

“Nem …” Sujanha cocked her head, “An ancient name, but not necessarily that ancient. Like us, the Oannes have … I am afraid my English is failing me … life-pausing chambers … A very literal translation, but …”

Life-pausing … stasis … like the sarcophagus?

“Like a Goa’uld sarcophagus?” Daniel asked.

“Yes, and no. The Goa’uld sarcophagus is designed primarily to heal, but has the unfortunate side-effect of driving one mad with over-use.” Yea, don’t I know it. (That mission to Terella was one Daniel would rather forget.) “Secondarily, it can preserve the body for long periods like our life-pausing chambers, the primary function of which is to slow down aging greatly. Ours are not designed to heal. Using technology to speed the healing process can be … tricky.”

“How slow is slow?” Daniel asked curiously, though he knew they were going off-topic.

“Well,” Sujanha began and then quickly paused again, “Our design is based off that of the Ancients from a past age, though we have made some improvements in the ensuing years. I think the current rate, in our years, is 1 to around 250, so for every 250 of years by our measurement that past, the being in the chamber ages a single year.”

Daniel’s eyes went wide, “Wow!” He shook himself. “If you have something I can write with, I can copy the gate address for the Oannes, well for Nem’s planet.”

Sujanha rummaged through a desk drawer and finally found a stylus which she handed to Daniel. She then pushed a holographic screen across to him. Daniel quickly drew the gate address for Nem’s planet and labeled it. When he had finished, Sujanha pulled the screen back and turned it around with a flick of her wrist so she did not have to read the address backwards.

I probably could, but I’d really rather not.

Tricky enough with English.

“I do not recognize this address from the archives. This planet was not known to us as one the Oannes dwelt on.”

“It was not exactly the most hospitable of worlds,” Daniel noted, “but I had guessed it was their homeworld, and since they live underwater, they might not have cared as much about the surface.”

But I know basically nothing about them as a species or about their culture.

“Homeworlds can change for many reasons,” Sujanha noted, “outside attacks, natural calamities, famine, loss of water supplies. Many advanced races have multiple homeworlds throughout their history. My people have. The Asgard have.”

“Interesting…. Should I go on to your second question?”

“Please.”

On this subject, Daniel had the most to say.

With requisite bathroom breaks and a pause for lunch—some sort of flat bread with meat and a spread that tasted similar to hummus—Daniel talked for several hours the worlds that he had traveled to during his time with SG1. If not for the supply of tea that Asik fed him, Daniel probably would have gone hoarse as he told Sujanha of Abydos, his home with Sha’re for over a year, adding in details about the cartouche room in the pyramid with its list of gate addresses that the Furlings might find useful; of Simarka, the Mongolian-like world where Sam had been kidnapped as barter; of the land of the Touched; of Argos, a former world belonging to Pelops where Jack had been infected by nanites; of Hanka, the world infected by Nirrti’s virus, which might need to be avoided for safety’s sake; of Cartago; of Altair; and of the many others worlds visited by the SGC that would stand no chance if caught in the crossfire between the Furlings and the Goa’uld. When Sujanha gave him another holographic screen to write on, Daniel wrote down and labeled all the Stargate addresses that he could remember.

In time, Daniel came to a discussion of the Goa’uld themselves and their home worlds. On this subject he mostly spoke of Apophis and Chulak, using as sources his own observations from his couple of visits there and the information he had learned from Teal’c. Of Nirrti and Hathor, Daniel spoke briefly, not wanting to dwell on what memories he had of the latter. Of the other System Lords, Daniel knew very little at present, apart from tidbits gained from surviving mythology on earth and anything he had learned from excavations or heard from Teal’c. By the time Daniel had told he could, answered all of Sujanha’s questions, written down yet more gate addresses, and told her a few more details about the Abydos Cartouche, it was early evening.

While Sujanha took a break to speak with Ragnar for a few moments, Daniel got up to stretch his legs and walk around. As he did so, a question that he had been wondering about for a while came back to his mind. The Furlings clearly hated the Goa’uld. That much was clear from the periodic flashes of anger in the Commander’s eyes and the disgust with which she spoke of them. Yet from what Ohper had said when he had first told Daniel of the Furlings, there seemed to be a special reason why the Furlings hated the Goa’uld and wanted to bring about the fall of their empire, beyond a general abhorrence for their behavior and actions.

I’m not sure just sheer horror and disgust would drive them to get involved in a major war in another galaxy far removed from theirs.

Not like the Goa’uld are actually a threat here.

After Ragnar left (he had been in and out all day), Daniel retook his seat and after a long pause posted that question which he had been wondering about since Ohper had first told him of the Furlings, hoping he wouldn’t be putting his foot in something by asking, “Commander, why do your people want to bring down the Goa’uld so much?”

Sujanha tensed visibly, looking somewhat discomfited, and it was an interminably long minute before she finally replied. “It is time that we put an end to the blight that is the reign of the Goa’uld, and by doing that we shall right an ancient wrong. My people are the cause of the rise of the Goa’uld to power. It is only right that we bring about their end.”

What the h**l?

How the h**l?

A wave of confusion mixed with a hefty dose of horror and almost betrayal swept through him and across his face. Of all the reasons Daniel had expected Sujanha might have given, that would have never made the list. What the h**l? He had grown to trust and like Sujanha even during his very short time on Uslisgas so far, but despite that and the Nox’s regard for Sujanha, he still felt slightly apprehensive as he stuttered out a flabbergasted, “What??”

“Knowing what you do about the Goa’uld, did you really expect that all the technology that they use was made by their own hands?” The Commander countered his question with a question of her own.

Welllllll … they are parasites.

Daniel did not reply, and Sujanha continued in a tone that suddenly seemed so very weary, “Very little of the technology that the Goa’uld now possess was actually designed by them originally. Most of their technology is ours, though they have made modifications over the last thirty-thousand years.[1] A slight part belongs to a few other races, and the rest is their own creation.”

Thirty. Thousand. Years?

How old is the Goa’uld Empire?

“Staff weapon?” Daniel asked, naming one of the first pieces of Goa’uld technology that came to mind.

“Ours.”

“Zat’nik’tel?”

“Ours.”

“Sarcophagus?”

“Ancient technology mostly, though it is slightly influenced by our healing chambers, which are separate from life-pausing chambers.”

“Kara Kesh?” This Daniel choked out. He could feel for a moment the phantom pain of the ribbon device burrowing into his mind.

“Ours: an ancient and outdated version of our gauntlets that has been so corrupted as to be almost unrecognizable as formerly our own design,” Sujanha replied solemnly, lifting one arm up slightly and tapping her gauntlet with one long, sharp claw.

“How? Why?” Daniel finally choked out after a long and tense silence. He wanted to understand, but he could not make sense of it all.

With a long sigh, Sujanha leaned her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes for a long moment. Her lips moved with silent words. What she was saying, Daniel did not know. When she had reopened her eyes, she asked, “What have the Nox told you about us?”

“Ohper said that you were a powerful race and an enemy of the Goa’uld. He said that you had dwelt in our galaxy long ago but had been caught up with other problems that had kept you from dealing with the Goa’uld long ago.”

“What Ohper said was correct but is too brief and vague to be of much use. The hour grows late. Let me dismiss my staff for the day, and then we will return home, and after the evening meal, I will endeavor to explain in as much detail as possible how our technology came to fall into the hands of the Goa’uld, aiding them to subjugate your world, and why we have not put an end to them before now.”

An hour-and-a-half or so later, the two had returned home and had eaten a quick meal. When they had eaten and had mugs of tea, Sujanha led Daniel to the living room and motioned him to a seat. She took her own seat with a half-stifled hiss of pain and then began, “I will tell you all that I know, but most of what I know comes from our histories. I hope you are comfortable: my story will take some time.”

“I don’t mind,” Daniel wanted to hear the entire story, hear some explanation for how the Furlings, who were supposed to the good guys, could possibly be the cause of the rise of the Goa’uld to power.

How do you just let your tech get stolen by galactic megalomaniacs?

“This story begins in a past age when the Furling still dwelt in Avalon. Your galaxy was not our original home galaxy, which we lived in when we met the Asgard perhaps … a hundred thousand of your years ago, but it was our home for … thirty-thousand of your years. Around … thirty-thousand of your years ago a deadly disease swept across Avalon, aided by the breadth of the Stargate network, which made it easily for disease to pass from world to world through travelers. Some humans were killed, but the disease was more deadly to those non-human races, especially to us. Those who died were without number. To survive, we were forced to leave. We closed up our cities, and any technology that could be moved, we deposited in hidden, protected storehouses. Then we left Avalon, though we hoped to return within at most a generation once the plague died out, and when we returned, we would reclaim our storehouses. Several of our close allies—the Asgard, the Nox, and the Oannes—knew how to find those storehouses in case of need, but none others.”

How long exactly is an age? By age do they mean an “age” like a long period of time or “age” as a historical period … or both?

A generation for theirs … that’s probably high three digits or low fours … at least.

And this is why we always got checked over by medical before and after missions!

Let’s not be the next group to wipe out populations by introducing disease they’ve never dealt with to their environment … or wipe out our own population by bringing something back.

“For an age we wandered the galaxies, traveling and learning of other races, their culture, and their technologies. We were wanderers without a home save for our ships for so long that those who remembered Avalon finally set sail.” Died? “Eventually, my people wearied of such an existence and began to search for a new galaxy to call home. Avalon had changed in our absence, so we settled here, though we planned to return to Avalon to reclaim our storehouses. We settled here in Asteria around six-and-a-half thousand of your years ago. Settling in a new galaxy, making new allies, renewing old ties, setting up trading networks, building and planting crops, creating a place for our people took time, and given that our technology had greatly advanced in our absence, we were not in a hurry to return to reclaim our goods in our storehouses. The goods there were hidden and safe, we thought. It would do no harm to wait.”

Sujanha paused, “We were wrong, though it was already long too late.”

So the Goa’uld are using technology that is thirty-thousand years out-of-date?

She said there’ve been some changes, though, but SOME.

Goa’uld tactics are just about out-of-date … well, ineffective for enemies that cannot be subdued by shows of force and troops who shoot like Stormtroopers.

“A generation passed,” Sujanha continued, “We are a long-lived people. Most of our allies in Asteria are long-lived peoples, though not to the same extent as us. When you are long-lived, time and haste have different meanings, and we were too slow to return to Avalon. Around three-and-a-half-thousand years ago,” probably by their measurements since she didn’t specify, “we finally sent ships back to your galaxy to rebuild our alliances with several of our ancient allies and to empty our storehouses for what good those supplies might do us or our new allies now. To our surprise and dismay, our storehouses were long since broken open and made to ruin, and these Goa’uld whom the Asgard had mentioned to us, these false gods, we found that they were using our mostly unchanged technology.”

Daniel could feel himself calming as Sujanha’s story continued. There was a good explanation for why the Goa’uld had Furling technology. It seemed the height of irony and yet so fitting … and almost laughable … that the Goa’uld were using tech that was thirty-thousand plus years out-of-date. Parasites leached off of others to survive and advance.

“King and Council were horrified by this discovery, and we hoped then to put an end to these false gods using our weapons and technology that was used for defense to enslave a galaxy. However, around that same time, we first made contact with a race, our Great Enemy, whose real name has been forgotten.”

Why do I have a feeling that the ‘forgetting’ is intentional?

Damnatio memoriae?

“They were a great power in the galaxy, greatly respected for their skill as fighters and workers of plants.”

Plants … I’ve got a bad feeling.

Sujanha’s voice quieted, “Though we had heard mention of them before, that was our first meeting for they largely kept to themselves and controlled little territory, and others came to them, not they to others. We first thought that the Enemy would be a valuable ally, but soon we realized that not all was as it seemed. The Enemy came to resent us and fear us, at least, for our growing power, perhaps for other reasons known not to us. Within a hundred years, war broke out, quickly enveloping all of our allies who came to our aid, turning the entire length of the galaxy into a battleground worse than we as a race had ever seen.”

Oh *** … We thought the world wars were bad.

“The Asgard watched from the sidelines, waiting to see if their aid would be needed. They had and still have a Great Enemy of their own in their galaxy, which prevented them from putting their full strength behind us then and from dealing with the Goa’uld themselves.”

That’s not good.

Will that effect their work keeping up the Protected Planets’ Treaty?

“For around one-and-a-half-thousands of years, we fought a war that raged across the galaxy by ship and on land. We were near-matches in strength for a time. Our technology was more advanced and our numbers greater, but the Great Enemy had a greater knowledge of the territory and employed any means to win.”

I have a very bad feeling.

“As the years passed—I think it was around 4500 AS when it began—developments began on the side of the Great Enemy. Their skill with plants was always well-known, and water sources began to be found to be corrupted, crop-lands purged and dying. New illnesses began to emerge. As battles continued, more of our soldiers and our allies’ soldiers began to be missing from the ranks of the dead or the living, and those corruptions and illnesses began to grow stronger and stronger and stronger still.”

AS? Age marker like BC or AD for us?

More and more MIA soldiers …

More effective biological weapons …

Daniel could draw the line between A and B. Human experimentation? His stomach did a flip.

Her voice broke, and Sujanha paused for several minutes before she could force herself to continue, “Around 5000 AS, a worse disease emerged … worse by far. Troops began to fall ill. Non-soldiers on many allied worlds fell ill, also, and our healers did not know even how it was spread—water and food, at least—but this illness … it is a fate worse than even death itself.”

Is … did you … catch it?

Wait … the limp, the unsteadiness?

Her voice broke again, and Sujanha rose and stepped across to the window that looked over the garden. She was trembling. After some minutes, she continued, voice rough with suppressed emotion, “This illness was a fearful thing. In the beginning, only around half died, but as the years passed, this number rose until perhaps eight or nine out of every ten sickened died. It was a terrible, painful, long death … like … being burned alive. No medicine could remove the pain. Touch was beyond painful. There was no cure, only a slight easing. Death was … a relief. There was nothing in common to help us learn why those who lived, lived and those who died, died.”

“You were poisoned, weren’t you?” Daniel asked in a low voice, for what she was describing sounded more like poison, instead of a disease … at least to him

Wouldn’t a poison be easier to adapt faster with human … sentient test subjects than a disease?

Well, might depend on the diseases. Doctor Frasier would know better.

“Yes,” Sujanha replied, “but I am coming to that. “Faced with such a … poison, the dead on our side grew greatly in number. Over the next seven hundred years of war, we began to lose ground at a quick pace, despite the help of the Asgard and our allies here who were also losing their own people in great numbers. Faced with so many deaths and the loss of much our food lands, we were struggling to keep our very people alive. Though we remembered the blight of the Goa’uld, we had no time or resources to turn to them.”

Uh, yeah.

You have to save your own people first before you can help others.

“In 5967 AS, I became Supreme Commander of the Furling Fleet at age 800, the youngest in our long history. Leaders in both the army and the fleet died at a great rate. With great difficulty, I managed to slow our retreat by a small margin, but we were still losing ground. It began to be clear that without a change soon, this war would be the end of our people unless we left and our allies faced their own ends alone, which we were unwilling to do. They had lived and died beside us. Planets had found themselves cut off with no food except what lone ships could bring by night.” By night … they snuck in? Blockades? “We would not leave, so … something had to change.”

“Eight-one years later, I fell to the Enemy’s poison. Somehow, I was one of the few who survived. My brother says that I was … too willful to die. Our allies here had paid greatly for aiding us, and eventually almost only the Asgard had the strength left to stand with us. Thor took my command and did all he could, but our losses continued rapidly, even after my return.” Her having been poisoned explained the oddities Daniel had observed of her physical condition. A poison with a greater than 90% mortality rate and no known cure must have lasting consequences for those who survived.

Wait … Thor … Thor commanded the Furling Fleet temporarily?

How does that work? How is that allowed?

“The following year, the war of the Asgard with their foe, the Replicating Ones, reached a breaking point, and Thor had to withdraw his forces, and without their aid, the Enemy continued to advance.”

Am I allowed to know all this?

Some look in Daniel’s face made her pause and added as a side note, “I tell you nothing more than can be found in our histories, Doctor Jackson.”

Can she read minds?

“And no, I do not know your thoughts. That is not a gift of our people. Your face tells much.”

So there’s another race you know who is telepathic??

Oh, my. Telepathy … that was supposed to be something only in comic books, but granted, Daniel would have never imagined himself living on other planets a decade ago either. That was something out of comic books and mythology texts, too.

“In 6100 A.S., we withdrew our forces to this system and two nearby and buried the stargates, allowing us to consolidate our forces and defend a … much smaller area. If something did not change soon,” what do you mean by soon when you live for thousands of years? “our defeat and likely our death as a people seemed assured, though with only three systems to defend, we could hold out longer and with fewer forces. We were already fighting what seemed assured to be the long defeat. Without a change we would die, so in consultation with the High Command, I took a calculated risk. Leaving only what ships were needed to guarantee a hold on these three systems for as many years as possible, I led the remainder of my forces to Ida in a plan that Thor and I hoped would win us our wars. Alone, the Asgard and my people were both facing defeat, but together … we might conquer.”

“And conquer we did. After some years of fighting, we won a great victory against the Replicating Ones and drove them back, giving us space and time. Thor then led his fleet to Asteria to aid us. After some more years, my gamble proved successful, and we began to drive the Enemy back and regain our old lands. In 6468 A.S., our war ended after two-thousand-eight-hundred-and-eighteen years of fighting. Over half of our population was lost, and many of our allies faced similar losses. A number of races had entirely been lost to time. Many lands were devastated, and it has taken us much time to rebuild, to ensure that we have the buildings and the food we need to get through every cold season. We have never forgotten the blight of the Goa’uld’s reign, but only now do we have the time and the resources to devote to another war.”

6468 … It’s 6544 now … the war only ended 76 years ago!

Silence fell over the room for a long time. Daniel was stunned into silence by the enormity of the Commander’s tale and by the mere thought of a galaxy-wide war that lasted for three thousand years. Earth’s wars in the past had seemed lengthy and extreme, the loss of life catastrophic, but losing half your population!? This was war on an entirely new level that not even the two world wars could compare to.

He felt almost sick thinking of the loss of life.

“After such a war and all that death, why are you still willing to help us?” Daniel asked, his voice choked.

Turning finally from the window, Sujanha glanced across at him. Her eyes seemed so old, so weary. “It was not by our choice or our carelessness that our technology fell to the Goa’uld, but the consequences are yet the same. They used what they stole from us to enslave an entire galaxy and kill untold numbers. We feel that it is our duty make right this ancient wrong, and we will see that through to the end. That is our way. We will see Avalon free, the Goa’uld cast down, and those Jaffa who will listen set free, for they are in their own way victims.”

Bra’tac will be glad to hear that.

“What will happen to the Goa’uld once you have captured them?” Daniel asked, “I know you’ve mentioned freeing the hosts, of course.”

Intergalactic Nuremburg trials?

“They will be brought here and, once we have a way to free the hosts, judged. Whatever the outcome of the judgement, we shall free their hosts.”

How do you judge galactic tyrants and megalomaniacs? I wouldn’t want to be the judge of that.

Wait ... you don’t have a way to free the hosts?

What about the Asgard’s device?

You’re allies.

Why not use that?

“You don’t have a way to free Sha’re … or the other hosts of the Goa’uld yet?” Daniel asked puzzled, “What about Thor’s Hammer on Cimmeria or another version of it? Or your beaming technology?”

Wouldn’t that work? Pluck ‘em out and dump the symbiotes wherever.

“Advanced technology often does not make many problems easier to solve, or as easy as one might think,” Sujanha replied, retaking her seat across from him, “We have a device equivalent to Thor’s Hammer here in storage, and it is possible to use either method to remove a Goa’uld from a host, but both have great risks. I am glad to hear of these Tok’ra. Perhaps if we could find them, they might have another method or some intelligence that would aid us.”

Technology isn’t a magic fix-it, you mean? I can see that.

But what risks though? … it worked on the Unas and on Kendra. It was painful, yes, and I wish Sha’re wouldn’t have to go through that, but it worked.

Wouldn’t the Asgard have dealt with any problems??

“Risks?” Daniel posed the question somewhat hesitantly.

 “The device you call Thor’s Hammer or others like it are somewhat old technology even to us,” which would make it really, really, really old to us humans? “The war with the Replicating Ones has prevented the Asgard in great part,” large measure, “from making changes to the technology. The symbiote is always successfully removed but not always without … dangers to the host. If you have seen the device work, then you know that it is slow and while it works both are in agony and the …” Sujanha’s voice trailed off. “In English, is there a word that you use to refer to the race, the people of which the Goa’uld are one?”

“The species?” Daniel asked, “We always thought Goa’uld was the species. We refer to them as ‘symbiotes’ frequently.”

Or snakes, but that wouldn’t go over well.

“Symbiotes. Good. My thanks. That will be a word worth remembering if we are blessed enough to make contact with the Tok’ra and have time to discuss symbiote-removal technology with them. Calling them Goa’uld … well, insulting potential allies is rarely beneficial in making allies.”

I know we’re going off topic, and I really want to know what’s the problem with those devices, but …

“How is that an insult?”

“Do you know what ‘Goa’uld’ means in their language?”

Did Teal’c ever tell me? Uh …

“'God,' if I recall correctly,” Daniel replied with a pensive frown.

“That is right. Even if Goa’uld is the name of their … species,” Sujanha noted, “The Tok’ra and the Goa’uld are so far apart in thought,” philosophy? Ideology? “that I think that calling the Tok’ra Goa’uld even if referring only to their symbiotes in … technology talks would be a grave insult.”

The Goa’uld think they’re gods.

The Tok’ra would disagree vociferously.

Yea, I can see how that’d would be insulting.

“Okay. I see your point,” Daniel conceded, “You were saying about risks…”

“Thor’s Hammer works, but it is too slow, and while it works, the symbiote is still in control and in great pain. Even putting down the concern of many that since the Goa’uld would be our prisoners, putting them through that would be akin to some of what our lost ones faced during the Great War and make our actions too close to that of our Enemy, the slowness of the device puts the host at risk. The body is put under great pains and trials,” stress? “and the symbiote has time to release a poison in it and kill its host so that both may die together.” Poison? In the Goa’uld? That’s a thing? Wait … wait … Jolinar died to save Sam … Saved her from their poison? “Some symbiotes are able to work past the pain and release the poison. Also, what does a body tend to do under great pains?”

Is that a rhetorical question?

“Move,” Daniel replied, “You try to get away from the pain.”

Sujanha nodded and then reached down to her left leg with one paw. There was a quiet shick of metal on metal, and then she was holding a small dagger in one hand. I would have expected energy weapons, not knives.

"Don't look so surprised,” she said, though her tone softened the blunt words, “Just because we have advanced this far, does not mean that we have forgotten from what we progressed or how to fight with or against less-advanced weapons. And besides, at close range against an opponent with no personal shield, a bladed weapon can be more effective … and quieter if used correctly. But I digress.”

Rabbit-trails are very informative.

“When taking a host, a symbiote is wrapped around …” Sujanha paused with a low grumble and tapped the back of her neck with her other hand.

“The spine,” Daniel proffered the word she needed.

“And this?” She tapped her own head.

“The bone is called the skull. What is inside is the brain.”

Where are you going with this?

“When taking a host, a symbiote is wrapped around the … spine … and its head is near the brain. A being in pain moves … sometimes violently, and so can the symbiote. Its movements can break a human’s spinal-cord, and if you have seen a symbiote,” Sujanha said, tapping the tip of her knife as explanation or emphasis, “You know that it has great teeth,” fangs, and that … really … won’t end well … ugh. “And the brain can suffer damage, leaving the host but a shadow of itself.”

“D**n,” Daniel muttered the oath automatically. So much for that being a good idea. “How often have you seen that happen?”

“From what intelligence the Asgard have given us, broken spines twice, the wounds to the brain once, and the poison twice. Out of how many, I do not know. This intelligence was from all the planets under the Asgard’s protection. Only the fools among the Goa’uld dare to go there.”

And it’ would be the last mistake they made.

Sujanha took a deep breath, “As to beaming a symbiote from a host’s body, it is possible but very dangerous because the symbiote can move. The calculations necessary for ensuring that only the symbiote is removed and not pieces of the spine or the brain are complex beyond thought. Even the Asgard think so and rarely do it and only at greatest of need.”

I did not think of that.

“The Asgard have removed a symbiote with beaming technology four times. Twice it was successful, though one host died soon afterwards from other injuries. The method failed on the other two times. Once, the symbiote moved at the last moment, and only part of it was removed, leaving it whole enough to release its poison and kill the host before it died. In the final time, the entire symbiote was removed … along with parts of the host’s spine and brain matter, killing the host. Thereafter, the Asgard thought to only use that method at greatest of need.”

“As a last resort,” Daniel murmured, before swallowed, feeling a little sick. As powerful and advanced as the Asgard and the Furlings were, Sujanha’s words were a sobering reminder that even the members of the Four Great Races were not infallible, still made disastrous mistakes.

And that technology is not a magic fix-it.

“Have faith, Doctor Jackson,” Sujanha finished, “One day by some means, your wife will be free if it is at all within our power to do.”

[1] Not knowing the ancient histories of the Goa’uld at this time, Sujanha is referencing the time frame since their technology could have been discovered. As we came to know years later, it was actually over ten-thousand years later before the Goa’uld actually began to rise to power and, during that period, stole technology from the Furlings.

Chapter Text

Colonel Harry Maybourne of the NID would never ever have won any popularity contests at the SGC, not before the incident with the Tollan, and certainly not afterwards. Fighting together to resist the might of the Goa’uld made the SGC, as a whole, a tight-knit group. What Maybourne would have done to the Tollan if he had gotten his slimy paws on them and been able to take them away, disappearing them into the depths of some distant base, had not set right with anyone. True, most of the Tollan had acted like stuck-up jerks, but no one, not even the Tollan, deserved to become lab rats for the rest of their lives. Dr. Jackson had done what many soldiers had wanted to do, though the sword of Damocles (court-martial) had prevented them from interfering. Daniel had paid a heavy price for those actions. Given the whole situation, it was the general opinion of most everyone on base that Maybourne was a slimy, worthless, sorry excuse for an Air Force officer and a disgrace to the entire US Military.

SG1, on the other hand, was greatly liked and respected by the men and women of SGC across the ranks. Though a geek, Dr. Jackson had deciphered the mysteries of the Stargate, helping to make the program an actual reality, and had acquitted himself well on many missions. He had also helped save earth’s collective bacon with the warning of Apophis’ attack. Captain Carter had played a critical role in developing the dialing computer, was the expert on the Stargate, and was a member of the second team sent through the Stargate to Abydos. Colonel O’Neill had been the leader of the first team sent through the Stargate, had helped bring down Ra, among a multitude of other awesome and death-defying deeds. Teal’c, the former first prime of Apophis, had betrayed his former master and left the only life he had ever known to join the Tau’ri to help bring down the System Lords.

Altogether, SG1 had saved the whole earth from the Goa’uld.

Their work could not be rivaled, and none of them could be replaced.

Considering this, it was unsurprising that the events surrounding the arrival of the Tollan, their rescue by the Nox, and Daniel’s subsequent flight from earth caused great controversy (and consternation) on base and nearly caused a riot in support of Doctor Jackson and in opposition to Maybourne. The sympathies of the entire base were with General Hammond and SG1, but with Hammond unable to help Doctor Jackson because of the current political climate, tempers had nearly reached boiling points on multiple occasions. Multiple marines had also made it clear, in quiet talks in the locker rooms and in the mess, what exactly they would like to do to Maybourne for all the chaos he caused. Several SG team leaders had also expressed a desire to boot Maybourne through the gate onto a hostile world and make the lousy git someone else’s problem.

By the time about ten days had passed since Daniel’s flight into exile, tempers, which had ebbed and flowed for days, were once again near a boiling point, and the tensions were so thick you could cut it with a proverbial knife. SG1 was on a stand down until a temporary replacement for Daniel could be found, a search that was not going well, partially because SG1 wanted Daniel, only Daniel, not a replacement, and partially because of … well, how do you find a replacement for a man with three PhDs who knew 20 some languages? Sam had buried herself in her lab with her science projects, only appearing when someone pried her out of there with a proverbial crowbar to get some food or sleep. Teal’c was spending a lot of his time in the sparring rink or in kelno’reem, and Jack was rampaging around base with all the grace and subtly of a bull in a china shop.

Early on the afternoon of the tenth day, the alarm tones went off, warning the base of an unscheduled off-world activation. The remaining members of SG1 dropped what they were doing and ran for the gateroom. By the time Captain Carter reached the gateroom, Colonel O’Neill and Teal’c were already there with General Hammond, and the wormhole had already disengaged.

“Good of you to join us, captain,” O’Neill said, his words slightly curter than he meant them. Everyone was on edge those days.

“Sorry, sir,” she replied, “Who dialed in?”

“The Land of Light,” it was General Hammond who now replied, “Colonel O’Neill, I want your team to be ready to leave within the hour. It’s unusual for Tuplo to just dial in without warning. Make sure there is nothing amiss.”

“Yes, sir,” O’Neill said, before turning to his team with forced cheer, “Let’s move it, campers. Places to be.”

Forty-six minutes later (almost exactly), three-fourths of SG1 stepped through the gate onto P3X-797, better known as the Land of Light. Traveling there was always somewhat strange. Because of the planet’s synchronous rotation around its sun, one side of the planet was always covered in sunlight, and the other half of the world was covered in eternal darkness, and the Stargate was located in the darkened forest where the Touched had once roamed.

Without the presence of the Touched, who were now cured, it was a quiet and short walk to the edge of the tree line that marked the boundary between the two lands. To their surprise, Tuplo was not there waiting for them, but Lya was there, instead, standing serenely with her hands folded across her stomach and a small smile on her face.

“Greetings, friends.”

“Lya!” Exclaimed Sam, eyes going wide in surprise, as she stopped short a few feet beyond the tree line.

“How fares Daniel Jackson?” It was Teal’c, always blunt and to the point, who first spoke the question that was on all their minds those days.

“He is well, though he misses you greatly,” replied Lya kindly with a small, serene smile.

“Tell Daniel to avoid earth and any SG teams for now. We have orders to take him into custody,” added O’Neill, his scathing words clearly revealing what he really thought of those ‘orders’ and the ones who had given them.

“Do not worry for him. He is safe and among friends, far from the reach of those who would seek to do him harm."

“He isn’t with you, then?” Asked Sam.

Lya shook her head, a motion that sent her hair gently swaying like leaves in a morning breeze. “Daniel did not wish to sit idly by while his wife remained in the hands of the Goa’uld. We sent him far away to friends of our people, long absent and long forgotten in these lands.”

“Anybody we know?” Asked O’Neill, cocking his head, a spark of interest in his eyes at the mention of these nameless allies.

“Once they were mighty in these lands, but they have long been absent, and their name has been forgotten,” said Lya gravely, “but they will soon return, and they have declared that there will be a reckoning with the Goa’uld. When they return, then you will see your friend again.”

Chapter Text

Very little changed after Sujanha’s bombshell explanation for why the Furlings truly hated the Goa’uld so much and her summary of the recent history of the Furlings and why they had not been able to step in to deal with the Goa’uld before. Days and then weeks marched on. Armed, in part, with the information and gate addresses Daniel had provided, scouts were sent out. Among many other tasks, their job included searching out the Free Jaffa and the Tok’ra.

Life on Uslisgas continued on, busy with preparations for war. Sujanha spent long hours and longer days at her desk, relentlessly working at planning for a war that would sweep across another galaxy … for hopefully much, much less than 3000 or so years. (A war that long was still hard for Daniel to simply imagine.) As the days passed and as Daniel spent more time helping her or just sitting with while he studied the Furling language, he became more aware—or she’s not trying to hide it anymore—of the tells that spoke of the lingering effects of the Enemy’s poison: pained noises, tea that was actually medicine, tremors … which explains why she asks someone else to take notes for her if she doesn’t record a meeting.

How severe her condition was, Daniel did not know, but her comparatively easy manner and movements on Gaia seemed to have been the exception that proved the proverbial rule. That being said, she seemed to manage well on a day-to-day basis with some aids, like her holographic screen, recorders, and beaming technology. Even when she was obviously hurting, Sujanha, dutiful almost to a fault, soldiered on, making detailed plans and going over the nitty-gritty matters that a general of corresponding rank in the USA likely would have left to subordinates quite a bit down the food chain.

With great power comes great responsibility, as the old saying goes.

If it wasn’t for entertaining me, I think she might not even have a life outside of work.

Anarr—Sujanha’s brother … not sure whether he’s older or younger, though … and the current Supreme Commander of the Furling Army—passed through his sister’s office periodically, sometimes multiple times in the same day and other times at intervals several days apart. He looked almost identical to Sujanha, which also made him one of the Maskilim, one of the two main-subspecies of Furlings, except that his limbs were much more proportional to his body and his eyes were pure gold, instead of the pure black of the Asgard. Anarr spoke a little English and always greeted Daniel politely, but his conversation was mainly reserved for his sister. He seemed quite reserved and grim. Given what Sujanha had said of the Great War, Daniel really did not want to imagine the horrors he had seen on the front lines.

From what I know of her, I don’t think either of them leads from the rear.

And then there was Anarr’s bodyguard … a sentient … grizzly bear-sized tiger. A telepathic, sentient, grizzly bear-sized tiger. That had been mind-blowing … after Daniel got over being scared out of his wits.

There had not been bears … or tigers … anywhere near any of his dig-sites in Egypt. Snakes, yes. Scorpions. Daniel had even seen more than a few nasty crocodiles down on the banks of the Nile. But bears or tigers, never! Not outside of zoos.

Understanding more of what drove the Furlings, Daniel went to great lengths in the ensuing weeks to be helpful to Sujanha, splitting his time between learning about the city (and his way around it) and taking up residence in her office. Sometimes helping her entailed answering more questions about the Goa’uld Empire and the Systems Lords, plumbing the depths of his memories for any tidbit that might be useful. Other times that just entailed getting her a new mug of tea or telling her something good about his friends on SG1 and his time with them or about his time on Abydos with Sha’re, when she needed a distraction from work, from battle plans.

Sha’re.

His wife was never far from his thoughts, either, and what she must be going through as a host, how she was suffering, caused most of his nightmares. The Furlings had given him more hope that he might find her and Skaara one day, might see them freed and safely reunited with him, with each other, and with Kasuf on Abydos.

All those missions, I never found her, could never help her, but now …

As the weeks ticked by, Daniel was ever mindful of his promise to Kasuf to return in an Abydonian year. I was supposed to come back with Sha’re. That’s not going to happen, but I need to go back, tell him I’m trying, tell him there’s still hope. Keeping track of the day he needed to go back required trying to convert times between multiple calendrical system. Abydonian to earth, which was familiar, and then earth into Furling, which was less familiar, but he had a specific date pinned down.

Now all he had to do was wait.

4th of Vysad, Winter, 6544 A.S.
(c. May 8, 1998)
Uslisgas, Asteria

Daniel had arrived on Uslisgas toward the end of fall—the season of fading, as the Furlings called it—when the trees had turned more glorious colors than he had ever seen on earth. By the time the one-year anniversary (by Abydonian measurements) of his departure from Abydos grew close, fall had turned into winter, and the ground soon grew thickly covered in snow, making Daniel glad for the heavy coat he had bought on his first shopping trip. He had faced colder temperatures in Chicago—bless the freezing and boiling points of water for helping us compare units of temperature—but after spending a year plus on Abydos, his body’s thermostat seemed to have changed, and everything cold seemed colder. It had been like that on earth, too, before all this had happened.

On the morning of that anniversary, Daniel woke from a pleasant dream, a dream of being back home with Sha’re on Abydos, a dream where he had never reopened the Stargate, where Skaara and Sha’re had never been taken. Sometimes those dreams were almost worse in their own way than the bad ones where he saw Sha’re being helped from the carrying chair by Apophis, seeing her in those gauzy, gaudy garments that were such a far cry from her practical, homespun dresses.

Daniel knew that he had to go back to Abydos. He had promised his father-in-law that he would try his hardest to bring Sha’re back. For now, he had failed. Sha’re was still a prisoner, but Daniel had hope now with the Furlings at his back that eventually Sha’re would be free. Once he found her, the Furlings could keep her safe until the Goa’uld could be removed. There would be no threat from the NID, from Maybourne, from ‘disappearances’ into government facility for tests and interrogations. Daniel had hope, and he could try to give Kasuf hope. He could tell Kasuf that he had not given up.

“I can go off world, right?” Was the first thing Daniel asked Sujanha as he padded into the kitchen, dressed for the day but still feeling somewhat groggy. It was mornings like this that he wished there was coffee available.

Sujanha looked up from her tablet and glanced at him, her black eyes full of stark confusion. She set her tablet down first—she was working over breakfast … again—and then the spoon with which she had been eating a bowl of what almost looked like oatmeal … except oatmeal never came in THAT color on earth. “You went off world yesterday, Doctor Jackson,” she said slowly.

(Daniel had grown used to eating a lot of new foods and dishes the last two months. Some were very unfamiliar compared to earth or Abydos. Other seemed very similar, except for differences in color or flavor.)

Why, yes, he had. (He had explored multiple planets these past weeks, and the previous day he had visited a planet closer to home: Numantia, a planet in the same solar system as Uslisgas, where the Furlings buried their dead. One could learn a lot from how a people cared for and treated their dead.)

This was again an instance of his mouth getting in front of his brain. Listen to what I mean, not what I say. “Sorry, sorry,” said Daniel, slapping a hand across his eyes in annoyance, not that Sujanha would recognize what a face-palm meant. “That wasn’t what I meant. I need to go back to the Milky-Way today. It’s really important.”

“Not to Midgard, I hope, for your own safety?” Said Sujanha, her mind probably turning to the warning his teammates had passed onto him through Lya.

“No, to Abydos,” Daniel replied, plopping down into a seat across from her at the other end of the kitchen table. “I promised my wife’s father that I would try to return with Sha’re a year after I left. Today is the day that they will unbury the gate. If I don’t go back today, I might not get another chance.”

“In a hostile galaxy, traveling off our bases or allied-controlled worlds is generally restricted to the military, for safety’s sake. Elder Brother and I concluded that, until we know more fully of the spread of the Goa’uld, it would be unwise for non-fighters to go…wandering.” Sujanha replied, fumbling slightly at the end for the appropriate English word. Her English was almost perfect within the scope of words Daniel knew and could share, but now and again she still fumbled for or stumbled over a word. “If you think Abydos is a safe world and will take an escort with you, I think the risk should be limited. Do you think we might be allowed to scan the cartouche?”

Elder brother … well, that answers whether Anarr is older or younger than she is.

Elder brother. That’s a somewhat strange form of address, at least in English. It might be normal in Furling, though.

(Daniel’s grasp of spoken Furling had expanded greatly over the past two months, but for extended conversations, it was easier and faster to stick to English for the time being.)

“As long as your guards at least look human,” Daniel said carefully and apologetically, “No offense, but guards that looked like you would provoke some reactions you do not want.” The Furlings looked like they had stepped out of a religion textbook or a movie, and such species were rare in the Milky-Way.

The only ones I can think of are Unas and Nem’s people.

“Of course, that is easily arranged. We had to do such when sending out scouts,” Sujanha nodded, “Would you expect to stay on Abydos longer than a day?”

“No … well, probably not,” Daniel hedged.

“Go prepare to leave once you have eaten. I will have guards ready to accompany you in an hour.”

Fifty-three minutes later, Daniel entered the large hall containing the Stargate. (Once somewhat infamous at the SGC for perpetually being late to meetings after getting distracted with a book or a new artifact, Daniel was now much better at being on time.) He found that his two escorts were already waiting for him. Score one for Furling efficiency, since I’m early. Both men looked human to his eyes. Considering the apparent commonness of half-blood, hybrid sub-species in Asteria, they could actually be human, a near-human race like the Boii, or a half-human, half-Furling who just looked human. I’m probably neglecting a few options. The one on the left had a small box tucked under one of his arms.

The one without the box first saluted him and then stepped forward to greet him, as behind them the gate began to dial Abydos. “I am Ovitix. This is Rasik.” He said slowly in heavily accented English, motioning first to himself and then to his companion. “We are assigned to you as guards today.”

“And to look at the cartouche?”

“Yes, I will guard. Rasik will look.”

The Stargate opened with a whoosh and a splash, and the three made their way through the gate, Ovitix first, Daniel in the middle, and Rasik at the back. In the depths of the pyramid of Abydos, the Stargate chamber was empty when they arrived. It seemed to Daniel almost as if no time had passed at all since the ‘good old days.’

Daniel looked around, drinking in the familiar sights of his old home. It did really seem for a moment like he had never left. Yet, there was the distinct lack of bodies, reminding him of the stark contrast to the last time he had been here. The memories of that last day were too close and yet so far in that moment: Sha’re and Skaara missing, Ferretti badly injured, the screams of the wounded Abydonians, the mourning cries for those who had died in Apophis’ attack, which wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gotten curious about the cartouche and unburied the gate.

Suddenly, from the edge of the room, there was a noise. Rasik and Ovitix stiffened, though no hidden weapons appeared … yet. Kasuf, who somewhat more aged than a year prior, appeared a moment later from behind a pillar. Without a MALP to give him a clue, he would not have known for certain who was coming through the gate, though the date would have made it likely that it was Daniel.

Kasuf seemed startled to see Daniel in company not of the Tau’ri, so Daniel hastened to say, “Don’t be afraid, good father. These are Rasik and Ovitix, new companions of mine. They mean you no harm.”[1]

Both bowed in the typical Furling fashion, but neither spoke. Ovitix spoke only limited English and knew no Abydonian. I haven’t even had to teach the Commander or Ragnar or Ruarc any. From his utter silence even during the introductions in the gate room, Daniel guessed that Rasik probably spoke no English at all. Kasuf returned their greeting and spoke the traditional words.

Now came the hardest part for Daniel.

He finished descending the steps, leaving Ovitix and Rasik at the top of the steps but out of the way of the kawoosh if the gate were reopened while they were there. Daniel knelt before his father-in-law and, looking him in the eye, pushed aside his mingled feelings of guilt and hope and said, “Good father, I ask your forgiveness. I have returned without your daughter.”

“So it is.” Confusion replaced Daniel’s other feelings as Kasuf spoke. Of all the things Daniel had accepted Kasuf to say, that had never entered his mind.

Confused but still resolute, Daniel pushed on. “I fear that my search will continue for many seasons, but …”

Kasuf nodded brusquely, interrupting Daniel’s words, and began to turn to leave with an indifferent, “Come!”

Uh …

Even more confused, Daniel rose. “My companions wish to see the cartouche chamber. May they have your leave?”

Kasuf paused and turned back, voice still brusque, “I will send a boy to guide them. Now come!”

Utterly flummoxed by this strange reception—I’ve failed. I said I would return with Sha’re, and I’ve failed, and this is the reaction I get. It’s like he’s not even hearing me … or something. It was totally unlike Kasuf—Daniel turned quickly to Ovitix, “Kasuf will let you see the cartouche chamber. He will send someone to lead Rasik there.”

Ovitix nodded and spoke quickly to Rasik in Furling, his words torn away by the noise of Daniel’s footsteps on the stone floor as he ran to catch up with his father-in-law. The walk through the hallways that lead out of the pyramid was familiar, so much so that Daniel thought he might almost be able to navigate these halls blindfolded he had walked them so many times. Just before they stepped outside into a world of blazing sun and burning sands, Ovitix caught up with Daniel, who had himself just caught up with Kasuf.

Kasuf led the way toward the village, hurrying at a pace that was quickly making Daniel even more concerned. This entire visit so far was off. Kasuf was acting weird.

What is going on?

Even Ovitix seemed to notice something weird was going on, if the confusion and slight wariness in his face were anything to go by. He could have just been reading off of Daniel’s body language and concerned face.

The sights and smells of the village were familiar as Kasuf led the way, threading his way through a medley of animals, tents, cooking fires, workbenches, and many people, young and old. Finally, they reached a large tent, which was draped in cloths that were dyed red and tan. Kasuf ducked in first, past the door-hangings that were tied open to let in the light while it lasted.

Daniel followed his father-in-law into the tent without hesitation, his bodyguard a step behind. The inside of the tent was dark, even with the light coming from the fire pit and the sunlight streaming through the ‘door.’ A woman with dark hair, dressed in traditional Abydonian garb, sat on the far side of the tent, half-turned away from the door, her face hidden in shadow. Hearing the group’s arrival, however, the woman turned, revealing her face.

Her very familiar face.

A face that Daniel had seen in his dreams (and nightmares) so many times.

Daniel felt his heart stop.

It was Sha’re.

It was Sha’re.

Daniel had spent a year searching for her, hoping to see her freed from the Goa’uld who had taken control of her body.

But now, now she was here, here on Abydos, here of all places.

He blinked, resisting the urge to pinch himself or scrub at his eyes in case he was dreaming or hallucinating. “Sha’re?!” Daniel said, stunned beyond belief. He could barely believe what his eyes were seeing.

Sha’re rose to her feet, revealing her abdomen rounded heavily with child. What the h**l? At her movement, Ovitix stepped forward and half-in-front of Daniel, shielding him with his own body. Daniel finally noticed what he really should have seen before: Ovitix was wearing thick metal gauntlets on both forearms just as Commander Sujanha, Ragnar, Ruarc, and many others at Headquarters openly wore. Considering she had said that the gauntlets were the modern version of the Goa’uld hand-device, which contained a personal shield, the gauntlets almost certainly contained a personal shield, as well.

Joy at seeing his wife mingled with confusion and a sense of growing dread.

Then reality fully set in for Daniel.

This couldn’t be Sha’re, wouldn’t be Sha’re. Not truly. Amaunet might look like his wife, talk like her, speak like her, act like her, but Amaunet would never, ever be Sha’re. It was Amaunet looking at him, not his beloved wife. Just as a monster manipulating her body like a glorified puppet on strings.

There was a long pause before Daniel, starring across the tent wide-eyed, could bring himself to speak again. Grief, relief, and anger warred within him: grief at what Sha’re was suffering mentally and physically at the hands of the Goa’uld; anger at knowing that it was not his beloved, strong, brilliant wife looking at him through her beautiful eyes but a Goa’uld. And yet there was relief, relief to see her again. The last time he had seen her, she had been dressed up in finery like a Goa’uld queen, but now she … the body … looked … physically well … mostly … tired … but she … the body … looked okay.

How Sha’re must have been struggling mentally, locked in her own mind, starring out at Kasuf, at Daniel, as Amaunet spoke and acted like her. (Daughter or not, Kasuf would have not accepted her if she had come striding in like a System Lord, and Daniel had seen no sign of Jaffa, no sign that the village was under threat or being held hostage.)

She was pregnant.

The body was pregnant.

Sha’re had been raped. She had been violated by the snake controlling her body and now sexually. Daniel had been powerless to protect her, and locked inside her own mind, Sha’re would have been powerless to resist.

That only added to the level of horror.

“Kasuf, we’re in danger,” said Daniel finally, fighting to keep his voice level and relatively calm, “How long has she been here?”

“More than a season,” his father-in-law responded immediately, confusion clear in his voice and face.

“What?!” replied Daniel.

Not good.

Not good.

So, so not good.

“Why are we in danger?” Kasuf asked, his puzzlement evidently becoming stronger the longer this unexpected conversation went on. As far as he probably knew, his daughter had returned. Now his son-in-law had returned, and this confrontation should not be happening.

Even as Kasuf was speaking, Amaunet moved from her place, half-concealed behind him, around his other side, until she was standing only a few feet away from Daniel himself. “Husband!” Her imitation of Sha’re’s mannerisms and accent were horrifyingly, gut-wrenchingly good.

Ovitix shifted uneasily at Daniel’s side. The arm that he had thrown up when he had moved in front of Daniel, preventing Daniel from moving forward or someone from moving toward Daniel, he had slowly lowered after a minute when there was no immediate danger, but he still stood so that Daniel was still largely shielded by his own body.

“I am Sha’re’s husband. Who are you?” Daniel replied. It took all his strength to keep his voice level, to not let it break like his heart was breaking.

“My Dan’yel, please!” Said Amaunet in a pleading tone, full of fake confusion at her husband’s actions. She took a small step forward, then a second. Everything about her screamed Sha’re, but Daniel knew that could not be true.

In response, Ovitix raised his arm again in front of Daniel and took one step back, forcing Daniel to do the same, but drew no visible weapon, his actions purely defensive. Who knew what instructions Sujanha had given him?

Amaunet recognized the guard’s actions for what they were and retreated to her father’s side, heartbreak and grief in her face and expressive dark eyes. Masquerading as Sha’re, the Goa’uld queen was putting on a wonderful show. Obviously convinced, Kasuf put a comforting arm around his daughter’s shoulder, scowling at Daniel as he asked, “Good son, do your eyes not see?”

I know what my eyes see.

And I know what my eyes can’t see: the symbiote wrapped around her spine, manipulating her like a puppet.

“Sha’re has been taken by a Goa’uld. A demon now lives within her. One of great power and evil,” Daniel replied, his words sharp and curt, anger finally leaking in through his control. The whole situation had thrown him for a loop, and the longer the standoff went on, the more confused he was getting. He was not sure how it could not be Amaunet standing across from him, but the pain and grief in Sha’re’s dark eyes at his reactions and words seemed sincere.

Could Amaunet have left her?

Could this really be Sha’re?

It couldn’t be.

Can it?

Kasuf turned to his daughter, who bowed her head, unable to meet his eyes for shame, another emotion that seemed all too sincerely real and not at all faked, even by a master deceiver. “He speaks the truth, Father,” Amaunet … Sha’re? … said in a shaky voice.

“But you said you returned to me.” Questioned Kasuf, stark confusion plain in his voice.

“And I have,” pleaded Sha’re.

“Stop it!” Daniel snapped in a harsher tone, his emotions brimming. With his focus on his wife, he had almost forgotten his guard’s presence beside him, an uneasy presence in this uncomfortable and potentially dangerous family drama … depending on who this really was, his wife returned or Amaunet trying to deceive them all. “Okay, just stop it. You can't fool me. I know what you are. I’ve seen what you are.”

“Please, believe me!” She begged, her eyes begging for understanding, her face torn with grief.

“No,” Daniel shook his head.

“The demon sleeps because I am with child,” Share’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears. When Daniel did not reply, she continued, her voice breaking, “Hear me, husband. The Goa'uld that has stolen my soul is called Amaunet. She sleeps for the sake of the child.”

“Why?” Daniel forced the question past the lump in his throat.

“If she awakens, the child will come forth, stillborn.”

Finally, Ovitix spoke in a low tone to Daniel, the first words he had spoken since leaving Rasik at the gate. “No news of scouts has said of Zukish[2] children among Goa’uld masters.”

In a split second, Daniel made the horrifying mental jump, “Apophis is the father?” He asked, his voice full of horror and disbelief.

Sha’re broke down into tears, which begin to trickle down her cheeks, “Yes.”

“Is Apophis here?”

Ovitix tensed at the question.

Still sobbing, Sha’re shook her head, “He has hidden me away. He does not want to reveal the true purpose of this child to his enemies.” She buried her face in her father’s shoulder as soon as she could force out the words.

“What true purpose?” asked Daniel. “Sha're! What does Apophis want with a human child?”

Finally, Sha’re raised her head and, in a voice that shook with tears, replied, “He wishes the child to one day become his new host.”

Daniel, stunned beyond belief, struggled to comprehend this new bombshell. He felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. The depth of depravity to bring a child into the world just to make it your host was staggering.

But why?

What was the point?

If Apophis needed a new host, why wait the years it would take for the child to grow up? Why not pick one from one of his worlds? Between all of his worlds, there had to be some human slave that would fit his fancies for what his host should be.

I wish Teal’c were here. He could help explain … all this.

And why does Apophis not want the other System Lords to know about his plan?

None of it made sense.

“Is that true?” He asked, wanting, needing confirmation. When Sha’re didn’t reply, he prompted her, much more sternly than he really meant, “Sha’re, is that true?”

Sha’re nodded her head, unable to bring herself to speak.

Outraged, horrified, angry, and sick but unwilling to vent his feelings on his wife who was the victim in this whole convoluted mess, all Daniel could do was retreat, leaving Sha’re, Kasuf, and Ovitix in the tent. The sand seemed to suck at his feet, turning his steps into a trudge, as he walked away from the tent and took a seat on a nearby dune, starring moodily into the distance. He ran his hands through the sand, letting it trickle down through the gaps in his fingers, as he tried to figure out what to do next. Several minutes later, there was the sound of intentionally noisy footsteps, and then Ovitix folded himself down onto a seat on the sand next to him.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel said after a long silence, scrubbing the cuff of his sleeve across his eyes to dry his tears, “that you had to hear all that.”

Ovitix was quiet for a long moment but finally responded slowly, “Much was said I did not understand. What I understand, I speak of to none without permission.”

“Thank you.”

“In a few moments, I will take word to Rasik with news. He will take word back to the Commander. She must know of this.” He rose. “I will come back soon.” Ovitix quickly departed towards the Pyramid, though whether he was actually physically taking word to his partner or just trying to find a quiet spot to send him a message, Daniel did not know.

Daniel stayed outside, sitting on the sand for a while longer, trying to get his temper and volatile emotions back under control. This whole day had thrown him for a loop. The lead up to the day had been bad enough, not being able to bring Sha’re home to her father, but then coming back to find her here? But Sha’re’s freedom was only temporary … until her child was born, and she was pregnant.

And you think you’re having trouble absorbing all this?

It had to be a thousand times worse for her.

Get back in there.

The way you were shouting, she probably thinks you’re angry with her.

To be a prisoner in her own body, forced to helplessly watch the atrocities that Apophis or Amaunet committed, forced to have her own body used for violence or sex against her will. However horrified Daniel was by the mere thoughts of those events, Sha’re had lived them.

Those thoughts drove Daniel to his feet. He dried his eyes one more time and polished his glasses on his other sleeve, more for the calming motions than anything else. Long strides then took him back across the sand, and Daniel ducked back under the door-hanging and into the shadowed interior of the tent. Kasuf was sitting by the fire, starring into its depths, and Sha’re was sitting at the far side of the tent, her back toward the entrance. She did not move or turn around or, really, even make any sign that she recognized that Daniel had returned.

After patting his son-in-law kindly on the shoulder, Kasuf departed silently, leaving Daniel and Sha’re alone. What do I say? What do I do? Even as Daniel hesitated momentarily, Sha’re rose from her seat but kept her back turned. Her shoulders were curled, her whole posture defensive. I caused this. I snapped at her. Daniel was kicking himself now.

“You hate me,” she whispered.

Daniel’s heart broke. He hated the emotions that his hasty words had provoked, and he hated seeing the changes that a year in captivity had wrought in his wife. “No, no. I love you,” he replied, pouring all his feelings and sincerity into his voice, “I could never hate you.”

“Will you forgive me?"

Quick steps brought Daniel across the tent to Sha’re’s side, and he pulled her gently into his arms. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Uslisgas, Asteria Galaxy
Same Day

The hour for the midday meal had come and gone, and Ruarc was contentedly sprawled in a chair in his commander’s office, his belly pleasantly full of meat. In her chair on the other side of the desk, Sujanha was sitting, head propped up on one fisted paw, moodily scanning through reports. Whether her sour mood was spawned from her not feeling well or from her being concerned about Daniel being off in Avalon, he wasn’t sure. Or it could be from the reports she’s reading, or a combination of all three, or none of the above. She had been muttering to herself earlier, including a complaint about someone’s composition skills … her brother again? … and the problems inherent in someone’s plan for something … Ruarc had not been paying that much attention to what she was saying … if she specifically wanted me to know or wanted my opinion, she’d have made that clear. Sujanha had then slipped out of Furling and then, some minutes later, had fallen silent.

A knock on the open door-frame broke Ruarc from his thoughts and jolted Sujanha’s attention out of her reports. It was only Asik, tablet in hand and concerned frown fixed firmly in place. Internally, Ruarc was kicking himself for not hearing Asik move and approach the door. Yes, they were on Uslisgas. Yes, they were at Headquarters, and yes, Ragnar was in the outer office between any potential problems and their commander.

But I need to be paying more attention, good meal or not.

Sujanha’s sharp gaze snapped up, focusing on Asik with nerve-inducing intensity, “Problem?”

Asik nodded, “A report just came in from Rasik on Abydos. Sha’re is there.”

Shouldn’t that be good news? Ruarc wondered, pushing himself upright out of his sprawl. How is that a problem? It was shocking that after all the time Daniel had spent searching for his wife that he would find her when returning home to tell his law-father that he had not found her.

“What?” Was the usually articulate and largely unflappable Supreme Commander’s shocked reply.

Though … the timing is suspicious. Ruarc felt a hint of worry, and he could feel the beginning swell of battle-focus[3] starting to push away his sated-tiredness.

Asik nodded and glanced down at the tablet he was holding, probably referring to his notes or the specific words of the message sent. “Yes, Commander. Ovitix had sent word to Rasik that Sha’re is on Abydos in the village. She is still a prisoner of the Goa’uld but in temporary command of her own body. Her symbiote … it …” his voice trailed off in stutters that did nothing to alleviate Ruarc’s growing sense of unease.

Ruarc glanced over at Sujanha. There was worry in her dark eyes, and her ears flicked back to lie flat against her skull.

“Take a seat, Asik,” Sujanha said calmly, gently, “Say what must be said and have it done with.”

Asik took the offered seat beside Ruarc and then slowly forced out the rest of the story, “The System Lord Apophis has made her with child, a child that when grown, he hopes to make his new host. Sha’re’s symbiote sleeps until the child is born, which should be soon, so that the child does not die in the womb. Apophis has hidden his queen away to protect her from his enemies—apparently even his enemies would think ill of his actions—and he knows that she is on Abydos. There is no immediate danger, but Ovitix request guidance.”

Are there no depths to the depravities that the Goa’uld can sink?

Bringing forth your own son to make him your host!

It was an act so repulsive that Ruarc felt sickened at the mere thought. The thought of what Sha’re was facing was just as bad. To face rape without the means to fight back, to be forced to bear your captor’s child, to know that your freedom was only but for a moment, and that your own child would face the same captivity and horrors as you … it was a fate beyond imagining.

“Maker have mercy,” Sujanha breathed out the prayer, one paw going tight around the arm of her chair. She took a deep breath, her mind almost visibly spinning. “There are two urgent things that must be done. If she and Doctor Jackson are willing, she should be brought here. I doubt that there would be time for judgment and for the healers to be ready to attempt to a removal before the child comes forth, but this will be a less dangerous and less traumatic method … for both of them … of bringing her into our care than capture in battle. Since Apophis knows that his queen is on Abydos with his child and future host, he will return to find her and soon, or if one of his rivals finds out that she is vulnerable, they might try to take her. Sha’re and Dr. Jackson need to be brought away before Apophis returns for her, and protections need to be put in place so the people of Abydos do not pay the price for her disappearance.”

Ruarc nodded. My thoughts precisely. “And we might have only days, if that.”

“Yes,” Sujanha agreed, her chin dropped onto one fisted paw for a moment, and her ears flicked back again, “Where’s your brother?”

“Here!” Came Ragnar’s voice from the doorway, “At your service, Commander.”

Sujanha’s eyes flicked up and toward the door and then back to Ruarc, “I want you two to go to Abydos and bring back Doctor Jackson if they are willing. In the short term, the simplest method for protecting Abydos will be to simply rebury the Stargate. Asik, send word to the Commander closest to Abydos to go there and put a long-range probe into orbit. If Apophis or any others come by ship, they have my permission to do what must be done. The rules of war apply, and they should take what prisoners they can, but no one must escape to spread the word before we are ready to begin the War. Someone will need to speak to the leaders on Abydos if they wish to keep the Stargate open in the future. Have Jaax send word to Vaazrodiiv. A scanner will likely need to be put in place in Abydos’ gateroom to send any Jaffa or Goa’uld coming through the Stargate to somewhere safe until we can collect them. Oh, and if that method of protection is used, guidance will need to be sought from the Asgard so that the scanner will not treat Doctor Jackson’s companion Teal’c like the rest of his brethren or former captors. One of the Asgard engineers should be able to tell Vaazrodiiv’s engineers the updates to the scanner.”

There was a chorus of acknowledgments and a series of bows, but before he withdrew to carry out the Commander’s wishes, Ruarc turned back, “I am assuming we should not go in our true forms?” He asked.

Sujanha nodded, “As much as I dislike the necessity of such a disceptation, yes. I doubt the people of Abydos are ready for a revelation of peoples such as us, especially not at this moment with the looming threat of Apophis’ return.”

“Of course, Commander.” Ruarc turned to leave, but his name being called brought him up short.

“Be careful,” Sujanha said simply.

“Of course, Commander.”

Abydos, Milky-Way
Same Day

Two quiet hours passed before there was any sign of Ovitix’s return. Daniel had remained with Sha’re inside the large tent, and husband and wife had spoken quietly, reconnecting and talking of what had occurred since they had last been together, that wonderful and horrible day when Jack and Sam had come through the Stargate, that day when he had seen his friend for the time in a year or more, that day when Apophis had attacked and taken Sha’re and Skaara and killed his friends. Daniel told her in broad strokes (without the gory details) of the recent events in his life, leaving Earth and finding a new home with the Furlings, leaving out any details that he did not want to risk Amaunet knowing when she eventually retook control.

Just in case.

Finally, there was a noise outside, and Kasuf pushed open the door hangings. Sha’re started badly at the sudden noise and movement, and after ensuring that she was alright, Daniel looked up. Outside through the open doorway, Daniel saw Ovitix standing next to two broad-shouldered, dark-skinned men whom he did not recognize, almost certainly the people the Commander had sent as help/back-up after receiving the update about Sha’re.

Ovitix made a motion for Daniel to come outside, so he nodded, rising from his seat. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Daniel said quietly to his wife and then stepped outside, being replaced inside by Kasuf.

Waiiiittttttt … I think … Ragnar and Ruarc??

On closer inspection, the two ‘men’ looked quite familiar. Their human appearance was foreign, but they wore Furling-cut garments and small military insignias on their collars, and the more broad-shouldered of the two, though his face was young, had salt-and-pepper hair, while the other, obviously related by appearance, had jet black-hair. Hair-color … fur color. It was Ragnar and Ruarc, Daniel was almost certain, though he was flummoxed on how they looked human.

Probably some piece of tech I don’t know about.

Sam would be over the moon to see something like this.

“Daniel,” the man he was almost certain was Ruarc greeted him with a smile and a flash of human teeth. The voice confirmed Daniel’s suspicion. It was Ruarc, and with human teeth, smiling actually looked friendly, not threatening.

“Ruarc!”

“I bring news from Commander Sujanha,” said Ruarc, guiding Daniel several yards away from the tent and keeping his voice low so not to carry. It would be convenient if I knew Furling right about now … well, more than I do. “She fears that Apophis will soon return for your wife or that a rival might seek to seize her while she is vulnerable. Thus, if your wife is willing to leave Abydos, the Commander strongly recommends that she come to one of our worlds.”

“What about Abydos?” Daniel asked, mind whirring, “If Apophis finds out …”

“In the short-term, the Stargate should be reburied. We will ensure none can attack by ship. In the long-term, the Commander thinks a scanner like Thor’s Hammer should be erected to enable the people here to continue using the Stargate as they wish.”

Maybe she means just the scanner, not the symbiote remover.

Seems reasonable.

I’ll need to speak with Kasuf.

“And after the child is born and Amaunet reemerges?” Daniel asked cautiously. He had spoken with Sujanha about the end result, freeing Sha’re and how that would be done, but not as much about what would happen between finding her and freeing her.

“Sha’re will have to be imprisoned for her own safety and ours until our healers are ready to safely remove symbiotes. Our priority will be the safety of the innocent host. If Amaunet in her arrogance speaks more than she should, our commanders will welcome any news, but Sha’re will never be interrogated. She will be kept in a comfortable cell with female guards and access to good healers, and you may see her as often as you wish. She will be safe as it is possible to make her until she can be freed from her torment.”

Sha’re could still be hurt by Amaunet, but Amaunet couldn’t hurt any others. The latter would, at least, be a relief to Sha’re.

To Daniel, it sounded like a good plan and was infinitely better treatment than Sha’re would probably receive on earth … considering Maybourne et al. No interrogations, no slimy officers, and with the Furlings, she would probably be freed sooner.

“I won’t force her,” Daniel cautioned, “We can go tell her what the Commander recommends, but it will be her choice to stay or go.”

I think we should go, but after all that had happened, I couldn’t stomach her being pressured into doing anything that she doesn’t want to do. Sha’re was her own person and perfectly capable of making her own decisions.

“Of course, we would have nothing else,” replied Ruarc with a firm nod, a flash of some emotion crossing his face for a split second. A human face was less inscrutable than his own.

Ruarc turned and spoke a few quick sentences in Furling to Ovitix, who, when Ruarc had finished speaking, hurried off toward the pyramid. Then the three of them entered Kasuf’s dwelling. In the shadowed interior of the tent, Sha’re and Kasuf were both sitting by the fire but looked up as Daniel entered first, with Ruarc and Ragnar entering on his heels. They both had to duck down further than Daniel had to avoid bumping their heads on the pole that held the door hanging. Ruarc and Ragnar, almost in unison, executed a deep bow first to Kasuf and then to Sha’re, as Daniel retook his seat beside his wife, before themselves sitting down on the opposite side of the fire from the three.

“Sha’re, this is Ragnar and Ruarc, two of the Furlings I was telling you about,” Daniel said, taking her hand in one of his and pointing out each in turn with the other, “They are good friends and brought a proposition for you.”

Sha’re looked across at the newcomers shyly but did not speak, but from the look on her face Daniel gauged she was willing to hear the news, so Daniel gave Ruarc a slight nod, a signal to go ahead.

“Lady Sha’re,” Ruarc began in clear, though still slightly accented, English, “As you have been told, my people are called the Furlings. We are an old race and live on a far-distant world beyond the reach of the System Lords. The news of their cruelty and foul deeds has spread even to the ears of my people, and Daniel may have told you that we soon hope to bring about the fall of the System Lords.” He was picking his words carefully and spoke formally as if Sha’re was a great lady and not simply the daughter of a village leader on a minor world that could not hold a candle to the Furlings in terms of power, influence, or development. “As well as freedom to those like you. My … general … recommends, if you are willing, that you leave Abydos with your husband and come to our lands. There you will be safe until your child comes forth, and the dark one that controls you will not be able to harm others until our healers can set you free. My general will leave protections so that Apophis cannot harm your people when he returns.”

There was silence for several minutes as Sha’re parsed those words. She always got a little frown between her eyebrows when she was thinking. “Can I stay with my Dan’yel?” She finally asked, her gaze flicking back and forth between Daniel himself and Ruarc.

“Until the child is born, yes. Once Amaunet reasserts control, you will have to stay in one place under guard for your own safety and ours. But you will be well treated and well cared for, and your husband, your father, any who wish may visit you as often as they desire.”

Whatever … prison … there was no nicer word Daniel could think of … which the Furlings would use to secure the Goa’uld hosts until they could be freed would be much better than what Sha’re would have looked forward to if he were taking her back to earth. Also, as had already been promised, there would be no interrogations.

No Maybourne.

No NID.

“And what of these protections? If Apophis returns to find her gone, he will destroy the whole village?” Kasuf asked pointedly. As village leader, he had to balance his daughter’s safety with his responsibilities to the rest of his people.

“Rebury the Chappa'ai as soon as we depart,” replied Ruarc, “That will serve in the short term to protect from those who come through it. My general is sending protections to protect your world from enemy ships. If somehow Apophis or another Goa’uld slip past our guard, tell them the truth, an enemy of Apophis came and stole your daughter and her child away.”

“I will come with you,” said Sha’re after a moment’s thought. Daniel smiled in relief.

“Pack anything you wish to bring. We will depart for the gate as soon as you are ready.”

Sha’re had few belongings that she wished to bring with her. Amaunet’s gaudy and impractical garments, she rejected with a shudder, but she assented to Ruarc’s request to bring the hand device, as it might prove useful for the Furlings to study. The journey from the village to the pyramid and the Stargate took longer than Ruarc seemed comfortable with from the wary glances he kept shooting around and his low-voiced comments to his brother. The sun was blazing high in the sky, and the walk across the burning sand was slow and tiring, especially for Sha’re who was leaning harder and harder upon Daniel’s arm the longer the walk went on. By the time they all reached the gateroom and Rasik was beginning to dial, Daniel was not sure that Sha’re could have even stood without assistance she was so exhausted.

Then, suddenly, she proved him wrong. As Rasik finished dialing the Stargate, Sha’re jerked backwards several steps. Daniel started at her sudden movements and turned, his face full of concern, “Sha’re, what’s wrong?”

Suddenly Sha’re’s eyes glowed, and Amaunet spoke in that horrific dual-toned, flanged voice that put shivers up Daniel’s spine, “You dare lay hands on me to take me from this place. I am your goddess.”

D**n it all.

“The naquadah in the gate,” Ruarc snapped, “That’s what rousing the dark one.” His human features did little to hide his unease.

Just hold on, my love.

Just a little longer.

Daniel watched his wife for a moment, cautiously, waiting for her posture to change back to familiar before he approached her. Framing her face with his hands, he begged her, “Sha're, fight this thing. You have to hold on, a little longer, please!”

Sha’re blinked, her eyes a little glassy, and her muscles shook with exhaustion or fear or both. Her eyes slowly focused on his face, and her hands clutched at his arms, “Dan’yel?”

“It’s okay. It’s gone now,” Daniel replied, trying to comfort her. His hopes for having even a little more time with Sha’re before the child was born were fading quickly.

If Amaunet is already rousing …

“We must go,” Ruarc prompted. “The longer we are here, the sooner Amaunet will return.”

With Daniel supporting her on one side and Ovitix on the other, Sha’re made it up the steps to the open Stargate. Ruarc was in front, and Rasik and Ragnar were acting as rear guard. When they all emerged from the wormhole—somehow nothing else had gone wrong, preventing them from making it through to safety—they were on a vastly different world. Given Rasik had dialed the gate, not used an auto-dialer, Daniel guessed they were still in the Milky-Way.

The Stargate stood in the middle of a grassy plain that was as flat as any terrain Daniel had ever seen in his life. The vegetation was only ankle-high as far as he could see, providing clear sightlines for any surrounding guards, and the closest cover—a grove of high trees—was at least half-a-mile away. Awaiting the new arrivals were … two, four, six, seven … people, probably guards and healers. Four were human or, at least, near-human enough to pass inspection, while two Furlings and one Lapith made up the rest of the complement.

Seeing the strange, inhuman faces, compounded by Ragnar and Ruarc’s disguises dropping at almost the worst possible moment, Sha’re shrunk back into Daniel’s side with a cry of fear, eyes wide in terror.

“It’s alright,” Daniel tried to reassure her, “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. These are my friends. I know they look frightening, but they want to help you. You’re safe. I promise.” He switched into Abydonian and repeated the same string of soothing words.

Suddenly, Sha’re’s eyes flashed as Amaunet roused again, but then Sha’re was back an instant later, doubling over with a cry of pain as she clutched at her belly. Daniel froze for a moment but got a hold of himself in time to ease Sha’re to the ground as her legs collapsed under her. At her cry, a woman—human with salt and pepper hair—pushed her way through the crowd to Sha’re’s side.

“It’s alright, my child,” the woman said in English, pressing a gentle hand to Sha’re’s forehead. When she pulled her hand back, Daniel caught side of a colored stone on her palm, “Your child comes. All will be well.”

To Daniel she said, “I’m Kaja, Sujanha’s personal healer. Our lady sent me.” Then she turned back, calling something urgently in Furling to the others. In moments, Kaja, Sha’re, Daniel, and Ruarc were all beamed away to the infirmary in the hidden base underground.

The next hour was a blur. As soon as they reached the infirmary, Sha’re was surrounded by even more healers and helped into a high-tech bed. The pain of labor combined with the fear of Amaunet’s return and the utter foreignness of the faces frightened her. It was all Daniel could do to keep his wife somewhat calm. He had hoped there would have been more time for them to spend together, more time for Sha’re to get acclimated to what for her was a strange new world and an ever stranger new people before the baby came.

I was expecting us to actually make it back to Asteria before the … our … baby made an appearance.

Daniel had known of this earth-shaking new situation less than a day, but already he was coming to care for the child in Sha’re’s womb. The child could not help who was his or her father was, and he or she would be as much a part of Sha’re as they would be of Apophis … of his host.

Soon Kaja was laying a baby in his arms, “You have a son.” His arms automatically came up to cradle the boy … my son … in a familiar hold. Childbirth and babies were a familiar thing after that trip to the Yucatan … a very long time ago.

Seconds later, Sha’re’s eyes flashed. “Give me the child.” Amaunet commanded imperially, or as imperially as she could while stained with sweat and bodily fluids, barely past the pain and exertion of childbirth. When the healers moved to restrain her, the Goa’uld’s temper exploded, “You dare touch…” Her words trailed off as a healer injected her with a sedative, and she collapsed.

Daniel, still cradling his son with eyes full of wonder, backed up out of the way of the healers. “What will happen to Sha’re now?” He asked Ruarc, who had been in the hallway outside but had come to the doorway at the sound of the commotion.

At least we had time to talk about names before Ruarc arrived.

“Once the healers deem her strong enough for travel, Sha’re will be taken back to Asteria. A stronghold has been prepared until the hosts can be freed.”

Shifu.

Light.

It fits.

Three days later, Daniel stood in front of a large and comfortable cell on Ardea in Asteria as a hulking orderly gently laid a temporarily sedated Sha’re down on the cell’s bed. Save for the attached bathroom, the cell and its accoutrements had been fashioned in the likeness of an Abydonian tent, and holograms covering the three walls and Sha’re’s clothing completed the illusion that they could have been in Kasuf’s tent on Abydos. Little things scattered here and there combined with the bathroom kept the illusion from being 100% effective, but hopefully, the familiar things would be a comfort to her, even in the shadow crevices of her own mind. Here Sha’re would stay for the foreseeable future, safe from external harm.

Until we can be together again.

The protections the Commander had ordered had been set in place to guard Abydos, including some sort of early warning satellite with long-range sensors in orbit and a scanning device like on Cimmeria in the gateroom so that the gate no longer needed to remain buried. The protections would prevent any further problems on Abydos. Further, that was since a ship sent by Sujanha had been forced to deal with an attempted incursion by one of Heru’ur’s underlings the day after Sha’re and Daniel had left.

These few days had given Daniel time to think and plan, and after using both Sujanha and Ruarc as a sounding board, Daniel had made the heartbreaking decision to leave Shifu on Abydos for now. Wet-nurses were a thing among the Furlings, and Sujanha had been more than willing to make room for a(nother) new addition at the house, but given his present circumstances, Daniel did not feel that he could care for Shifu as the boy truly deserved.

Child-raising, especially on your own, was a full-time job, and a job that, for any child’s sake, deserved to be done right. (Considering his childhood in foster care after his parents died in an accident at the New York Museum of Art, Daniel knew that well.) Abydos was not that far—with one step Daniel could move from galaxy to galaxy—and there Shifu could grow under the watch-care of his grandfather and his people. Daniel could visit, planned to spend time with his son as often as possible, especially since the Furling healers wanted to monitor the boy. A child of two Goa’uld hosts was unprecedented, and though he appeared fully human by all accounts, they still want to keep an eye on him.

And soon … all three of us … we’ll be together again.

[1] From here on out, this chapter contains direct quotes from the episode transcript of “Secrets.” These dialogue lines were created by the writers and producers of Stargate, not by me. This site was used to compile the dialogue: http://www.stargate-sg1-solutions.com/wiki/2.09_%22Secrets%22_Transcript.

[2] Human.

[3] Adrenaline.

Chapter Text

After discovering Sha're on Abydos on the one-year anniversary of her kidnapping and all the upheaval that followed, life went back to semi-normal for Daniel, or at least semi-normal for the new normal that was his life on Uslisgas. Not long after his wife was transferred from the Furlings' base in the Milky-Way back to Ardea, one of their off-world bases in Asteria where Goa'uld hosts would be held until they could be freed, Daniel was appointed as Sujanha's third aid, a development which he was pleased with. Suggesting the appointment to him, the Commander had noted wryly that, with all the help he had been to her since his arrival, he had been doing the work of an aid and should at least get paid in return.

Ruarc, who had become Daniel's closest friend on Uslisgas and his go-to person for questions about anything Furling or anything Furling-related, had revealed that his salary … very generous … would allow him to live extremely comfortably … by my standards, at least … even if he were paying for his own housing. And since I'm staying with the Commander and she's not even letting me chip in for the common meals, that's most of my salary getting banked every month. Thankfully, with the Furling's 'banking' system, Daniel was not reduced to hiding his money under his mattress.

Every weekend where urgent business did not confine him to Uslisgas, Daniel went off-world to Abydos to check on his son and spend time with him. Even though circumstances prevented him from raising Sha're's son 25-8-400,[1] he wanted his face to be familiar. He wanted to spend time with the child whom he already loved as his own. He wanted to build a relationship with him. Shifu was a good-natured child, quite healthy too, and was grew quickly in those first weeks and months. After visiting Kasuf and Shifu on Abydos, Daniel always went next to Ardea, the world where Sha're was confined, to check on his wife and spend some time with her. He could not talk to her per-say, since Amaunet was in control, but he could talk at her and hope that Sha're could at least hear his voice and the updates on how her son was growing.

Three months passed, and Sha're remained confined. Developing safer methods to extract symbiotes would take time even as advanced as the Furling healers were. As promised, Amaunet was never interrogated by the Furling military, though occasionally probing or leading questions were put to her as a one-off, and from time-to-time Goa'uld arrogance served its purposes to lead her into saying more than she should in response. One piece of information that came from such questions regarded something that had troubled Daniel ever since their return from Abydos. It had never made sense why Apophis wanted to take his host's son as his new host, and it had made even less sense why such a decision (as staggeringly depraved as it was to Daniel and everyone else) was controversial enough to require it being hidden from the other System Lords.

The answer when it came was critical for taking care of Shifu but utterly horrifying, plunging his healthy son into an uncertain future.

Harcesis—which was probably derived from Harsiesis (Hor-sa-Isis, Horus son of Isis)—was the term that Amaunet used one day during one bout of ravings about her pharaoh avenging her and setting her free and destroying the Furlings and razing their worlds to the ground for holding her captive and so forth and so on. The term meant nothing to Daniel at first, aside from its likely etymological and historical derivations, which he could have expounded to Sujanha at length.

The term Harcesis meant nothing to Daniel—what exactly did it mean that Shifu was Harcesis? How was Harcesis related to Apophis' concern that the boy not be discovered?

It seemed important enough to track down. But how? Daniel had no access to Teal'c or to Bra'tac or any other Free Jaffa. The Asgard, when asked, knew nothing. Whatever Harcesis was, it seemed to have to do with the inner workings of the Goa'uld, which the Asgard had nothing to do with.

So, who to ask? How do you solve a mystery when all the experts were in another galaxy?

It was actually one of Sujanha's senior commanders who proposed the solution. The Free Jaffa were in the Milky-Way, but all of Heru'ur's Jaffa who had raided Cimmeria and then been captured by Thor were prisoners here in Asteria. To make matters better, some of them were cooperating with the Furling Military, actually cooperating, not just the bare minimum needed for interactions regarding the running of their colony.[2] One such Jaffa was Imsety, an older man and one of the two chief commanders under Heru'ur on that mission, though not a first prime or a former first prime.

(Imsety was an interesting name for a Jaffa. In Egyptian mythology, Imsety was one of the four sons of Horus and the guardian of the canopic jar which contained the liver.)

He doesn't sound like he's quite gotten to the point of denying the divinity of the Goa'uld, but he's getting there.

All Harcesis—what is the plural? Harceses? It sounds vaguely Greek—were forbidden by the System Lords under pain of death, Imsety revealed. The reason they were forbidden had something to do with hidden knowledge that should be kept secret. He did not know more, and even that much Imsety was not supposed to know. Apparently there had been some kerfuffle at Ra's court some years earlier (before we blew him up) when one of Ra's underlings had created a Harcesis. Even among the Goa'uld, people talk, and Imsety had overheard things in the aftermath of that event.[3]

Harcesis.

"Hidden, secret knowledge."

With more research and more questions later, including to Amaunet, that one clue was enough to put the pieces together. A Harcesis bore forbidden knowledge: the genetic memory passed down from his parents, both of whom had to be hosts.

What does that mean for Shifu? No one knew yet.

Was that sweet little boy, growing like a weed, going to grow up to turn into a galactic megalomanic with delusions of grandeur? No one knew.

What did it even mean, what did it even entail for a human mind to bear the weight of the genetic memory of a Goa'uld lineage? No one knew yet. Was madness and megalomania the predetermined end? No one knew.

What was that going to mean for Shifu growing up? No one knew.

Am I going to watch him change? No one knew.

No one knew anything … well, almost anything … yet, and that lack of knowledge was the hardest part.

The Furlings healers, however, seemed to take the new bomb dropped in their lap in stride. After everything they had faced during the Great War, Daniel did vaguely wonder at one point if anything could phase them. Regular reports on Shifu's health and behavior as well as regular non-invasive tests, including brain scans, became vital.

The whole situation reminded Daniel of what some parents had to go through watching their kids be diagnosed with some horrible disease and have to face an uncertain future.

The decision, however, to have Shifu stay on Abydos remained, at least for the moment. With the Stargate, healers could go back and forth quickly and regularly without trouble, and the healers did not seem to think that, at least for now, Shifu needed to be closer to the healers as long as he was under the regular care of healers. Kasuf knew to bring him to Uslisgas if something went wrong.

Is genetic memory even accessible to a human with no symbiote? No one knew.

But Daniel (and the Furlings) had every intention of finding out.

Finding the Free Jaffa and, most of all, the Tok'ra just got very personal for another reason for Daniel.

In the ensuing months after Abydos Daniel also continued to devote a considerable amount of his time, when he was not working with Sujanha at Headquarters or visiting Sha're and Shifu on weekends (or briefly at other times, when possible, especially after the Harcesis bombshell), to studying of the Furling language, an extremely complicated tongue. Those tasks kept him busy enough that studying books for hours daily was hard, but immersion—hearing the language all around him—still allowed him to advance quickly. Ruarc and Sujanha were also happy to assist most any time he had questions. By the time he had been on Uslisgas for around five months, Daniel had gained a solid grasp of written Furling and near-fluency in spoken Furling, though some of the seemingly endless contextual variations of certain words still escaped him.

Preparations for war continued slowly but surely. All over headquarters and especially in Sujanha's offices, there were many discussions most every day about supply lines, cache planets, available allied contingents, weapons and equipment, and any other topic remotely related to preparing for war and supplying an army and a fleet for a war in a totally separate galaxy. The logistics to even make such a thing possible were mind-bogglingly complex.

Although their allies are organizing supplies and weapons for their own contingents.

All the Furlings have to do is make sure everything gets coordinated, which is a massive task all on its own.

And although for a galactic empire, the size of the Furling army … for whom most of these preparations were concerned … with the ships, the fleet has it a little easier … was actually quite small. According to Sujanha, the Furlings were committing 500,000 men—a little more than half of their active-duty troops to the fight, numbers which would then be increased by contingents of varying size from their allies. That meant the army probably had between 800,000 and one million active-duty soldiers. Those numbers had sent Daniel down a research rabbit-hole some weeks earlier. 800,000 soldiers, that number was well-less than the size of the United States military, though the Furlings had a population of about 600 million, twice the size or so of the United States, spread across the galaxy.

Once his Furling had advanced enough for Daniel to look more into the Great War, he promptly regretted his curiosity. The reason the Furlings' population was only 600 million and their military comparatively small? The military and civilian death toll for the Great War for the Furlings alone, not even counting all of their allies and the entire civilizations that had been wiped from existence, made the death toll of World War 2, the deadliest known war in earth's history, look like a minor uprising. More than half of the entire population of the Furlings had died during the war. More than half.

The death toll for all the peoples, soldiers and civilians, combined was in the billions. The billions.

Reading the death toll made Daniel feel sick.

Wars that lasted millennia and crisscrossed an entire galaxy were a whole new ball game, which nothing on earth had prepared him for.

The numbers of those MIA were, in their own way, as horrifying as (or perhaps even more horrifying than) the numbers of the dead, given Sujanha's comments that alluded to their enemy conducting human experimentation. For most, there had been no rescue, no escape except for death. The Furlings were still doing archaeological excavations on worlds where those atrocities had taken place, sifting through debris from mass grave after mass grave after mass grave to bring home every missing soldier that they could.

If I have time, I'll be out there in a heart-beat if they'll let me.

Little progress, meanwhile, had been made in the search for Bra'tac and the rebel Jaffa. After their original discussion where Daniel had told Sujanha about them, Supreme Commander Anarr had soon dispatched many pairs of scouts to the Milky-Way, equipped with what intelligence the Furling military had, to start sowing seeds of rebellion where possible and to search for the Free Jaffa where possible.

No one wanted to risk exposing the fifth column within the Goa'uld Empire. Expose as in lead the Goa'uld right to them.

Both Supreme Commanders, along with their principal lieutenants, had all agreed that it was too risky to attempt to infiltrate Chu'lak to seek Bra'tac directly, if he were even still there by that point. Daniel was well aware that his intelligence was out of date. Even cloaked scouts would be exposed coming through the Stargate by the ripples in the event horizon … if the guards were paying attention. While the scouts had learned much valuable intelligence for the war effort during their multi-month search, they so far had discovered few leads as to the Free Jaffa.

But (unbeknownst to Daniel), not for long.

28th of Ihom, Spring, 6545 A.S
(August 25, 1998)
Uslisgas, Asteria Galaxy

Today was Daniel's morning off. With three aids now, Sujanha did not have need of all of them all the time—for the moment, not that that is likely to last once the war starts—and it was Daniel's turn to have the morning off. Unsurprisingly, he had elected to spend his morning in the Great Library. He had made his way straight there after eating breakfast with the Commander and had happily ensconced himself at his reading nook to pour through more books and put his newfound knowledge of the Furling language to good use. The Great Library was massive with more books than he could read in a lifetime, but Ragnar, Ruarc, and Sujanha had all given him suggestions on what to read first to help him get up to speed.

The books in the Great Library from the general browsing as well as perusing of the catalog that he had done covered almost every topic imaginable: histories of the Furlings, Ancients, Asgard, Nox, Ohnes (!), several other races from Asteria, as well as many species name Daniel had never heard of; biographies of major figures from a multitude of races; theological texts and treatises, though none from the Furlings; philosophy and ethics, especially regarding conduct during wartime; literature, including some works of fictions, epic poems and odes, as well as other types of poetry; and engineering, technical, and scientific treatises, some of which were so advanced that Daniel felt like he was trying to read an entirely separate language just glancing at them.

When it came to books written by their allies, the Furlings collected everything. Absolutely everything. It made sense, though. Some races had been utterly wiped out during the Great War, and now all that remained of them were the texts in this library and the memories of the living. And even the Furlings did not live forever. The Great Library and its collection were all that stood between some races and their loss from history.

However, the Furlings' own writings—so a librarian had explained to him at length and so he was discovering from his own perusing—were mainly of the historical variety (including biographical) or the philosophical/ethical or the scientific. Of fiction, Furlings read little and wrote even less. The same went for poetry, generally, though Daniel learned that multiple lays/epics had been written concerning the Great War and the unnumberable dead. On theology, the Furlings also had written basically nothing. They were obviously religious from the occasional reference to their "Maker," but their religion did not seem to be an organized one with institutions or major texts like Christianity or Judaism or Islam or other major religions on earth.

The Great Library was also a wonderful place for people watching, as almost every race in Asteria seemed to be present there one day or another. The occasional Asgard, along with members of a handful of other races that seemed non-native to Asteria, also wandered through from time to time. Unlike in the Milky-Way, humans were the minority, and the races of Asteria and Ida ran the gambit from human or near-human to humanoid but very inhuman appearance-wise to four-footed but sentient and about everything in between, including a few that seemed to fall into the who-the-h**l-knows category.

The prime example of the last category was the Iprysh, the strange and mysterious guards at headquarters and the High Council Chambers. And probably at yet more places I haven't been yet. They all wore suits of high-tech Iron-Man like armor, and Daniel had never seen them outside of their armor. Or are they the armor? Were the Iprysh mechanical life-forms? Or a race who used or had to use those armored suits for reasons unbeknownst to Daniel?

He was not exactly sure.

I'm not sure anyone actually knows for sure.

Curiosity about the Iprysh had him falling down a research rabbit hole one morning some weeks earlier. Their homeworld, Skeshan, was an ice world with temperatures that commonly made Antarctica look warm. As a result, it was impossible for most races to travel there, forcing the Iprysh to travel off-world to meet with their allies … where they were always seen in their who had traveled to Skeshan had never seen or never revealed the true appearance of the Iprysh, if indeed the Iprysh were seen outside their armor on their homeworld at all.

Because of the lack of knowledge about the true appearance of the Iprysh, truly ridiculous rumors had developed over the years. Some said that the Iprysh had no bone structure and needed their armor to protect their bodies and to give them a non-horrifying, globular shape. Others said, instead, that the Iprysh were some sort of bodiless consciousness who required a physical form (via the armor) to interact with their allies. Others, more sensibly, believed that the Iprysh who probably had forms adapted for the extremely cold and harsh conditions of their homeworld required the armor to protect their bodies from milder conditions on other planets, similar to how the Etrairs required breathing masks when not on their homeworld.

Among the humanoid but not-at-all human fell most of the races in Asteria, and they all had interesting characteristics and quirks that made learning more about them fascinating. The Etrairs and most of the Nafshi (like Jaax), one of Sujanha's other two aids, were so similar in appearance to Wookies, save for their breathing masks, as to be eerie.

Star Wars didn't have any basis in reality … did it?

Teal'c would be quite happy if it did, I think, as many times as he's watched that series.

The draconian Dovahkiin were rather terrifying in appearance, a cross between dragons, gargoyles, and probably a few other things. Yet when Daniel actually spoke to them from time to time, he found them to be some of the most pleasant, congenial, helpful, and respectful people he had talked to yet, always happy to share stories or answer questions. Scrupulously exact in their dealings, they were craftsman and lovers of knowledge with a fascination of riddles, the more complex the better. Such things had never been Daniel's forte, but he was able to drudge up several from memory to share.

The morning passed quickly, and it was coming about time to wrap up and go buy lunch before heading to work when Daniel, standing in the stacks pursuing a book on Furling architecture, heard hurried footsteps. He looked up and around with some surprise, double-checking what was going on around him. A young man (human) in what passed for a military uniform among the Furlings was coming down the main hallway that bisected that wing of the library into two long rows and was quickly scanning people's faces, looking for someone in particular, it seemed. As soon as he caught sight of Daniel, he made a beeline towards him.

"Doctor Jackson," he said in rapid Furling, "You are summoned to Headquarters. The Commander needs to speak with you."

Sujanha had been having a good day so far. Had with its past completed nature, regarding the good portion of her day, was the operative word. It was half-way through the fourth week of the month, and the day had started out normally enough. With three aids, Sujanha did not have need of all of them all the time, and it was Daniel's turn to have the morning off. Unsurprisingly, given his new grasp of the language, he had elected to spend his morning in the Great Library.

She had opened her home to the young Midgardian out of a sense of duty, welcoming an exile who would have struggled to find his footing on a new world otherwise when no one apart from her and her bodyguards spoke his language. That being said, over the past months, she had come to enjoy his company greatly. Daniel was an interesting young man, possessed of a complex soul. He was kind, generous, devoted to his wife and son, absolutely brilliant and extremely inquisitive, and yet somewhat moody at times and prone to bouts of single-minded focus at his research that kept him up to all hours for sometimes days on end, especially with projects that were near to his heart as with his wife's imprisonment and his son's uncertain fate.

For the last forty-five years, Sujanha's life had been rather repetitive. Her health had been nearly shattered by the end of the Great War, and thirty-two years of convalescence briefly on Gaia and then on Drehond had restored enough of her health for her to return to the fleet. That did not mean, however, that she felt well, and getting through each day, getting out of bed every morning was often a struggle. The pain in her limbs, her joints, the trembling of her paw, the tiredness, all of it was a reminder that she should have died in 6048 A.S.

It never got easier wondering why she had lived when so many others had died, when her brother-son had died terrified and in agony.

Sometimes only her driving sense of duty and loyalty toward the thousands under her command gave her the strength and determination to push through. Her days were repetitive—day after day of rising when pain drove her from sleep, working as long as her strength held, and eating what she could when she had the stomach for it—a routine only interrupted by those rare days when she was almost or actually bedridden. Those days she longed for sleep—even sleep interrupted by dark dreams or bittersweet dreams of the Honored Ones[4] or of the friends who were lost to her—if only to make the time pass faster and spare her from the dark thoughts that came when the pain was worst.

The punishing schedule she had kept all these years was certainly in the end to take years off her life—and she already knew, the healers had told her before her departure from Drehond, that she would die very young—but the driving nature of her work and the horrific among of work to do in the wake of the Great War, rebuilding a shattered military and galaxy, had left her little time for regrets in the wake of her untimely return from Drehond and little time for dwelling on her losses or her own pain and weakness. There was just a never-ending amount of work to be done for people of all classes from the humblest farmer—extremely vital for without food no military could survive—to the king himself.

Daniel had brought a breath of new air into Sujanha's life, shaken up the repetitive structure of her days with his kindness, inquisitiveness, and interest in everything. When asked the right question or when on a favorite topic, Daniel could talk animatedly for as long as someone would listen, and he always had interesting questions to ask about the Furlings and his research. His questions seemed never ending, not that Sujanha minded. She liked his inquisitive nature, though the memories of Odin, her brother-son, lost too soon, that those talks sometimes provoked, made her sad. Her relationship with Daniel was simpler in a way, unfraught by the weight of years and losses unnumberable. Having Daniel in her home also made her not work so late, for which her aids and her bodyguards seemed eternally grateful.

The morning had been going well.

Daniel had expounded over breakfast about what he had hoped to look at in the library that morning, his hands sometimes waving around to illustrate his points. He had veered off onto tangents, as he often did, about the "people-watching" that he often did and all he was learning just by watching and listening. They had parted ways after breakfast. Daniel had headed off to the city on foot, a chance to get some exercise while he was at it, and Sujanha had beamed to Headquarters.

After a somewhat boring but uneventful morning, problems started appearing at her office door, and that was the end of a good, quiet day. Jaax appeared first in her office doorway, tablet in hand and apologetic look in his dark eyes. His mask was off for the moment—as a half-blood, he didn't have to wear his breathing mask continually—and the set of his mouth showed his unease. "Supreme Commander Anarr is on his way down to see you. A message or messenger came through the Stargate not long ago. Something went wrong with the scouts in Avalon."

Oh, stars!

Sujanha immediately felt her stomach tighten. How many more names to add to the Wall? Too many had died on her watch, and her mind had a way of jumping to worst-case scenarios. All he said was that something went wrong. He did not say what went wrong. Yet, it was serious enough that Anarr was coming down without giving her more warning than this.

"Very well. I thank you," Sujanha replied, her gaze returning to her open reports and papers still to be signed so that she could start closing down things for the moment, but Jaax remained, "Yes? Another message?"

Jaax nodded, frowning harder, "Whatever happened, it got Stargate operations …" He paused, obviously searching for a descriptor, "flustered, so what I'm about to tell you does not make perfect sense. Around the same time as the news from Avalon, an envoy from Drehond also arrived, either the High Princess Zulaar, her eldest son, or … possibly both of them," he made a disgusted face that exposed an array of very pointed teeth, "They stated that they needed to speak to you on Fleet business."

Possibly … both … of them!

Wonderful! She thought sarcastically.

It had been strange, at first, but now it was just tragic in a way the wealth of emotions that the mention of Zulaar's name could provoke in Sujanha's mind. A lifetime ago when Sujanha had been growing up on Drehond, Zulaar had been her surrogate younger sister—Zin's only sibling—who had delighted in following Sujanha around, calling her "elder sister" and showing off how she was learning to fly or do aerial tricks, displaying the results of her latest crafting lesson, or asking for stories.

That was a lifetime ago.

All goodwill between Sujanha and the Dovahkiin Royal Family had shattered in the space of a day forty-five years ago. Reeling from unexpected news from her healers and in great physical pain, Sujanha had made one of the hardest decisions of her life in the attempt to do the right thing for Zin. Everything had spiraled out of control, and that one decision had cost her everything: her surrogate younger sister, those who had raised her for longer than her own blood parents, her dearest friend who would have been more if things had been different, and her home. But going down the road of those thoughts only brought pain and self-recrimination, which was worse than the cutting politeness in Zulaar's voice and the burning hatred in her eyes.

"Commander?" Jaax prompted gently.

Focus. You have work to do.

What's done is done. The past is the past.

"Unless whatever she …," oh, for stars' sake, "they," singular or plural, "need can wait, whatever matters Elder-Brother needs to discuss with me comes first." (Part of Sujanha really hoped that whatever Zulaar, her son, or they both needed could not wait, because she was not sure that she felt up to dealing with either of them on top of whatever issue was going on in Avalon.) She paused, "Are my High Commanders on-world?"

Jaax paused and got a far-away look in his eyes. Her aid possessed a prodigious memory that he used to great effect, keeping her office running and tracking where her chief commanders were at any particular time. "No," he shook his head after a moment, "But Fleet Commander Aterra is. I saw her on my way up this morning."

Aterra would be an excellent choice to deal with them. She was one of the Kushik, a half-blood Dovahkiin-Furling hybrid, and the Dovahkiin envoy(s) might appreciate dealing with one of their own people if Sujanha was unavailable. Zulaar, at least, would probably prefer NOT to speak to me.

Ragnar appeared in the doorway at that moment, "High Commander Algar is on-world."

"No, he isn't," was Jaax's immediate, affronted response.

"Yes, he is," Ragnar replied. "I saw him in his office half-an-hour ago when I went for tea."

(Jaax scowled, obviously annoyed at his memory failing him. Though considering that Sujanha didn't think he had left the office for at least two hours, he could not have known.)

Algar was also one of the Kushik and a higher rank than Aterra in case they get offended at getting shunted off to be a Fleet Commander's problem. At least, they won't be my problem. It was at moments like these that Sujanha gave thanks that the debacle on Drehond had somehow not lost her the support of commanders like Algar and Aterra. Some Dovahkiin in the lower ranks had left the service, but Algar and Aterra had remained steadfastly loyal.

Sujanha pinched her eyes shut. A throbbing headache was forming behind her forehead, and the worst was still yet to come. "I don't have time for this." Or the strength or the patience or the stomach. "Send the High Princess or her son, or both of them, to Algar. Take a message down to him first. Give him my regrets for dumping another thing on his to-do-list, but tell him to deal with this, whatever this is. If he does not have the time, send them to Aterra."

Jaax nodded and withdrew. Ragnar, still in the doorway, sent Sujanha a sympathetic look and then also withdrew. He and his brother had an inkling of what had gone wrong, but on Uslisgas, only Sujanha, Anarr, and the High King knew the full story. In a small act of mercy, Sariiz, the Great Queen of the Dovahkiin, had kept the details of the matter that had sundered Sujanha from her second-family permanently locked down. Even Vaazrodiiv, the only member of the Dovahkiin court who kept contact with her and polite contact at that, a fact that sometimes seemed like a minor miracle, did not know the full story. It was known by many that something had gone terribly wrong, leaving Sujanha veritably shunned, an outcast from the court in which she had spent almost her entire childhood, but no one knew why exactly.

Sujanha was widely enough respected that there was no open commenting or speculation on what had happened, though a few rumors had reached her ears over the years. Most of those at Headquarters had automatically taken Sujanha's side, even though I was in the wrong, taking great affront at her treatment by the Dovahkiin, which was generally on the barely polite edge of hostile, and did their best to shield her.

Anarr entered within the next minute, movements perfectly controlled but with a look in his eyes like thunder. The sight of her elder-brother so soon after the stirred-up memories of her time on Drehond were yet another reminder of their complicated relationship. Sujanha trusted her brother without reservation, wanted the best for him, and would die for him without a shadow of reservation. Yet … the two had grown up apart, spending only twenty years together as children until the danger grew too great, and they were sent to safety on separate worlds. The war had stifled communication, and Sujanha could count the remembered interactions between them in the following 230 years on the claws of her paws. Sujanha and Anarr had been close as younglings, but their childhood separation had created a gulf between them.

That first reunion … I barely recognized him, could barely remember what he looked like.

I did not even know the sound of his voice.

Their first reunion had been awkward, but under fire and war and death and staggering responsibility, they had reforged their relationship. Their bond would never have been the deep and easy friendship … it was more than just that … which she had shared with Zinjotnax … which you destroyed, but it had been something. However, that had only lasted for about six-hundred years before Sujanha had been poisoned and Anarr's first-born son had died. And in the aftermath of that, the gulf between them had reopened and deepened, formality replacing any closeness between them. And with her brother-son's death, any hope of time forging a stronger bond ended.

And yet …

Anarr was still her brother.

And she loved him, still did, even though any show of closeness in public was more of a front than anything else.

At least we can still work together.

The two worked well together at headquarters and on the battlefield. Long years of fighting together had given them a deep understanding of each other's strategies and tactics, so much so that they could regularly accurately predict what the other's movements and decisions would be. Their interactions on a personal level were few and far between, aside from polite inquiries into the other's well-being. In most ways, Sujanha was closer to her bodyguards by far than her own brother. Personal visits, even to see the children, were nonexistent. She had enough weight on her shoulders without her law-sister's anger and disdain. Could I have prevented Odin's death? After so many years ... and my so few visits to their home … and how we can't stand each other, Sujanha knew that her brother could not NOT know, though he had never confirmed that knowledge … or put a stop to his wife's actions. His matching slide into formality in their dealings only confirmed the rift in Sujanha's mind.

Does he blame me, also?

It was one of her deepest fears that Anarr actually agreed with his wife and blamed Sujanha for his son's death, blamed her as she blamed herself. As a child growing up on Drehond, Sujanha had nearly idolized her brother, or rather, the idea of her brother that she could barely remember. Though their relationship was fractured beyond repair, there was a part of Sujanha, which felt that she could not bear it if Anarr laid the fault for his boy's death on her shoulders, too.

Anarr dropped into a seat opposite Sujanha. His ears were pinned flat to his head, and the look of thunderous anger in his eyes had not abated. By the stars, what happened? For as long as she had known Elder-Brother, his anger had always run hot like the fires of Drehond, while hers generally ran as cold as the ice-fields of Skeshan.

Like for Anarr, displays of anger, like at the High Council meeting at the time of Daniel's arrival, were rare. She was judged by an exacting standard, more-so for the last 45 years since her return. Some of the High Council wanted her unseated for varied reasons, Janth being the principal opposition. The events on Drehond … my fault, all my fault, I ruined it all for all my good intensions … had drawn her more unwanted attention. If I had chosen differently, might some still live? It was an old fear that had taken root in her heart long-years before, blooming in the darkest of night when pain kept her from sleeping. Sometimes Sujanha wondered what a life of peace would be like without the shadow of war or politics.

It was hard to imagine what that might be like.

"…my scouts!" Anarr was speaking, had been speaking while Sujanha's mind wandered again. Leave thoughts like that for the night. There is work to be done.

"Forgive me, Elder-Brother," Sujanha interrupted carefully before he could continue, "My mind wandered." It made her cringe internally even to admit the fact, although only her brother, her aids, and her bodyguards were present and could hear, "Would you start again?"

For a bare moment a look of … something … flashed across Anarr's eyes, a touch of frustration perhaps, before he gave a sharp nod, took a deep breath, and restarted in a calmer voice, "As you know, our scouts have made little progress in finding and contacting the Rebel Jaffa or Bra'tac."

Sujanha made a noise of affirmation. She had spent hours reading the reports with the information sent back so far by the scouts. There had been much of use, but not what she desperately wanted: leads on the Rebel Jaffa.

"An hour ago, one of my scouts, Jeluk, one of the Getae, returned through the Stargate, injured."

Just one! Oh, stars.

All the scouts had gone out in pairs.

Jeluk.

She knew that name.

He was one of Anarr's most trusted scouts, though he was young and had only seen service in the latter years of the war. He and his brother Navok looked human, but a near-ancestor of theirs had been from one of the long-lived races, and both had seen more than a hundred years. Sujanha had met them both more than once. They were twins, rarely parted from each other.

He would never have come back without Navok.

"They were attacked?" Sujanha asked, as a wave of sorrow swept across her. Death had always been a close companion. Too many had died for the sake of the Empire because of her orders, as much as she had struggled to bring every soldier home. Her own slowly declining health kept death close, and every loss, she felt deeply, "Can anything be done to retrieve Navok's body for burial? For his brother's sake?"

No victory comes without sacrifice, but … what a cost.

Not one more name to add to the lists of the Lost, please, Maker. That list is long enough.

Anarr's jaw tightened. The sound of his teeth grinding was almost audible. "Navok isn't dead." Thank the Maker. "Jeluk and Navok were ambushed by Jaffa belonging to Apophis, who discovered one of their hideouts after they helped a group of villagers. In the ambush, Jeluk was wounded, and both would have been overcome except that a group of Rebel Jaffa under Bra'tac rescued them." They found us, instead of us finding them. Interesting. "Their help for the visitors and the information they could provide, as well as Dr. Jackson's name and some details about him, seemed to reassure Master Bra'tac that Jeluk and Navok were not System Lord spies intent on driving his people from their dens."

"Is he willing to meet?" Sujanha asked.

"Yes," her brother replied, "Master Bra'tac sent Jeluk back, since he was injured, to bring word of his willingness to meet and to identify a world to meet on."

"Navok?"

"Still with the Rebel Jaffa. They do not trust us completely," there was grudging respect in Anarr's voice, "They would be fools to, yet. Master Bra'tac is keeping Navok with him until we can meet. His safety is assured meanwhile."

I cannot imagine Jeluk was happy to leave his brother.

"How badly is Jeluk injured?" Sujanha asked.

"A burn on his leg, possibly a near-miss from a staff weapon, and some broken ribs. A couple of nights in the Halls, and all should be well. As in pain as he was, he was almost more upset about having to leave his brother." Such injuries were more severe for a human or a near-human than a half-blood or full-blooded Furling. We could survive injuries that would kill a human. Even Sujanha, who was known for her weaker constitution because of her Asgardian blood, would have considered such injuries as comparatively minor. Once. Not so now.

"Who does Master Bra'tac wish to meet? And what is the address?"

A swipe of one paw brought up a holographic screen, and Anarr jotted down the address and shoved the screen across to his sister. The sooner the better. Bring Navok home. Daniel had said Master Bra'tac would make a vital ally. Using a hostage to try to ensure the safety of a meeting was a well-known tactic, one that Sujanha could understand given the circumstances. I'm not sure I'd ever use it myself, but I understand the use. That did not mean Sujanha or Anarr trusted Bra'tac yet, nor did they like having one of their men in harm's way.

I don't know this address. Is it on the Abydos cartouche? A few quick motions set a search running for any information on that world in the Furling database.

Anarr's ears twitched. "He wants Doctor Jackson to come, as well as Jeluk and Navok's commander. Just those two."

Just the two of them …

"How many men does Master Bra'tac have?"

"Unclear."

Wonderful.

Now Sujanha's ears twitched. She had grown quite fond of Daniel these last months. He reminded her of her brother-son, though she was fond of him for his own sake, and part of her riled at the thought of sending him into danger. We were betrayed on an allied world. That was the hardest part in finding friends among those who served her. At some point, her orders would send them into danger. She had lost so many people in the course of her life: father and mother, though they were but dim memories; her brother-son; even Zin, though not too death; and so many others.

Just Daniel and a commander. Hmm … there might be ways around that depending on how closely the Stargate is watched.

"Doctor Jackson's presence will be half the proof of us speaking truth," Sujanha noted, "The scout's commander … that gives us great freedom in choosing who to send." The scouts were Anarr's soldiers but reported as much to Sujanha as to her brother, so taking a loose interpretation of 'Commander', we can pick about any commander in the Fleet or the Army. "Assuming we are willing to meet …" and not just to go rescue our scout.

"I think the reward is worth the potential risk," Anarr replied cautiously. His earlier anger had faded, or at least come back under his control, the longer the two spoke. "But I would be interested in hearing your aid's opinion. Is he here?"

"No, this is his morning off. He should be down at the Great Library. Asik!"

Asik appeared in the open doorway at Sujanha's call. "Yes, Commander?"

"Have a messenger sent down to the Great Library to find Doctor Jackson. I need to speak with him."

"Of course, Commander!" Asik bowed and returned to his desk, out of sight.

Beaming technology meant that getting from headquarters to the Great Library and back was quickly done, but finding someone within the miles of corridors and thousands of shelves was more time-consuming. It was nearly half-an-hour before the door between the outer office and the hall opened, and a few moments later, Daniel appeared in the office doorway, eyes wide behind his glasses and expression concerned.

I don't make a habit of summoning him during his hours off. This is the first time, I think.

Sujanha waved him to a seat with a kindly look. "Thank you for coming. I am sorry to have to interrupt your morning off."

"Do not concern yourself," Daniel replied in Furling. His accent still needs a little work, and he sounds like he swallowed a court protocol book. My brother's presence doesn't require that level of formality. "I had almost concluded my research for the morning and would have returned soon. What has occurred?" Maybe my brother makes him uneasy, though. At least Long-Claw isn't here. I think he is terrified of him.

Sujanha quickly outlined the recent events with the scouts and their encounter with Master Bra'tac and his followers. Daniel listened quietly, his head cocked slightly, and occasionally reached up to fuss with the position of his glasses. That seemed to be a nervous gesture.

When Sujanha had finished explaining what had happened, Daniel was silent for a moment and then asked, "Are you asking for a threat assessment?"

Of a sort.

"Yes," Anarr replied, "I am inclined to believe the reward is worth the risk, but you have more knowledge of Master Bra'tac than us, and I would know your opinion about the matter. An alliance with the Rebel Jaffa would be of great benefit to us, but not at any cost."

Daniel nodded and was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowing again. "When SG1 and I first met Bra'tac, he was very suspicious of us. Bra'tac is an old, cunning warrior and an honorable one, but the rebel movement among the Jaffa is small, and Bra'tac is one of the principal leaders, if not the main one currently. If something happened to Bra'tac, it could spell disaster for them. Bra'tac wants to meet. He said that already. An alliance could strengthen his cause, but he is going to be a wary of a double-cross or a trap, just as you are."

Caution is wise as long as it does not descend into paranoia.

Wariness is wise considering the System Lords.

Sujanha glanced over at Anarr, a question in her eyes. Are we willing to do this? There was a long moment's pause before he gave the slightest of nods. Yes. His eyes flicked toward Daniel. If he is willing.

"Are you willing to go, Doctor Jackson?" Sujanha asked.

"Yes." There was no hesitation, which reassured her somewhat.

"How likely is it that the Stargate will be watched?" Anarr asked.

"Almost certainly. Bra'tac is too experienced to make the mistake of not keeping watch," Daniel replied, "Why?"

Sujanha explained the possibility of sending cloaked scouts through the Stargate, along with Daniel and whichever commander was chosen to go. That strategy, she noted, only worked if the Stargate was not closely watched. Cloaking devices were not foolproof, and the ripples in the event horizon of the Stargate would give away a cloaked scout's presence. (That tidbit brought a very intrigued light to his eyes.)

"Then the only matter left to discuss," said Anarr, "is to decide which commander to send."

"All Master Bra'tac said to Jeluk regarding this matter," rumbled Ragnar from his position in the doorway, "was that he wanted to meet Jeluk's commander. That means anyone from the army or fleet could go … except for either of you … with all due respect." The last statement was tacked on as an afterthought.

Sujanha bit her lip to keep from laughing or showing any sign of her amusement. There had been no reason to perpetuate sharp distinctions between rank and tedious formalities between her and her bodyguards, considering the time they spent together. She appreciated their blunt straightforwardness. The two usually remembered to be a more formal in front of her brother.

Sujanha understood why Ragnar had said what he had said. First, it would be unbridled insanity for either of them to go, anyway. Though both Sujanha and Anarr would have been willing to go—they never gave an order that they were unwilling to carry out themselves—neither of them would have gone, even Sujanha, who was sometimes critiqued for being too hands-on as the senior-most commander within the Fleet. The risks were too high. Second, those risks would have recalled to mind the darkest days of the Great War when high rank, especially within the Army, was a veritable death sentence. The Enemy had gone to great lengths to target high-ranking officers, an understandable strategy, which they had just gone about cruelly.

Not that in that war, any of us expected to live that long or live to see the end.

"What rank then?"

Whom we choose will somewhat depend on who is quickly available.

The sooner we get this done … safely … the better.

"Fleet Commander or Commander?" Suggested Anarr.

Sujanha shook her head, "No. Too high ranking." She shot her brother a significant look. As the highest powers within the military, they made life and death decisions that affected everyone under their command, and they had to plan for any eventualities, including the ones where the meeting with the Rebel Jaffa ended badly. At least we are not confined to those who speak English anymore. English had been entered into the translation matrix of the translators so anyone could go as long as their primary language was itself in the translation matrix. "Wing Commander or Knight Commander?"

High enough ranking not to be insulting, not that he knows our command structure.

After a moment's thought, Anarr nodded approval. "Mine or yours, then?"

"Mine," replied Sujanha definitively after a moment's thought.

Anarr shrugged and agreed. "Which one then?"

That would take a moment's thought. Sujanha had a number of Wing Commanders, not all of whom she would send into a situation like this. Some were relatively inexperienced, promoted to their positions near the end of the Great War or since the Great War. Some had families with underage children, and though the military always did its best to care for the families of the dead, better to avoid the problem altogether. She ran down the list in her mind.

"Where is Agar currently?" Sujanha asked, her gaze flicking over to Jaax, who was standing along the back-wall. Agar was an Akush, a half-Furling, half-human, who looked close enough to human to make him a better choice for first-contact with the Rebel Jaffa, who are probably unused to non-human peoples.

"In Asteria," Jaax replied, "His ship is at Ocelum currently. He isn't on leave, so he's probably there or here." Ocelum was another world in the same system as Uslisgas and was used as a shipyard by the Fleet. "Shall I send for him?"

"Please," replied Sujanha, "and send a message to Njall in the Milky-Way, I need to speak to him, as well." If we cannot send guards with them, a ship in orbit would be wise.

"Of course," Jaax said. He bowed and withdrew.

Sujanha turned her attention to Ruarc. "Please take Daniel to get supplies. See that he has what he needs."

"Yes, lady," said Ruarc and motioned for Daniel to follow him.

Ruarc led Daniel silently from Headquarters and south along the Citadel until they reached a heavily fortified building that looked like it might have been built to withstand a siege. Well, considering the Great War, it might have been built to do just that. The massive building, which Ruarc revealed was used as a temporary barracks, a supply depot, and a training facility, was much busier than even Headquarters seemed to be, with people from every race in Asteria that Daniel had met yet and a number he hadn't yet come across coming and going.

Waitt … are those gills? Whatever species they had just passed, they weren't Ohnes.

Ruarc led Daniel up and down several hallways until they reached a small staircase that led down two levels into a large multi-level chamber, with other staircases that led between sub-levels. The level that they were on was subdivided into smaller sub-sections by see-through partitions. The rows of staff-weapons along one wall made it clear that they were in an armory.

"Over here, Daniel," called Ruarc. Daniel had stopped walking unconsciously while looking around and around, but Ruarc had gone on ahead and was standing by a storage rack full of gauntlets like Sujanha and her bodyguards … and most every soldier I've seen … wore. "Pull up one sleeve, please."

"Coming." Daniel walked over, taking off his jacket and then tugging his right sleeve up to his elbow.

The gauntlets, when not on a person, were formed of what appeared to be two pieces of metal the width of his forearm that hinged on one side and fastened on the other. There were no visible buttons or moving parts or control mechanisms. Sam would love to see this. (There was so much on Uslisgas that Sam would love to see, so many things that he had filed away to tell her about … whenever I see them again.)

"You'll feel a slight prick," warned Ruarc, pressing one open gauntlet to Daniel's right forearm.

The prick when it came was so slight that Daniel almost didn't feel it, but he rubbed away the slight sting automatically. "What was that for?" He asked curiously.

"These gauntlets are now coded to your signature. You are the only one who can use them now," Ruarc replied, "You can pull your sleeve back down now."

Coded to my DNA?

Ruarc handed the gauntlets to Daniel one at a time. All the gauntlets seemed one size, as far as his eyes could tell. Yet, as he put them onto each arm, the gauntlets seemed to shrink to fit to his arm exactly, and then the seams and hinges disappeared, making the gauntlets appear to be made entirely out of one piece of metal.

"Whoa!" Daniel exclaimed in surprise, "Uh, how do I take them back off?" Sam would have kittens if she could see this.

"Put one finger at the top of where the seam was, press in slightly, and then drag your finger down. That will make the seam reappear, but if you don't take the gauntlet off, the seam will disappear again in a few seconds."

Daniel followed the instructions and watched with wonderment as the metal seam flowed in and out of sight. "How does it do that?"

"Nanotechnology," replied Ruarc, "though I don't really understand the exact principles of how it works."

"Amazing."

Sam would love this.

"Focus," chided Ruarc gently, "Your gauntlets serve, most importantly, for this mission, as a personal shield and an emergency beacon, though there are other functions. These functions can be accessed in two ways. The first is through touch, which is slower and requires using the holographic interface, a poor choice in an emergency. The neural interface is faster once you become accustomed to it." Neural … I'm controlling it with my mind?! "Never activate the beacon except in the direst of situation where you have no alternative. When the beacon is activated, it transmits a warning that goes off at headquarters and on all nearby ships. Unless we are overrun, aid will always come. The personal shield, however, can be activated on any occasion. Using it to keep yourself dry in a rain-storm works just as well as to use it to hold back staff blasts."

So no low-kinetic energy weakness then?

"How do I activate the shield mentally?" Daniel asked.

"Close your eyes, and imagine yourself surrounded by a shield. Focus on that."

Daniel closed his eyes and focused, trying to draw up the image of himself surrounded by a bubble. After a few moments, he felt a slight shiver, a tingling sensation, and then Ruarc exclaimed, "It's up."

Daniel reopened his eyes. Everything seemed the same. "Nothing looks any different." He noted, puzzled.

"The shield is invisible unless it's under pressure," Ruarc explained. To illustrate, he slowly reached out one paw toward Daniel. The movement was unobstructed until his paw was a few inches away from Daniel's shoulder. Suddenly, his paw stopped moving, and a blue energy field appeared surrounding Daniel's body.

"This shape is called a bubble shield," Ruarc explained, "The name is unfortunately rather undignified, but it is descriptive enough that the name stuck. The shape of the shield can be modified by an experienced wearer until it is skin tight, but you don't need to worry about that for now."

Interesting.

"What's the advantage of that?" Daniel asked anyway.

"Depending on the person and the species, a skin-tight shield can cover less surface area, meaning it requires less-power to maintain under fire. Mainly, they are less noticeable if circumstances require that a shield is kept up and if others are close by. With a bubble shield, it will activate if I'm just standing too close or if a passing hand or wing come too close."

And if the goal is for people not to notice, that isn't good.

Ruarc continued, circling back to the original topic, "The shield within the gauntlets is weaker than that of a dedicated personal shield, as the gauntlets are multi-functional, and the power crystals have to support all functions. That said, your shield can stop anything from a bladed weapon to a staff blast, though a sustained barrage of weapons' fire would not end well. Reverse the process to turn the shield off."

What qualifies as "sustained"?

"Do you and the Commander have dedicated personal shields?" Daniel asked, as he tried to bring his own shield back down. It took two tries before he was successful, though Ruarc assured him using the gauntlets would become easier with practice.

"My brother and I always carry them," Ruarc responded, "but they are much more obvious, so we keep them concealed. The Commander should. Whether she does for sure, I do not know. Now …" He stepped away to a rack of shelves several yards away and came back carrying something. It looked like a cross between a heavy-duty Kevlar vest and medieval body armor.

"You want me to wear that?" Daniel asked, surprised. At Ruarc's nod, he continued, "But I have a personal shield?"

Wouldn't both be overkill? Can't a shield protect against more?

Ruarc's answer reminded Daniel that, while he had seen fighting with SG1 against the Goa'uld, he had no understanding of actual combat, that he lacked the centuries of experience that the Furlings had. That inexperience could get him killed. "Because, Daniel," Ruarc said with a sigh, "it took you several seconds to bring your shield up. In the event of an attack, that gap is enough to let in a first blow, and depending on the accuracy of your attackers, one blow might be all it would take."

This is Bra'tac!

"Are you expecting an ambush?" Daniel asked, almost aghast, eyes wide behind his glasses.

This is Bra'tac!

Ruarc hesitated, long enough that Daniel felt a knot form in his stomach. "No," he finally replied, "but if the Great War taught us anything, it is that it is better to protect against treachery and thank the Maker if it does not occur. If we truly expected a trap, we would send soldiers down from orbit, not two men alone through the Stargate."

Better to be safe than sorry? The Furlings had been betrayed by supposed allies more than once. That was how Sujanha had actually been poisoned.

It isn't paranoia if they actually are out to get you, and some have been so better to be safe than sorry?

Daniel trusted Bra'tac but was feeling a lot more nervous now as Ruarc explained the function of the body armor and then helped him put it on. Hidden under his jacket, it would protect his torso and vital organs from attack and give him time to pull his shield up. It was lighter than it looked and more flexible and stretched from the base of his neck down to the bottom of his abdomen.

Sensing Daniel's nerves, Ruarc shifted into instructor mode and gave a few brief instructions, which boiled down to "Be careful!" and "Don't do anything stupid!" and "Follow Agar's instructions to the letter!" and, finally, "Come back in one piece whatever happens." As soon as that was finished, Daniel and Ruarc beamed across to outer-hallways of the Hall of the Stargate.

By the time they reached the inner chamber past all the security checks, Wing Commander Agar was already there waiting for them. He was at least a head taller than Daniel, with sharp features, an expressionless face, and severely cut clothing with excessively long sleeves that seemed oddly out of place. For a few moments Daniel thought he was human, but then as Agar surveyed him, Daniel saw that his half-lidded eyes had inhuman vertical pupils and the hands that rarely appeared out of his sleeves were tipped with claws.

Agar made a signal, and the Stargate began to dial. Ruarc gave the Wing Commander a brisk salute and then turned back to Daniel. "Trust your friend, but be careful. If the meeting goes wrong, a mothership will be in orbit. Good fortune."

Daniel nodded. Behind them the Stargate finished dialing and opened with a kawoosh that made him jump slightly, distracted as he was by Ruarc's words. Agar motioned for him to follow and then stepped into the wormhole, and Daniel followed a few paces behind.

Here we go.

The world to which Daniel and Agar had been sent was forested. Jack would complain about the trees. The Stargate stood in a large, oblong clearing that was surrounded by trees at a distance of maybe 20 meters. Here and there were gaps in the tree-line that possibly belonged to cultivated trails, if the world was inhabited or used by passing travelers, or animal footpaths. There were no Jaffa in sight. From all he knew of Bra'tac, Daniel was almost certain they were being watched: the question was by how many and where were they.

"Where's Bra'tac?" Daniel said aloud in a low voice, pitched deliberately not to carry, a voice he had learned from long hours spent in libraries during his academic career. (It was very worthwhile to keep on the good side of the librarians!) Part of him felt uneasy about being back in the Milky-Way without backup, but then he remained himself sternly that there was a mothership in orbit and that with Furling body armor AND a personal shield, he was almost certainly safer than he had ever been on all his missions with Jack, Sam, and Teal'c.

Agar was an utterly still presence at his side. The man's head was tilted to one side, an action Daniel had seen Ruarc or Ragnar or Sujanha do frequently, and only his eyes flicked around the clearing. If he turns, anyone watching will know he's looking. "There is a Jaffa just within the tree line ahead of us. He has concealed himself quite poorly," the Wing Commander said bluntly.

Almost as soon as he had finished speaking, a young Jaffa emerged from the tree line and approached them slowly, stopping out of lunge-range. He had a staff weapon in his hand, but it wasn't activated. He looked between Daniel and Agar for a moment before his gaze focused on Daniel. "Daniel Jackson." Is that a question or a statement?

"I am," Daniel confirmed just in case, "Bra'tac sent for us."

"Follow me," the Jaffa replied, casting one last glance at Agar before turning and leading them into the woods.

Bra'tac and three other Jaffa were waiting in a clearing a couple hundred yards into the woods along one of the smaller, less-travelled paths. It was either early in the day or late in the afternoon from the long shadows on the ground, and a small fire had been built on a clear-patch of soil around which were several logs for use as seats. A young man—ostensibly human—almost certainly the missing Navok, was sitting by the fire, talking quietly to Bra'tac, but looked up instantly as Daniel and Agar approached. Eyes wide, he bounded to his feet and bowed low before Bra'tac had even risen.

Agar took in the surroundings with a quick glance before Daniel saw his gaze focus on the missing Novak. "You are unharmed?" He asked in English.

"Yes, commander," Navok replied. (Commander seemed to be a default title of respect/manner of addressing officers when using full, formal titles was unnecessary.)

"Is he free to leave?" Agar asked Bra'tac, identifying him immediately either because he was the oldest there or because of Daniel's previous description of him.

A wordless nod was the only reply. So far, matters were turning out somewhat friendlier than Daniel had expected. He would have thought that Bra'tac would have wanted Navok's presence throughout the meeting.

"Return to Uslisgas immediately," ordered Agar, "The Supreme Commanders will wish to speak with you." His face softened slightly, and he added more gently, "Your brother is well and will be glad to see you."

"Yes, commander." Navok bowed to Agar and saluted him, and then he turned to Bra'tac and did the same.

As soon as Navok had departed toward the Stargate, Bra'tac came around the fire. It had been some time since Daniel had seen him last, but the old Jaffa warrior looked exactly the same, the same easy movements, the same depth of wisdom and cunning in his eyes. There were good reasons why he had survived so long leading the Jaffa Fifth Column without being discovered.

"It's good to see you, Master Bra'tac," said Daniel, extending his hand to the old Jaffa.

"And you, Daniel Jackson," replied the old master, grasping Daniel's arm in the traditional warrior's greeting, "Teal'c told me of your exile at the hands of the hasshak." From the scorn with which he spoke and the insult rendered to Maybourne, it was quite clear what Bra'tac's opinion was about Daniel's involuntary exile. "I am glad to see that you are well."

Daniel quickly introduced the Wing Commander, and the two greeted each other as warriors. Bra'tac then gestured to the seats around the fire. "Come. Let us sit, and you may tell me why your people have sought us out." With a few quick words in Goa'uld, he dispatched his subordinates to keep watch nearby.

"After he first came to us," Agar said, after a few more words of introduction on his own behalf, his intonation sharp and his every word precise and to the point, "Doctor Jackson told us of the Rebel Jaffa and of your work to bring an end to the Goa'uld empire from the inside. My people, the Furlings, were greatly encouraged to hear of this for we, too, seek the destruction of the Goa'uld."

Bra'tac was silent for a moment. "You plan to make war upon the Goa'uld?" He asked bluntly.

Agar gave a sharp nod.

"And your people believe that they have the power to do this?" Bra'tac seemed skeptical. Opposition from the Tok'ra and the Free Jaffa had only done so much; the Asgard were hampered by their own problems, and the Goa'uld had largely ruled unchecked for millennia.

"You know of the Asgard and the worlds banned by and to the Goa'uld such as Cimmeria?" Agar asked, answering a question with a question.

"I do," Bra'tac replied, "I warned Teal'c myself of the forbidden worlds, and the Tau'ri have told us of the Asgard."

"From ancient times, my people and the Asgard have been allies. Yet, the Asgard hold the Goa'uld in check from those worlds by the threat of power and the occasional show of force," Agar continued in quick tones, "The Furlings are as mighty as the Asgard, and we are limited by no treaties that check our power and keep us from outright war. The twilight of the Goa'uld is upon them."

Yikes! He's actually revealing that. They really are putting a lot of trust in my representation of Bra'tac!

Well, he's actually implying more than he's saying, maybe?

He's not actually saying that the Asgard are struggling or explaining why the Asgard are limited by the treaties.

"And what would you seek from us? My followers are few."

And Bra'tac is putting a lot of trust in me, being willing to meet.

"Intelligence, first and foremost," Agar replied without hesitation, "My people dwell in a distant land, and we know little of your language and of this galaxy, save largely for what the Asgard and Daniel Jackson have told us. That makes it more difficult and dangerous for us to send out scouts. We are wary of capture lest we inform the System Lords of our presence too soon. What information Doctor Jackson could give us about the Goa'uld, their worlds, their numbers, the main leaders, their alliances and rivalries, was undeniably valuable but limited, considering his recent exile from Midgard … earth. The war that will soon be upon the Goa'uld will sweep across the galaxy. It is a war we are ready and willing to fight, but we have no wish to step onto a battlefield where we have little knowledge of the ground that lies ahead."

Bra'tac nodded. He was an experienced enough soldier that he would have agreed with Agar's final statements. "What of the Jaffa who have not yet learned the truth about the false gods?"

"No war is bloodless," a shadow of regret flashed across Agar's face for an instant and then was gone, "but we wish for as few to die as possible, not just among our own men."

"And in return?" Bra'tac asked. What would the Jaffa get in return was the question.

Agar relaxed somewhat and leaned back against the log. He had chosen to sit on the ground, instead of on his log for some reason. "What do you want?" He asked easily, "Food? Healing supplies? Better weaponry? A safe world? Transportation?" Generosity had many uses.

"I will consider what is most needed," replied Bra'tac. He paused and seemed to think a moment before continuing. To Daniel, it seemed like the talk would soon be over. Agar and Bra'tac seemed much alike, and Bra'tac was wary but not stupid. He would know that an alliance would be beneficial for the fragile Rebel Jaffa movement. "What is your conflict with the Goa'uld?"

"They are a blight upon this galaxy, a race of thieves, betrayers, and killers, who have no honor," said Agar, disgust dripping from his words, "They stole from us in a past age, taking from our hidden strongholds. Most of their technology are ancient copies, with some distortions, of what was ours. They used our technology to fuel their rise to power, and we would see them fall as recompense."

"I see," said Bra'tac. He asked a few more brief questions, but then he rose and extended his hand to Agar. "You have my support. All that I know of the Goa'uld I will freely share."

[1] The Furling equivalent of the earth phrase "24-7-365."

[2] Enough Jaffa were captured on Cimmeria that the Furlings were reticent to just dump them all into prison, even a comfortable one, as that would require a considerable number of guards. Rather, a small settlement was founded on the surface of one of those prison worlds, and Heru'ur's Jaffa were settled there. Sensors and trackers keep them confined to a large but limited area, and within that area, they are free to move around. They are given materials to build houses and the like, and they farm the land or hunt (with limited, low-tech weaponry) for food. The Furlings would, of course, step in if inclement weather or other problems meant harvests went bad. Commander Sujanha describes it as a trial solution that might be used further for large groups of Jaffa from the same System Lord's army. Prisoners who might otherwise be in danger from the general population, Goa'uld, or especially notoriously nasty non-Goa'uld prisoners would be kept within the prisons themselves.

[3] A/N: I have no fondness for Stargate: Origins, but the reference is helpful here.

[4] The dead.

Chapter Text

37th of Duumm, Summer, 6545 A.S.
(October 5, 1998)
Ushuotis, Avalon

The blazing hot rays of a setting sun beat down upon the sandy dunes of a singularly unimportant world in Lord Yu’s territory, which the Furlings had named Ushuotis in their own tongue. It was early in the evening. Within another hour or two at most, the sun would set, but the sand was still boiling hot, making the dunes almost shimmer in the heat. No clouds gave any respite from the heat. Once the sun had set, the blazing heat that made every breath an almost lung-scorching struggle would turn to frigid cold.

Climate-wise, thus, Ushuotis was an undesirable world. The reason for its climate was that the Stargate was set in the depths of a large continent that was now almost totally desert, rolling sand dunes as far as the most far-seeing eye could see. There was little water anymore—none easily or quickly accessible—and almost no vegetation, except a few solitary small scrub plants that had adapted over the years to survive in the harsh climate. In the hottest months every year, severe sand storms were prone to sweeping across the dunes, burying everything above ground in its path … even the Stargate, which was forced then to be periodically unburied.

(The Stargate had been buried when the Furlings had first come to Ushuotis by ship, leading them to think originally that the world had no Stargate.)

Few people ever visited Ushuotis, except as a stop-over for those trying to conceal the Stargate addresses of their homeworlds, and even such visitors were few and far between, so dangerous was the world’s weather. The Stargate itself was located in the remains of a dry river bed with steep sand dunes on either side, concealing others on the planet from view and making the river bed an excellent location for ambushes. For the hardier Furlings and their allies who could build bases far underground down beneath the shifting sands and into the bedrock below, Ushuotis was a perfect site for one of their outposts in Avalon that could act as a supply world or a staging ground or a fallback point or fulfill many other roles.

Time passed.

The sun slowly set.

The scorching winds died, and quickly the desert began to cool. No moons had risen yet, and only the stars dimly lit the dunes.

More time passed, and then a strange noise broke the silence.

The Stargate was dialing.

Not wanting incidental passers-by to learn that the once-abandoned world was no longer abandoned, the Furlings did not directly keep a guard on the Stargate. There were no guards in the wadi itself, though sometimes there were guards on the dunes above. Thus, the traveler was able to stumble through the Stargate unopposed.

The traveler was a young man with pale skin and short-cropped brown hair. His attire was once that of a minor Goa’uld in service of a System Lord, but the once fine and gaudy garments were now torn, burned, and heavily blood-stained. Half-crippled by a severe burn on his left leg from a glancing staff blast and further hampered by a head injury that had left the hair at the base of his skull matted with blood, every step he took was a lurching struggle that almost sent him tumbling to the ground. One arm was wrapped around his ribcage, and he walked half-curled around his abdomen, the cloth over which was also stained with blood.

The traveler seemed surprised by his surroundings and then became momentarily dismayed by the apparent absence of a DHD before its shadow became visible a little way off as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness of the desert. Eyes fixed on the DHD, he resolutely began to stumble towards it. Several times he fell, but each time he dragged himself to his feet with dogged determination. After the fifth fall, his strength gave out, despite the best efforts of his symbiote (with flashing eyes) to get them up again. He lay exhausted on the sand, a few soft moans and curses flowing from his lips in the unmodulated voice of the human host. Finally, his eyes slipped close, and consciousness fled.

38th of Duumm, Summer, 6545 A.S.
(October 6, 1998)
Uslisgas, Asteria

Compared to the time and trouble it took to make first contact with Bra’tac and the Rebel Jaffa as well as the interesting … that’s one word for it … circumstances under which that meeting took place, the first contact between the Tok’ra and the Furlings was astoundingly simple and unexpected. The meeting almost dropped into their proverbial laps, which was ironic considering the Tok’ra’s reputation as an underground fifth column.

About a month and a half (earth-time) had passed since the meeting between Daniel, Bra’tac, and Wing Commander Agar in the Milky-Way. Within two weeks, a formal alliance had quickly been established between the Furling military and the Rebel Jaffa, and intelligence, piece by piece, was pouring in. On Uslisgas, spring had given way to early summer with bright sun, clear skies, and heat that was … so far … not oppressive. Not that after a year on Abydos and many digs in the Middle East, Daniel exactly minded the heat.

As long as it’s dry heat.

Heat and humidity like in the Yucatan … ugh. That combination could make you feel like you were about to drown with no bodies of water in sight.

Early one afternoon at the end of the month, Daniel found himself sitting in Sujanha’s office. That was common. It was Jaax’s afternoon off, but so far, it had proved to be a very slow morning. There was no work for Daniel to do presently, so he was slowly reading a few more pages from a massive tome of Furling history that he had checked out from the library. The book was dictionary size or perhaps encyclopedia size … could use it for a doorstop in a pinch … with small print that made Daniel wish for a magnifying glass in low light. The volume he was reading was only one of many. At Sujanha’s recommendation, he had started in one of the later volumes to get a better idea of recent history before he backtracked to read the ancient histories and legends of the Furling before they had even made contact with the Asgard long ago. A sharp knock on the doorframe pulled Daniel out of a long paragraph on … trade relations between the Furlings and the … some race in Ida, whose name was spelled quite oddly.

Group-writing? He squinted at it again and tried to see if he could sound it out. Transliteration from another language?

The holographic screens projected over Commander Sujanha’s desk—drafts of battle-plans, galactic maps with detailed intelligence about each planet, intelligence reports, budget sheets (the bane of any commander’s existence, considering her occasional grumbles), as well as a few other things—disappeared abruptly. Sujanha swiped her hand through them, effectively ‘minimizing’ them in response to the knock. “Come.”

Asik stepped through the doorway. His brow was furrowed, and he appeared somewhat puzzled. (Daniel slipped a thin, woven bookmark into the book to mark his page and closed the book, setting it aside.) “Forgive the interruption, Commander, but a soldier from our base on Ushuotis is requesting to speak to you.”

Sujanha just stared at him for a moment and gave a slow blink. Combined with her oversized black eyes, that one act would have utterly confirmed that she had Asgardian blood, even if Daniel hadn’t known it. That was an interesting first meeting with Thor, and she looks so much like him … them when she does that. “Ushuotis??” She sounded confused.

Is that here … in the Milky-Way?

There was a squeak of a chair, and then Ragnar stepped forward from where he had been sprawled in a chair near the door, dozing or cogitating or something after the large lunch he had eaten. “It’s one of your brother’s new bases, not even fully set up yet,” he explained.

Oh, one of his bases in the Milky-Way then. The Furlings were setting up scattered bases and shipyards on unpopulated or abandoned worlds across the Milky-Way to prepare for the upcoming war.

“Where is it?” Sujanha asked, bringing back up the star-map hologram that really seemed like the inter-galactic version of a planetarium meets a phonebook meets MapQuest.

“The territory of the System Lord Yu,” Asik replied.

Yu … I just know Jack would have a pun about his name.

Is that Chinese?

The resulting lengthy stare showed disbelief or continued confusion. Or, I’m inclined to think both. “Of all the places in the entire galaxy, why is he picking bases within a System Lord’s territory?” The star-map returned its results. There was a beat of silence, and then Sujanha continued, voice rising subtly as she spoke, “On a planet that far within his territory?” Her voice cut off abruptly at the end, and she reached for her tea mug with her left hand.

“The weather on the surface is dangerous, especially for humans,” Ragnar rumbled in reply. “There is a Stargate, but it is located within a desert that stretches across almost the entire land-mass. The lack of water and extreme temperatures and the trouble of relocating the Stargate means that the planet seems to have never been inhabited.”

Deserts: brutally hot in the day and freezing cold at night … a nasty combination. Sounds familiar.

“Hiding within the rakso’s nest.” The what’s nest? (The idiom was almost exactly the same as the English one, but he still did not know what a rakso was … but I might not want to know.) “Risky but effective,” Sujanha noted, half to herself, but then her attention turned back to Asik, still standing in the doorway, “Why does he want to speak with me? Ushuotis is Elder Brother’s base, not one of my shipyards.”

Asik gave a helpless shrug. “He failed to explain that point. All he said was that his commander had sent him with a message for you.

“Very well,” Sujanha replied with a sigh, making a come-hither motion with one paw, “Let him in.”

Ragnar returned to his seat, and Asik withdrew with a slight bow, and a minute later, a young man (human, at least visibly), with sun-bleached hair and slightly oversized hands with long fingers and big feet … one of the Boii then … entered. Dressed in clothes suitable for not dying of heat prostration with the insignia of the Furling Army on his collar, he stopped exactly half-way between Sujanha’s desk and the door, came to attention, and gave a textbook salute.

“Your name, soldier, and your commander’s?”

“Nakix, Supreme Commander,” the soldier—Nakix—replied, “I serve under Usprar Trujit.”

That sounds like a Lapith name.

“Why have you come?” Sujanha asked, “Ushuotis is under Supreme Commander Anarr’s supervision and command, not mine.”

“The morning patrol found an intruder, half dead from the cold and his wounds, near the Stargate. We took him back to base and healed him. In doing so, we found that he had a symbiote.”

“This concerns me how?” Sujanha asked. To Daniel, she seemed exasperated, which combined with the lights that had been dimmed all day, her reluctance to eat anything, and the way her right hand, which she had moved off the desk when Nakix entered, had kept twitching involuntarily all screamed that today was not a good day. As hard as she tried, her temper was shorter the worst she felt. Almost 500 years of living with these and other symptoms gave new, horrifying meaning to the term chronic illness. “There are protocols in place for such an occurrence. Heal the host, and then transfer the Goa’uld to a prison world.”

“That’s the problem, Commander,” Nakix replied apologetically, “Commander Trujit and the healers do not believe that our prisoner is a Goa’uld.”

That got Sujanha’s attention. She straightened with a start of surprise, her laser-like gaze suddenly focusing intently on the soldier. “Explain!”

“The intruder was suffering from several severe injuries, including a blow to the back of the head at the base of the skull that—our healer believes—has injured our symbiote. Our technology is not made to heal such races, and since the symbiotes have a healing factor of their own, the healers thought it wiser to let the symbiote heal on its own. The host’s behavior is not matching with one freed from a long imprisonment within his own mind and body. He is wary of us but has been polite and seems quite worried about his symbiote, though he has attempted to conceal that fact.” Nakix finished summarizing the situation succinctly and fell silent.

“Interesting!” said Sujanha, her black eyes distant as she mulled over the situation. “My thanks. You are dismissed and may return to base.” (Daniel noted that she had never said that she would actually come to Ushuotis to speak with the host and symbiote, though that result seemed the whole point of Nakix’s visit.)

Sujanha's life was a study in balance. A time and labor-intensive, stressful job with earth-shattering implications … possibly literally and figuratively … if her choices were wrong, all that was balanced against a chronic illness that was at times almost crippling in its effects and the pain it caused. How far could she push the envelope, how long and hard could she work before her body simply gave out on her? More than once so far Daniel had seen her push too far and end up confined to bed for a day or more. Sujanha's devotion to the Fleet was often single-minded, almost dangerously so when she pushed her body to the edge, despite the attempts of Daniel, her other aids, and her bodyguards and other subordinates at headquarters to do as much of the legwork as possible for her.

It was times just like this, times where she needed to go off world, where the risks and the benefits had to be weighed. Daniel had learned many of her tells in the last seven months … earth months, catalogued the pinched gaze and set of her jaw and her refusal to eat that meant she was hurting badly, the way she sometimes tucked her right arm away in her pocket or in her lap when her muscles were twitching/shaking too much to keep her hand still, the way she pushed herself to her feet with her paws clinched around the edge of her desk or the handles of her chair like she was afraid her right leg would collapse under her. High-tech leg brace or not.

Janet would kill to have access to some of the med tech I’ve seen here!

In those seven months, Daniel had only twice seen her bedridden, though there had been multiple other times when he … and Ragnar and Ruarc and Asik and Jaax … all thought that Sujanha would have been much better off in bed than at work, when it seemed like sheer strength of will … or utter stubbornness … was the only thing keeping her upright. What Daniel didn't understand for sure was why. Why did Sujanha push herself that hard? From all he knew about the poison that had nearly killed her and left her with a lifelong disability, it was debilitating and horrifically painful. He admired her resolve not to lie down and feel sorry for herself. Having a chronic illness, a disability never made a person less, never made a person useless, though it could force one to adapt to changed circumstances. But why did she push herself to the edge of her limits and sometimes beyond? Sujanha was well-liked by all of her soldiers and commanders than Daniel had meant. He had heard nothing but good about her from the rank-and-file. What did she have to prove and to whom, if that, by pushing herself so hard? Who knows?

The question for today was: would she try to go?

Silence fell over the office for several minutes after Nakix left as Sujanha stared off into space. Someone else can go. You’ve done enough this week. You don’t always have to push yourself so hard. Daniel looked across at Ragnar and then at Asik, back in the doorway. Ragnar looked about one step away from protesting if Sujanha decided to go. After another minute, Sujanha pushed herself painstakingly slowly to her feet, allowing herself to control her rise to make it look easier than it was. “Asik, please go upstairs and update Elder Brother. If he is absent, give the message to one of his aids to pass on. Ragnar, please send for your brother. I wish to see this newcomer for myself.”

Why? Why? Daniel was almost certain she was going to pay for the decision the next day. A muscle in Ragnar’s jaw was quivering, but somehow, he had remained silent.

Part of me expected this, but for heaven’s sake, what do you have to prove?

You’re going to drive yourself to an early grave at this rate if you aren’t careful.

It took less than ten minutes for Ragnar to locate his brother and for Ruarc to return to headquarters from wherever he had disappeared off to late in the morning. As soon as Sujanha had wrapped up her current business, finishing up a couple of reports and signing a couple of more forms, the four left headquarters and beamed across to the Hall of the Stargate. The limp Sujanha had had at headquarters seemed to have evened out by the time they wound their way to the inner hall and the Stargate had begun to dial, but from the stiff way she was holding herself, the disappearance of her limp did not mean that she was actually doing better. The pain in her face had vanished behind a blank mask.

Daniel glanced across at Ruarc and caught his eye, making a concerned frown and flicking his eyes toward Sujanha’s back. (Living among the Furling had taught him how to say a lot with small expressions and how to catch those small expressions in return.) Ruarc scowled, his ears flattening against his head for a moment, but gave a helpless shrug. He doesn’t agree, but there’s nothing he can do. Her bodyguards could disagree with Sujanha, try to steer her decisions, but ultimately once she decided, it was their job to obey unless there was immediate physical danger, in which case it was their job to protect her and get her out of there.

The Stargate finished dialing. It opened with a kawoosh, its bright blue light sending jagged shadows across the room from the great carvings that lined the Hall. Ruarc and Ragnar stepped forward past Sujanha and stepped into the wormhole first, Sujanha following a few steps behind, Daniel at her side.

The first thing about Ushuotis that registered was the burning, stifling heat that smacked Daniel in the face. It, at least on first impression, seemed worse than Abydos on a bad day. From the position of the glaring sun—Daniel had to shade his eyes with one hand to even see more than spots—it might not even be the heat of the day yet. Yikes! Rolling sand dunes stretched as far as the eye could see, though granted, that was not very far since they were standing in what was probably a wadi. Beneath him was sand that sucked at his feet with every step. A few steps away from the Stargate, Sujanha stumbled slightly on one step but steadied after a moment, a pointed glare keeping Ruarc from dropping back to offer her his arm.

A few moments later, the four were beamed away, preventing any more battles with sun or sand. When the light had faded, Daniel saw that they were now in a large underground passageway carved from stone. The air was cool and pleasantly moist, not dry as dust like on the surface. Given those dunes, we might be a hundred feet below the surface. At least on earth, sand dunes could range from inches deep to 70-140 feet deep in the Sahara. Maybe deeper to protect/conceal the base. Three people were waiting there to greet them: a Lapith with dark green scales and a slowly undulating tail, possibly the base commander, and two Maskilim guards whose builds made them more suited for desert-work.

Did she send word after all?

Apparently, given the welcoming committee?

We weren’t up topside long enough to assemble one, I wouldn’t think.

“Your messenger tells me that you have had an unusual visitor, Commander Trujit,” Sujanha began, instead of a greeting. Inside and in safety, Ragnar and Ruarc had dropped back several paces, leaving Sujanha in front and Daniel still at her right hand.

“We have, Supreme Commander,” Commander Trujit replied. He spoke perfect Furling except with a sibilant twist to some consonants. It had taken time for Daniel to be able to understand them reliably while he was still learning Furling. “The symbiote is slowly healing, but the host remains in control. His behavior is still inconsistent with that of a Goa’uld host. However, I am keeping him confined until proof of his identity and people is known or until I am ordered differently. I left two of my Zukish soldiers to guard him and speak with him. Perhaps we will learn something that way.”

“I concur,” Sujanha replied simply, “If you would have us shown to his cell…”

“Of course, Commander,” Commander Trujit replied, inclining his head. With a quick hand-gesture, he dismissed the other guards and then started down the hallway, leaving the newcomers to follow. As they walked, he continued, “He is in an isolation room in the healing halls for now. Whether his symbiote is Goa’uld or Tok’ra, the healers wanted them under close observation until the symbiote is healed.”

(Like with the nations that had signed the Geneva Convention on earth, the Furling Empire had extremely strict standards on how prisoners, even those of their worst enemies, were to be treated, standards that had been updated and strengthened since the end of the Great War. Daniel had heard Sujanha discussing them sometimes with her brother Anarr along with the in-progress rules of engagement for the war with the Goa’uld.

The Great War had gone downhill for the Furlings and their allies in part because of the Enemy’s … I wonder what they were really called before the damnatio memoriae … torture of and experimentation on prisoners. The lists of prisoners whose bodies had never been recovered was nauseatingly long, and Daniel knew that there were still excavations ongoing on some of the Enemy’s former worlds to try to bring those missing soldiers home. The treatment they had suffered had only strengthened the resolve of the Furlings to never sink to that level, no matter the outcome of their wars, no matter the cost. War crimes/crimes against humanity on the level of the Goa’uld or the Enemy was one of the few crimes that actually carried a death sentence under Furling law.)

The subterranean compound on Ushuotis was sprawling. Commander Trujit led them down tunnel after tunnel, all of which were part of one large complex. Is this a military base or the Labyrinth? The compound had to have been built into the bedrock beneath the sand dunes, and the tunnel walls were of stone so smoothly polished and cut they almost shone.

This is carved straight out of stone, not constructed from stone blocks. I don’t see any seams, however fine.

The main tunnels they were traveling through were wide enough for several people to walk abreast—or would be once the copious numbers of boxes and crates stacked neatly along the walls were moved—though other side tunnels were narrower.

Even these main tunnels … we just had to go single file, and there weren’t more rows of boxes.

No close side tunnels. That must be a choke point in case the tunnels are breached.

The tunnels, at least where they were walking currently, were about ten feet high.

These aren’t tiny. Some of the tunnels beneath the pyramids are so much smaller.

Still glad I’m not claustrophobic.

Only a few soldiers passed them as Commander Trujit led them to the infirmary, several of whom Sujanha greeted by name. She had an excellent memory for names and faces, Daniel had noticed, though not anywhere as good as Jaax, and often greeted low-ranking commanders or aids and support personnel by name when she passed them or was drawn into conversation.

I think that’s one reason they love her. Despite ongoing political difficulties with the High Council, Sujanha’s support among the rank-and-file in both branches of the military was immense.

The ward into which Commander Trujit led them was a large, rectangular room with a row of bed on both long walls. High-tech holographic screens were projected on the wall above the heads of any occupied beds, displaying the vital signs and other pertinent information about the injured occupant. Or at least I’m assuming that’s what that means. Medical terms are confusing whatever the language. Only two beds were currently occupied: one by a young person, who looked human, with an arm thrown across their face and another by a Maskilim with a heavily bandaged and splinted foot. A hallway crossed the other end of the ward, and there were also several doorways that led to separate rooms. One was a storage room, given the number of boxes and shelves, and the other three were isolation rooms.

Warning signs like that are hard to misinterpret in any language.

“He is in that room.” The Lapith Commander motioned to the rightmost door of the four. “The guards are just inside the doorway. A portable shield has been effected two paces from the door to guarantee his confinement without further measures being required.”

Like restraints? On earth, the host might have found himself in five-point restraints in an isolation room with armed guards inside and out. Not exactly a good way to start off a relationship … if he’s actually Tok’ra.

But … Sujanha was saying something, so Daniel dragged his attention back to her, “Once the guards leave, Ragnar, Ruarc, you know what to do. Daniel, you have had more interactions with the Goa’uld, and I wish your opinion on this visitor of ours.”

So I’m coming, too. Uh … okay.

There were answering ascents made.

“Commander, the healers who tended him were also human,” Commander Trujit reminded her quickly. “He has seen no others of us. Be prepared.”

(Daniel remembered what it had been like that first day on Gaia when Sujanha, Ragnar, and Ruarc had stepped through the Stargate. Aside from Unas on Cimmeria, the Asgard, and Nem, all the people they had come across were human in appearance … or close enough to human as with the Nox. The Furlings were … quite a shock.)

“Of course. Your assistance is appreciated. Please, do not let us keep you from our other duties,” Sujanha said. She had no direct authority over any commanders within the Furling Army, but they appeared to obey as readily as they did Anarr.

The base commander departed, leaving Daniel and the others alone in the ward, except for the two sleeping patients. There was a moment where nothing seemed to happen except, possibly, Sujanha steeling herself for something, and then she swiped her hand across the door-opening crystal. Silently, the isolation room door slid open, revealing what lay within.

The only furniture in the room was a single bed at the far end, though there was a small door that probably led off into a bathroom. A small box, likely the portable shield generator that had been mentioned, sat on the floor several feet away from the door. The two human guards stood leaning against the wall on either side of the door.

The host—a young man—was sitting cross-legged upon the bed, a tray of abandoned food beside him. Pale skin and thin, pinched features that indicated that he had not had enough to eat for a bit. Short-cropped brown hair. Furling-style tunic and trousers just ill-fitting enough that Daniel guessed that they had been dug-out of a box of supplies or, possibly, borrowed from someone’s wardrobe. He looks ill. The host looked young, but given that he was a host, the appearance of age meant basically nothing.

“Come!” Sujanha commanded in Furling to the two guards who had instantly straightened when the door opened, the final threads of the ongoing conversation ending instantly. And now Daniel understood why Ruarc had passed Sujanha and him translators before they left Uslisgas. The two guards had been speaking Goa’uld to the host. Due to his fluency in Abydonian and what Teal’c had taught him, Daniel had a solid knowledge of the Goa’uld’s language, which Egyptian and Abydonian were derivatives of, but the translator would be a good back-up. As far as Daniel knew, Sujanha’s knowledge of Goa’uld at the moment was basically null.

The host snapped straight at the sight of Sujanha’s strange form silhouetted in the doorway. The sudden movement brought a momentary flash of pain across his face before it vanished as quickly as it had come. Astonishment and confusion followed, flashing across his open face in quick succession, before a make-shift blank mask completed the array of emotions.

The two guards exited the isolation ward. Sujanha caught the arm of the last one out and spoke to him quickly in an undertone for a moment, before dismissing both guards back to their regular posts. Then Sujanha entered, with Daniel and her bodyguards following, and the door slid shut behind them. Ragnar and Ruarc moved right, while Sujanha and Daniel went left.

“How fare you?” Sujanha asked bluntly in Furling, her translator echoing with the closest equivalent in Goa’uld a moment later. There were no chairs in the room, probably because having movable furniture in a room holding a prisoner was a bad idea … the shield seems to be a late addition, and the Commander was leaning against the wall, her weight heavily on her left leg. Her arms were crossed across her chest … human body language … it would make her look intimidating … though it was probably a tactic to support her weaker right arm. Tucking her arm away and not using it would have been painfully obvious.

“I am better,” the host replied. I wish I knew a name. “I give thanks to you for that reason. I feared when I came through the Chappa’ai that I was dying. Are you the commander of this base?”

“No,” Sujanha replied honestly, “but close enough for the purposes of this discussion.” The man’s eyes narrowed slightly at her words. (Technically, Anarr would hold that role, but Daniel had noticed how command structures at the very top sometimes seemed to get blurred. Whether that was because Anarr and Sujanha were brother and sister or that was just how the Furlings did things, he wasn’t sure.)

“Why am I being kept here?” He asked after a long pause.

As if you don’t know the answer?

“On account of the same creature inside you that has been causing you concern ever since you awoke here,” Sujanha replied bluntly. She was not one to beat around the bush, preferring to get straight to the point. It seemed to be a general characteristic of most Furlings Daniel had met.

Okay. He can get paler.

He’s not about to faint, is he?

There was no point in directly asking the host if he and his symbiote were Tok’ra. If their belief was wrong and this was actually a Goa’uld, minor ranking or not, … well, the Goa’uld had not kept themselves in power galaxy-wide for so many millennia by being morons … generally? There’s probably a few that are. They were evil. They were parasitic in their behavior, but they weren’t stupid. They schemed, and they planned. Any symbiote with a modicum of brains or foresight IF he was not so immediately incensed that he answered instinctively without thinking could try to trick them by saying yes.

Similarly, any Tok’ra would be insane to actually admit he was a Tok’ra before knowing more about whom he was making the admission in front of and whether he was going to be promptly executed or, worse, handed over to a System Lord to be tortured and then executed and probably resurrected with a sarcophagus for the torture to continue. (Daniel shivered just thinking about it.) The host clearly had no idea who they were—the shock at Sujanha’s appearance would have been extremely hard to fake, Daniel thought—so it was going to be interesting to see how Sujanha led the conversation to get the information she needed.

Did he think we didn’t know about his symbiote?

Well, he has no idea who we are.

“Tell me,” Sujanha continued, and the full weight of the authority she could bring as Supreme Commander was in her voice, “and speak truthfully, why did you come to this place?”

A slow minute passed with no answer. The young man appeared to be thinking or, perhaps, planning his answer. Sujanha did not press him to speak, but her gaze never wavered from his face, which Daniel knew would be in itself intimidating. Cute and cuddly, the Furlings were not, and her unblinking black eyes … well …

“We had no intention of coming to this world, wherever it is,” was the final slow reply. The switch from singular to plural seemed deliberate. The symbiote’s presence was known, so why continue speaking as if it were not. “We were attacked and tried to make our escape through the Chappa’ai, but I misdialed. I do not know where we are or who you and your people are, nor does La … my symbiote.”

Sujanha made no visible reaction to the host’s slip of the tongue, but Daniel had no doubt that she had picked up on the slip. The host seemed to be getting more uneasy by the minute. He would have been doing a solid job of hiding it with most anyone but the Furlings, who were experts at picking up on slight body language cues or the slightest variations in a person’s voice.

He has no idea what to expect with Sujanha.

Given Jolinar’s behavior … unless this guy’s new to their ranks, he would know what to do in the face of a Goa’uld … assuming he’s Tok’ra.

Just not in front of Sujanha.

The healers healed him, but he’s probably still rattled, and he doesn’t look well yet. He’s off his game.

“Attacked by whom?” Sujanha asked forcefully.

For several long minutes, he just stared at her. “By whom?” Sujanha asked again, this time a bit more forcefully.

“Jaffa belonging to Heru’ur,” he finally answered reluctantly, seeming to realize that he might be better off answering than trying to keep silent. His answer could mean one of at least three things, Daniel guessed: Heru’ur and his personal guard, Jaffa of Heru’ur generally, or possibly and more loosely, underlings of Heru’ur and their Jaffa.

Though the last’s probably a stretch.

Doesn’t mean he’s actually Tok’ra, though.

The Goa’uld turned on each other, too.

Daniel missed most of the low-voiced comment Ruarc made to Sujanha in Furling moment later. His voice was soft, but it was something about the respective locations of the territories of Heru’ur and Yu in relation to one another. He was speaking in Furling, and Sujanha’s translator, the only one set-up to translate from Furling into Goa’uld, was cued to her voice alone. (Daniel, Ruarc, and Ragnar were only wearing the earpieces that would translate the Goa’uld back into Furling.)

The host—Goa’uld or Tok’ra—did not understand Furling, but even with Ruarc’s accent, the names of Yu and Heru’ur, a reference to the Goa’uld, and an unrelated random gesture in the host’s direction would have been clear no matter the language. And at that moment, the host slipped. What thoughts were going through his mind, only he knew, whether or not he thought they thought he was Goa’uld. But for a moment his mask, however rattled, slipped, and a mixture of revulsion and hatred flashed across his face and eyes for a split second at the mention of the Goa’uld. It was the type of revulsion and hatred directed at the Goa’uld generally and not Yu or Heru’ur in particular.

No Tok’ra would appreciate being compared to or called a Goa’uld.

The slip was only for a moment, but that one moment was enough for Sujanha to learn what she needed to know. “So it is as we thought,” her voice was quiet, “You are Tok’ra. Your face betrays you.”

Horror swept across the young host’s face, which went deathly pale a split second later. He’s not about to faint, is he? He straightened, and his chin came up, as if he was visibly steeling himself for what might come next. If we were Goa’uld, he just sealed his own fate.

Sujanha straightened and saluted him in the Furling fashion. “You are welcome among us.”

Daniel saw a wave of emotion cross the host’s face—I really wish I knew his name, since thinking of him only in terms of his symbiote seemed wrong—confusion and fear and bewilderment. Then, in an instant, his posture and body language changed abruptly and completely. This was the symbiote. “What do you want with us?” The words were said in a low growl, roughened by the dual-flanged voice of the symbiote, a voice that still put chills down Daniel’s spine.

“My greetings,” Sujanha was unruffled by the angry emergence of the symbiote, “I am pleased to see you awake. You both were injured when we found you, and our healing skills were not made with beings like you in mind.”

“What does it matter to you?” The symbiote bit out.

“Because we have a common foe, and I have heard of the bravery and courage of the Tok’ra as they resist the long defeat,” Sujanha replied, “All will be explained in time.” She turned to Ruarc. “Find the healer,” she instructed in Furling.

Ruarc departed swiftly without a word, and Ragnar shifted closer to the commander. Sujanha turned back to the watching symbiote—a blank mask had replaced his momentary disbelief at Sujanha’s mention of a common foe—and spoke again, “Do you have a name?”

There was a long minute of silence. The two might have been talking mentally before the symbiote replied more calmly, “I am called Lantash.”

“And your host? I would know his name, as well.”

“Martouf,” Lantash replied before asking bluntly, “Who are you?”

“I am Sujanha. My bodyguards, Ragnar and Ruarc, who just went to locate a healer; and one of my aids, Daniel Jackson.”

There was another abrupt change in posture and body language. “From Earth … and SG1?” Martouf asked cautiously … and in English, though there was evident surprise in his face.

Daniel straightened and pushed away from the wall. How’d he know? Did earth make contact with the Tok’ra? He glanced across at Sujanha, wordlessly asking if he should answer or not. After a moment, she nodded assent. “I was born there, yes,” Daniel replied, switching back to English. “I was exiled over a year ago.”

Martouf relaxed, and a small smile swept across his face, “Your SG1--Colonel O'Neill, Samantha, and Teal'c--came to our world some months ago, seeking us and proved … a great help.”

“They were doing well then?” Daniel asked impulsively. Now was not at all the best moment to ask, he realized the moment after the words came out of his mouth, but he was eager for news of his friends. Bra’tac had had no recent news the last time they had met, and Daniel just could not help asking. Sujanha gave him a look that he couldn’t decipher at his question but didn’t chide him, even in Furling.

“They were,” Martouf confirmed. A moment later, he bowed his head, and with a flash of eyes, Lantash was back in control.

“Who are you?” The symbiote asked bluntly, “Your race is not known to me.”

Sujanha flashed a sign, and Ragnar stepped forward and, after crouching by the shield generator and making several quick motions, dropped the shield. “My people are called the Furlings,” she answered, “We dwelt in this galaxy long ago.”

Lantash’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you return?”

“To see the Goa’uld fall. They are a plague and a stain upon this galaxy. It is time their reign ends,” Sujanha replied easily, “Rebel factions within the ranks of the Jaffa have always pledged their aid to our strength, and we hope that the Tok’ra might, as well.”

“What do you want from the Tok’ra?” Martouf was back in control. A seamless switch.

“Intelligence. Strength of arms loses much of its value without knowledge of where to strike.” The Furlings had learned much from Bra’tac and the Rebel Jaffa, but Sujanha was nothing if not thorough. No one wanted a repeat of any of the disasters of the Great War.

There was another long silence, as Martouf and Lantash seemed to speak to each other silently again. “We cannot tell you what you wish to know without permission, but we will bear your message to the Tok’ra High Council. It will be their decision.”

“I understand,” Sujanha replied, straightening up from her slouch against the wall.

“Are we free to depart?”

“You are, though I would prefer that you allow a healer to examine you first. Once you are ready to depart, one of my guards will escort you to the gate and teach you the symbols of this world. You or any of your people are free to return at any time, whether or not you agree to aid us.”

Three days later, a soldier brought the news to Uslisgas that a Tok’ra elder named Garshaw had arrived on Ushuotis. Sujanha had paid the price of forcing herself past her limit to go meet Martouf-Lantash and did not feel like going off world, so she was not involved in the discussions and negotiations between the Tok’ra High Council and the Furling High Command until the very end, Supreme Commander Anarr and High Commander Algar being the main ones for the Furlings. (Like with the Rebel Jaffa, this was currently a strictly military alliance between the Tok’ra and the Furling military, not between the Tok’ra and the Furling Empire, which did not necessitate the involvement of official ambassadors and a lot of resulting hoops.) Within a week, an alliance was formed. Backed by the Tok’ra and the Rebel Jaffa, the Furlings were on the cusp of declaring war. The days of the Goa’uld were numbered.

Chapter Text

35^nd of Vekix, Summer, 6545 A.S.
(January 4, 1999)
Ocelum, Asteria

Ocelum, the main shipyard of the Furling Fleet and, was one of only two other habitable planets—moons not included—in the same system as Uslisgas itself. After thousands of years of use as a shipyard with more than a few mishaps and crashes during the worst years of the Great War, it was not a pleasant planet to look at. The buildings that surrounded the Stargate, housing workers and workshops alike, were utilitarian in the extreme, lacking even the basic aesthetic value of basic housing on Uslisgas and bore the scars of heavy work, more than a few mishaps, and not enough cleaning. Those buildings were built to endure the worst of treatments and to contain mishaps that occurred inside. The surface of the planet, also, was pockmarked with craters from where damaged ships had barely limped back to safety, landing hard on the surface, or farther away from the Stargate, where experimental weaponry had exploded with nearly disastrous results.

Ships of all classes and shapes could be found waiting in orbit around Ocelum, resting on the planet’s surface, docked in one of the bays floating just above the planet’s surface, casting long, heavy shadows on the ground below. (Yet more reasons that little grew on Ocelum.) The anti-gravity technology that the Nox used to keep their cities afloat and that they had long ago shared with the allies had been put to good use by the Furlings in these maintenance bays.

Furling warships were largely identical to the design of the Asgard Bilskirnir-class motherships, the main external difference being that the Furlings had given cleaner lines to the originally blocky ship. All current classes of Furling warships were based on that same basic design as the Bilskirnir-class, with only size varying between the motherships, the massive flagships, and the smaller cruisers. The Furling flagships were especially striking for their hulking size, almost half again as large as the Bilskirnir itself or any of its sister-ships. In comparison, Goa’uld Hat’taks would be dwarfed by their bulk, and the main cargo bay of the Furling flagships was large enough to contain the much smaller ships of some of the Furlings’ allies.

Not only Furling ships could be found at Ocelum. On any given day, Asgard warships or science vessels might be present, coming in for supplies or repairs before returning to Ida after completing duties in Asteria. Of the Furlings’ most powerful allies, the Dovahkiin had no ships of their own, but both the Etrairs and the Lapiths had powerful ships with intra-galactic hyperdrives, while the more powerful Ipyrsh were the only other race in the galaxy with hyperdrives that could cross the voids between galaxies.

Of all the allied warships, those of the Ipyrsh were the most striking. In contrast to the powerful personal armor of their people, the Iprysh ships, visibly, seemed surprisingly frail. Long and slender, cylindrical in shape, these behemoth ships were fitting with the technological advancement of the Iprysh as visible through the heavy-armor all members of their race wore. There were signs of thick armor plating, especially near the center of the ship, guarding against a lucky shot doing vital damage and breaking the ship in half. Gun turrets rose from the surface of the ship like pock-marks at regular intervals. Between their armor plating, weapons, and powerful shields, Iprysh warships made for powerful opponents.

By the time the fourth month of the year was waning towards its end, Sujanha was forced to conclude that she had not spent so much time continuously on Ocelum … in nearly one-hundred years … since the latter days of the Great War. Almost one month had passed since Martouf-Lantash, a Tok’ra operative, had stumbled upon a Furling base in Avalon, and about two months had passed since Master Bra’tac of the Free Jaffa had found the Furling scouts. In those months, buoyed by new alliances with both peoples, the Furlings had made great strides in preparing for war, gathering intelligence, stockpiling supplies to be loaded on the warships and transport ships, taking other supplies and what weapons of war could be transported through the Stargate to their hidden bases in Avalon. The last of the allied contingents, both troops and ships of all classes, were spilling into the various rendezvous points across Asteria, ready for battle, ready to depart.

The departure date for Avalon was set as the first of Ea, the fifth month, less than a week away. There was so much to do, so much to oversee, so much paperwork to read and sign, and there were only five days left before the Fleet and the Army would depart for Avalon. So much to do, and so little time left to do it all in.

Being Supreme Commander even of a Fleet that was a shadow of its former power involved more days of tedium than shining hours of glory. Over half-a-million soldiers and over 700 ships were currently under her direct command—738, to be precise—a number far smaller than it had once been. The allied contingents had thankfully brought their own commanders who could be, at least, nominally slotted into the existing Furling command structures. Transporting, housing, feeding, and equipping those many soldiers—all those crewing every ship plus all of Anarr’s soldiers plus all allied soldiers—as well as keeping those many ships in working order took a tremendous amount of time and effort from the entire Furling High Command. Even with support staff and lower-ranking commanders taking care of many tasks and with responsibilities being delegated as necessary, Sujanha had only found her days growing longer and longer during the past month, especially.

And on top of fleet business, there were also the tedious but necessary political niceties inherent in folding in multiple allied contingents with their own commanders, customs, and orders of battle as well as dealing with the high-ranking officials from multiple courts who usually appeared temporarily as the contingents did.

Politics.

Sujanha disliked politics and political wrangling.

Or perhaps hated would be a better word.

If she had been raised at the Furling Court, perhaps she would have thought differently.

Sujanha’s gifts lay toward the mind. The Asgardian blood that she had inherited from both her mother and father’s lines had made her physically frailer, so it was said, but had given her a fraction of their more advanced mental capacity. Her cunning brilliance when it came to strategic and tactical matters coupled with a gift for detailed battle-plans that were usually several steps ahead of her enemies, gifts flavored with what her detractors called “reckless daring,” had made her a once-in-a-generation commander.

The patience and subtlety that she easily applied to military matters … well, she struggled with the same in political circles. Sujanha was blunt and straight-forward in manner with a cold temper, and while she could talk the talk and could perform the social niceties of multiple races at multiple courts, politics and political wrangling would always be her weakness. Her declining health made sitting or standing at great length while courtiers and high officials danced around each other all the more frustrating.

When Sujanha’s thoughts went especially dark, she did note that her ill-health would be of one benefit to her. Given that the line of succession to the throne of the Furling Empire went in order of age—meaning that even the Crown Prince’s son was fifth (of six, currently), not second—Sujanha was third in line behind the Crown Prince—the eldest and only of Ivarr’s sons to survive the war—and her own brother. Unless the Crown Prince or Anarr died even younger than the healers said Sujanha would, meeting some unfortunate accident or dying in battle, Sujanha would never have to worry about becoming High Queen.

Almost half again as large as a Biliskner-class warship, the Valhalla—Sujanha’s flagship which she had renamed in honor of the Asgard upon becoming Supreme Commander—was a sprawling, flying fortress. Many systems were, at least, partially automated, meaning that the Valhalla had a comparatively small crew for a non-Asgardian ship of its size. Miles upon miles of nearly identical slate-grey corridors, deck upon deck upon deck, that echoed with the sound of footsteps and carried the murmur of voices in many languages made the ship seem more populated than its small crew would suggest. That simultaneously made the ship a nightmare to navigate for new crew members.

I hope Daniel can learn the ship quickly.

His old base sounds like it was rather labyrinthic like the Valhalla.

Perhaps that will help.

Sujanha knew every line of her ship. In some ways it had been more of a home to her the past five-hundred some years than her own house on Uslisgas or, especially, the suite of rooms that was hers by right in the Imperial Palace. That I use like once a year, if that. That being said, the only two places that she frequented regularly were the bridge on one of the upper decks and her office near the heart of the ship, beaming between the two as needed to ease the strain on her body. This afternoon Sujanha found herself in her office, which for simplicity’s sake was laid out almost identically to her office at Headquarters. Everything was close enough to the same to ease the transition between offices and just barely enough different to occasionally confuse her.

To make me wonder for a moment if my wits are failing me and not just my body.

And then I hear the humming of the ship, and I remember I am in the wrong office.

There was much to be done on the Valhalla before departure: supplies to be loaded, systems to be checked, diagnostics to be run, and so on. All that was thankfully nothing for which Sujanha was responsible. She frequently thanked the Maker for the competent engineers and efficient bridge-crew with which her ship had been staffed. Her bridge-crew, as well as her Chief Engineer and Chief Armorer, had almost all been with her through the latter half of her time as Supreme Commander, and they all worked together well. Though she personally oversaw operations on the bridge during all battles for which she was present, the rest of the time basically she told her crew the end result that she needed done, and they quietly and efficiently did what needed to be done without any oversight necessary.

Which makes things much simpler.

Sujanha took a sip of tea from the cup on her desk and promptly resisted the urge to grimace. The tea was growing cold. Spiced tea was tolerable cold but much better hot. The noise of her bodyguards and of Asik moving about in the outer office getting settled or reorganizing or something was a soothing murmur.

Daniel should be here soon. He had remained on Uslisgas that morning to finish some other tasks for her, and now that the lunch-hour had passed, he would probably arrive soon.

Sujanha pulled up the list of tasks still to be completed on the Valhalla and started scanning through it. As much as she trusted her subordinates, she still liked to be aware of what was going on in her own ship.

It was a long list.

Crates of emergency rations from the Asgard still to be delivered.

Program update for … some system … still to be run by an Asgard engineer. Asik had helpfully included a line of information about which particular program and which particular system, but for all her ability to create detailed battle-plans for conflicts that stretched across solar systems and included ships and troops from multiple militaries, program and system names often seemed to be rewritten in a completely separate and incomprehensible language even when in Furling.

Crew still to arrive. Expected.

Complete systems checks … including shields.

Delivery of weapons for the armory. Who was responsible for those goods? Asik hadn’t noted, and multiple races, including the Furlings and several of their allies, were responsible for different types of weaponry with which the ships were stocked and the army was armed. Different races were especially skilled in the making of certain goods, and different races were especially skilled in some fighting styles, factoring in body types and natural environments. The Dovahkiin and the Furlings, for example, fought drastically differently because, for instance, the Dovahkiin had wings. Wings could be used to great effect in many ways on the battlefield in some circumstances but were a weakness, at best, or useless, at worst, in other circumstances.

Like on a ship. Wings are no good in these corridors.

Or in tunnels.

The sound of voices in the outer office drew Sujanha’s attention away from the list. There was a new voice in the murmuring. Daniel had returned. A few words drifted in through the open door, something about how large the ships were and how confusing the hallways were. It had been over half-a-year since Daniel had come to Uslisgas, and overtime his wide-eyed wonder with everything, or so it seemed some days, had slowly faded as he grew accustomed to his new life, but the ships … are very striking … for their size, if nothing else.

A few minutes passed, and then Daniel entered the inner office, dropping into a chair with a quick nod of respect. “All done,” he said. “What else can I do?”

“Nothing for the moment,” Sujanha replied. “My thanks. Have you eaten?”

Daniel nodded. “I bought food in the Great Market before I came back.” He paused, his brow furrowing for a moment. “Oh, I almost forgot. I met Jaax at headquarters. He asked me to pass a message to you with his apologies for leaving without speaking with you first. An emergency message came in for him late this morning, so he was leaving for Procater.[1] He said that he would be back by nightfall, though.”

A worried look passed across Sujanha’s eyes before calm stillness returned. His parents and his … elder brother’s … I think … children are still living. Has ill befallen them? “My thanks. It was right of him to go. I do not need aid from all of you currently, anyway. Asik?”

Asik appeared in the doorway, a frown or a scowl cemented on his face. What’s wrong? “Yes, Commander?”

“Send a message to Jaax, please,” Sujanha ordered. “Tell him that he does not need to return tonight. I will need his assistance when it comes time to depart, but we can make do without him in the meantime.” There was a questioning upward lilt on the last sentence, as if she were seeking confirmation that Daniel and Asik were willing to do the extra work. They both nodded.

“Of course, Commander. I will do that momentarily,” Asik replied. The concerned look in his eyes and face grew stronger. “But Commander …” He hesitated, his voice trailing off.

What’s this about? Sujanha met Daniel’s eyes, a questioning look in her eyes. Do you know? Daniel shrugged. He apparently did not know either.

“What’s wrong?” Sujanha asked, swiping away the screens she had up and giving her aid her full attention.

“The last shipment of weapons for the armory has arrived with the last of the Dovahkiin contingent coming to Ocelum.” Asik paused, hesitating again. “The High Princess Zulaar is escorting them. She wishes to speak with you.”

Sujanha flinched minutely.

Stars in Heaven!

As if this week could not get any worse.

She cut herself off mentally from that useless train of thought—self-pity did no good—and forced herself to focus. As much as she disliked dealing with the High Princess and was secretly thankful anytime when dealings with her could be avoided, Sujanha had to maintain a standard of conduct in her dealings with Zulaar. Thoughts like that had no purpose.

Sujanha forced her attention back to the room. Ragnar and Ruarc were lingering in the doorway, scowls in both their eyes. Asik was still just inside the doorway, a very regretful look on his face. Daniel just looked confused. He had not been with the Furlings long enough to learn about the complicated mess that was the relationship between Sujanha and the Dovahkiin Court.

“Very well,” Sujanha said with a sigh and a nod. “Have her sent up. Asik, stay long enough to announce her and then take a break. The rest of you, find somewhere else to be. I’ll call for you when I’m done.”

The confused look on Daniel’s face grew stronger, a lingering thread of wariness joining it, but there was a chorus of nods and words of assent. Asik returned to the outer office, and Daniel and her two bodyguards filed out. Just before the door to the corridor closed, Daniel’s soft-voiced question drifted back, “I thought the Dovahkiin were our allies?”

They are … one of our strongest.

They are … despite what I did.

Zulaar just hates me.

The minutes passed slowly. Asik had only said that Zulaar had arrived with the Dovahkiin contingent but had not specified whether that was at the Stargate or on the Valhalla itself. There was no way of knowing how quickly she would arrive, and just waiting for the coming confrontation … all their meetings seemed to turn that way, even if only passive-aggressively … was almost as bad as the confrontation itself would be. Sujanha resisted the urge to fidget like a youngling, drum her claws on the arm of her chair impatiently, or look at the clock every few moments.

None of that will help make time move faster.

I just want this to be over.

Eventually, Zulaar swept in, barely giving Asik time to announce her. (As soon as he had, he slipped out, flashing a Cesenor hand-sign behind Zulaar’s back that meant something related to strength or endurance. The exact nuance escaped Sujanha, but she understood the sentiment.) Sujanha’s office on the Valhalla was large enough to meet with several subordinates simultaneously, but Zulaar’s presence seemed to fill up the entire room. Raised at the Dovahkiin court all her life as the second in line to the throne, she had, naturally, a commanding presence that had taken Sujanha, raised at a foreign court and born much lower down the line of succession, years of work to cultivate. Zulaar was classically beautiful for one of her people, with scales a striking shade of blue-green, horns that curled gracefully back from her head, and large wings that made her an excellent flier.

The High Princess stopped just over half-way from the door to Sujanha’s desk, just slightly farther than was strictly proper before rendering a greeting. The following bow was also too shallow, more proper for a greeting of respect between two friends or even distant kin, reminiscent of the relationship that the two had once ahead. She had also, Sujanha noted with an internal flinch, reversed her hands, so that her right hand was gripping her left wrist, instead of the traditional form.[2] Even if that relationship had not been torn apart forty-five years earlier, the bow would have still been too shallow. Here they were not equals. This was an official visit. Zulaar had no military title, and Sujanha’s status as an Imperial Princess and third in her line to the throne of the Furling Empire outranked Zulaar’s status as High Princess of the Dovahkiin and second in line to her own throne.

“Sujanha-Meshik,” was Zulaar’s greeting, another veiled insult. “Datong,” the closest Dovahkiin word to her title of Supreme Commander, would have been more appropriate, where “Meshik” still presumed on a relationship that Zulaar would have vehemently denied the continuing existence of, if pressed.

The Great Queen’s only daughter had learned the art of maneuvering at court at her mother’s side, and the proper use of courtesies for all ranks and positions had been imprinted in her mind from a young age. More than a thousand years had passed since her birth, and those years had only perfected her skill. The last forty-five years had given her many opportunities in passive-aggressively turning each and every social courtesy into an insult with the use of a wrong honorific or a too-shallow bow. For all that Sujanha and Zulaar were grudging allies for the sake of the Empire and the War of Deliverance, the High Princess would never let Sujanha forget that, personally, Zulaar’s hatred of her burned fiercer than the fires of Drehond.

It was said that no one could hold a grudge like one of the Dovahkiin.

Zulaar’s anger on her brother, the Great Prince Zinjotnax’s behalf, was not totally unwarranted.

In trying to do right, I went astray.

I hurt many that I love.

“High Princess,” Sujanha replied coolly, “Please sit.”

And let us get this over with.

Daniel left the Supreme Commander’s office, stepping back into the seemingly featureless corridor, in a state of utter confusion. “I thought the Dovahkiin were our allies,” he hissed to Ruarc. Sujanha’s reaction to the news of the arrival of the High Princess was peculiar, somewhere between horror and resignation.

Rather shaken up.

Ragnar led them left out of the office and down the long corridor. He and his brother exchanged looks as they walked, communicating silently. They seemed to be able to hold conversations just with his looks, Daniel had noted over the months, given that the Furlings were not telepathic … unlike a couple of races they were allied with.

Telepathy … like in the comics.

It still kind of blew his mind.

“It’s complicated,” Ruarc finally replied. “A private matter, mainly, and not one that we should attempt to explain.”

Oh.

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

Ruarc shook his head, motioning for them to stop as they came to a set of lifts that had been hidden from sight farther up the hall. “Do not concern yourself. You would have had no reason to know.” He paused, glanced at his brother again, “I will remain here until the High Princess leaves.” We’re still in sight of Sujanha’s office. I can’t see the door, but he can see anyone leaving or entering on foot. “Daniel, you should start learning the ship.”

That I should.

He had gotten lost several times already that day, exploring the Valhalla after an Iprysh guard had had him beamed up from the planet’s surface after he had gated in from Uslisgas. The featureless corridors seemed endless and identical. He had picked turns at random several times while trying to find his way to Sujanha’s office before he had run into another crewmember who had given him directions.

“I’ll go with you,” Ragnar rumbled. Make sure I don’t get lost? Too lost? “These ships take a bit of getting used to, but the guide-signs will help.”

The what-now?

Daniel stared at him blankly. “The what?”

Ragnar gave a rumbling laugh, said goodbye to his brother, and then motioned Daniel to follow. They took the lift up several decks—so that they could go to the bridge, Ragnar explained—and encountered yet more slate-grey corridors. This is more confusing than the SGC! When they came to an intersection, Ragnar pointed out a particular set of marks—a mix of alphabetic characters, numbers, and symbols—on the wall that Daniel had overlooked during his wanderings earlier.

That’s Furling?

It was … sort of, and once Ragnar explained the system, it made much more sense. At each intersection was a code that indicated the deck one was on and one’s location within the ship. There were more marks on every door within a corridor that further specified one’s location as well as the use of the space.

Like on a Navy ship, I think.

“So what deck were we on?” Asked Daniel once he had absorbed the lecture.

“10,” Ragnar replied.

“10 of?”

“It depends,” Ragnar noted, pulling up a diagram of the ship on his gauntlet. “We are still near the center of the ship above the main hangar.” He pointed out a massive cavern on the underbelly of the ship. “There are fewer decks above the hanger, and more along the periphery.”

Ah.

Daniel blinked, shoved his glasses back up his nose. “What deck are we on now?”

“Deck 3. The bridge is toward the front of the ship,” Ragnar replied, gesturing with one hand over his shoulder.

The bridge of the Valhalla was something almost out of Star Trek or Star Wars and put the peltak of a Goa’uld Hat’tak like Daniel had been on to shame. Instead of the impractical gaudiness of a Goa’uld warship, the bridge like much of Furling design was streamlined and intensely practical. The bridge was a massive rectangle … uh, mostly, well, the back-half, while the front of the room was a large semi-circle. Across the walls of the semicircle was projected a continuous row of holograms that displayed a stunning view of space … above Ocelum … as well as the massive number of ships near the planet.

I hadn’t realized we were in orbit.

Or are we? Are they just showing orbit through sensors or something?

Near the front of the room, a couple of strides back from the holograms, were two large consoles, L-shaped, probably for a navigator and a weapon’s office. If Goa’uld design is anything to guess by. They did steal it from the Furlings. A third chair, elevated up two small steps, stood between the two consoles, probably for Sujanha or whichever officer was currently in charge. Several displays covered the walls at the back of the room, and four large tables/consoles/display boards … or something … stood perpendicular to the long-side of the rectangle.

That far table … that looks like the surface of Ocelum by the Stargate.

Is that like a moving sand-table or something?

Only two people were present on the bridge as Daniel and Ragnar entered. One—a human man—was working at one of the displays at the back of the room. It was a map of something. (Of what exactly, Daniel had no clue.) The other, an Iprysh with streamlined silver armor with darker highlights, was sitting at the console on the left hand of the command chair.

The man looked up, blinking twice as if tearing his mind away from whatever he had been working, before his gaze focused on the newcomers. His gaze flicked over Daniel without comprehension before focusing on Ragnar. “Ragnar”—the man spoke unaccented Furling—“Do you need something?”

“No,” Ragnar replied. “This is Daniel Jackson, the Commander’s latest aid. I have been helping him get accustomed to the ship.”

A wide smile broke across the man’s face. “Without getting lost.” he said with a laugh before turning to Daniel. “I lost my way many times during my first few months here, even with the guide-posts for help.”

Glad I’m not the only one.

The other man continued. “I am Mekoxe of the Getae. I am the communications officer.” He made a gesture with the back of his hand toward the front of the room. Cultural thing? “That is Sat’a Chakrechi, the weapons officer. He’s running a diagnostic on the weapons system, so we shouldn’t bother him.”

(It was always listening to other people speak Furling. Mekoxe spoke fluent, unaccented Furling, but his speech patterns were different from the Furling Sujanha or her bodyguards spoke … or even me now … since how you spoke a language was highly influenced by your teachers … cough, cough, Jack, cough, cough. Mekoxe was still direct but much less formal.)

“I don’t need anything,” Daniel hastened to reply. “As Ragnar said, I’m just trying to get familiar with the ship. It’s … big.”

“Quite.” Mekoxe replied dryly, an amused twist to his lips. “All Furling ships are mainly laid out on the same design, factoring in the presence or size of the main hangar. Once you are comfortable here, you should be able to find your way in the others with relative ease.”

“Thank you.”

“No Rusa?” Ragnar asked a moment later after glancing around the Bridge again. His speech was shifting into a less-formal register. Have they worked together before? The Getae are human, though longer-lived than us. Mekoxe would be rather old to have seen service near the end of the Great War … I’d think?

Mekoxe’s attention had slipped back to his consoles—and one particular holographic screen that looked vaguely like a galactic map with weird blinking dots—in the momentary gap between Daniel’s reply and Ragnar’s question, but at the question his head snapped back up. “Hmm? Oh, yes, she’s on board. She went down deck an … hour ago maybe … muttering something about her precious star charts.” His words were slightly snarky, but his tone was fond.

I’m guessing she’s the navigator then?

Ragnar scowled—or rather his eyes went dark and his ears flicked back momentarily, which for a Furling was close enough to the same thing. “Problem?”

Mekoxe shrugged, “If there is, it wouldn’t be that serious, I think, from her tone. If it is serious, though, she’ll make sure the Commander learns of it.”

By the time Zulaar finally left and the door slid shut behind her, the meeting having been brought to a successful through heated conclusion, Sujanha felt absolutely wrung-out and exhausted. Her body ached from the stress, and a headache was blooming between her eyes, a pain which felt like a hammer being pounded against her skull. Zulaar’s tongue had been as fiery and as pointed as ever. Their last meeting had been some years before, though Sujanha had had the misfortunes to have dealings with several other Dovahkiin court officials in the meantime.

Time has done nothing to soften their feelings toward me.

I wish …

Sujanha wished many things. That the lists of dead from the Great War were shorter. That her brother-son had lived. That her health was not broken. That she had been given a chance to explain. That things had been different that day on Drehond. That she hadn’t lost … them all.

What’s done is done.

Alone, in the privacy of her own office, Sujanha allowed her rigid posture to relax and let her head sink down. Retracting her claws, she massaged her forehead with short, blunt fingers. The ache in her head was only matched by the ache in her chest. Every meeting with Zulaar only drove the knife in further, reminding her of all she had lost.

“Are you alright, Commander?” A voice shattered the stillness of the room.

Sujanha started upright, her muscles screaming at the sudden jerky movement, and the throbbing in her head increased with a lurch. Ruarc was standing in the doorway, a polite distance away, concern clear in his eyes.

I didn’t call them back yet, did I?

No. Her memory was still sound.

“What are you doing back?” Sujanha asked, deflecting the question with her own question.

Ruarc stared at her for a moment. “Making sure you survived your meeting,” he answered bluntly and rather impoliticly. “From the way the High Princess stormed out, I’m presuming it didn’t go well?”

Sujanha gave a helpless shrug, a use of human body-language that she rarely mimicked. “We accomplished what little needed to be accomplished. Any bad temper was due to our long-fraught relationship.”

A scowl took its place firmly on Ruarc’s face. He had been within hearing range during more than one past meeting between the two and had strong feelings about the fraught and somewhat toxic relationship between Sujanha and Zulaar. As long as he kept those opinions to himself in public, Sujanha did not care what he thought about the High Princess. Tensions had increased for some years between the two courts, following her expulsion from Drehond. If tension increased again, Sujanha was intent on the fault not lying with any of her staff in their fervent defense of her.

“So how many insults did the High Princess,” Ruarc almost choked on the title of respect, “work into her report this time?”

“I learned years ago not to keep count,” Sujanha replied rather tartly.

Ruarc scowled harder, taking the offered seat that Sujanha waved him towards. “Your courtesy dance with the Crown Prince gives me a headache, but you clearly outrank Zulaar in these circumstances. Why do you allow this treatment to continue?”

(Sujanha and her cousin, the current Crown Prince, had a friendly relationship, though they were not close. That relationship was complicated by the fact that she outranked him in some contexts, military primarily or military-related, while he outranked her politically as Crown Prince. If you factor in that I sit on the High Council … it only gets more complicated. Another reason Sujanha disliked politics. It complicated everything … even family relationships.)

Why did she? That was a good question.

Sometimes Sujanha wasn’t really sure. Heading things off at the pass with Zulaar had never been that effective, and trying to set the tone with her own actions had never worked well either. Zulaar’s actions were insulting on multiple levels to Sujanha, both as the elder in age and the higher in rank in the contexts we are in. The High Princess usually mitigated her treatment in more public settings, but having such meetings in more public settings was not always possible and potentially risky, depending on the topic at hand.

So why had Sujanha not put a stop to Zulaar’s insults?

Perhaps it was from her lingering sense of guilt over the events and her own choices that in the space of a single day had broken her ties to the Dovahkiin royal family and shattered her close relationship with Zinjotnax.

Perhaps it was from an irrational fear that verbally slapping the other woman down would yet worsen matters still further.

Perhaps it was because she felt that she deserved Zulaar’s anger.

Sujanha really wasn’t sure after all this time.

“It does not matter now.” Sujanha deflected. “Matters are what they are.”

Ruarc gave a low growl, the closest he usually got to calling her on what he thought was nonsense, while still trying to be cognizant of the vast difference in rank between them. “It does matter, Commander. It matters to all of us who have to see you treated like this. Whatever severed your relationship with the Dovahkiin does not matter to us. She is being purposefully cruel, and it’s wrong.”

“Her anger is not unreasonable,” Sujanha noted wearily.

“You’re you,” Ruarc half-shouted. He shook himself bodily and then continued, voice lower but only slightly calmer, “Whatever happened has not been bandied about, and I have no desire to hear private details, but I know you, Commander. We all know you. It cannot be as bad as you’re implying, and nothing could be worthy of her … vitriol.” He spat the last word with vehement disgust.

As usual, his defense was extremely touching.

Sujanha was silent for a long minute, considering how to reply. Cut off the conversation and force a return to work, even if the throbbing in her head made the idea of working unpleasant? Or explain in brief, bringing to light what had somehow remained unspoken on Uslisgas for years. “I broke a contract … a written contract. Broken, not dissolved.”

Ruarc cringed. “Well, that …,” he verbally floundered for a few moments, “explains a few things.”

Breaking contracts was a major cultural taboo among the Dovahkiin. It was just not done, not with verbal contracts where you could argue semantics, and especially not with written contacts where the Dovahkiin strictly laid out even the smallest of details. Anyone with sense did not break contrast unless you’re desperate … or not thinking straight. Breaking a contract was almost the most grievous insult that could be rendered against a Dovahkiin … having the best of motives doesn’t make a difference… and called the character of the breaker into question.

Sujanha gave a short rumbling laugh that if she had been in private … if I were in private, this conversation would not be happening … might have turned into a sob.

“A marriage contract?” Her bodyguard asked cautiously.

Sujanha made a wordless noise of assent. That she and Zinjotnax, who had fought bravely and been grievously wounded during the Great War, had once been quite close, was no secret. It was just how close they had been … as well as the contract between them … that had been unknown to most, if not all, outside the two courts.

“I’m assuming that you had good reasons for breaking it, not dissolving it?” Ruarc continued, still cautiously.

I’m unlikely to live to see 1500 years … and that was if I retired.

Having children would kill me.

Which negates most of the purpose of dynastic marriages.

Sujanha made another wordless noise of assent. Having grown up on Drehond, she knew what a taboo breaking a contract was, but given the circumstances, she had still judged in the moment that her decision was the wisest and most honorable course of action. Well, granted, breaking the contract had not been the goal of her actions that day. Dissolving it had been, but the events that day had not gone according to plan.

Not that I was thinking that straight that day.

If I had controlled myself and waited …

That had been easier to see in hindsight. But who would have been thinking rationally in her circumstances that day? Her healers had told her that her convalescence had given her back all the strength that she was likely to get, that she was going to die young. Very young. Already in pain, that news had left Sujanha reeling and frightened and feeling terribly alone. I would probably still make the same decision. Just go about it very differently.

“And they didn’t take that into account?”

“The discussion never got that far,” Sujanha admitted.

An inopportune question had brought the matter to light at the midday meal, instead of, as she had been planning, a private meeting with Zin and the Great Queen. Sujanha had been unwilling to lie. Verbal … and physical … chaos had ensued. There had been no chance for explanations, and Sujanha had not the strength, physically or mentally, to shout to make herself heard that day. She would never forget the look in Zin’s eyes that day as she had declared her intention to end the contract between them: stunned disbelief mixed with heartbreaking betrayal and agonizing pain, like she had ripped away his scales with her claws and stabbed him in the belly.

It made her stomach churn just remembering.

The conversation had spiraled out of control so quickly. She had betrayed him, but she had never expected that after all those hundreds of years together, she would never be given the chance to explain. Zin knew her. The Great Queen knew her. I was raised in her court! She was more of a mother to me than my own! It still hurt deeply. Though she still held fast to her ultimate decision, it burned that they seemed to think so little of her that they never asked why.

“Commander …” Words failed Ruarc for a moment. “I … He doesn’t even know that you’re …”

Dying?

“That my health problems are terminal?” Sujanha finished for him softly. “No.”

“But if he knew …” Ruarc protested. “Maybe things could be made right.”

Sujanha shook her head. “Your concern for me is greatly appreciated more than you know. As far as the Great Queen was concerned, however, I was raised among them, and I knew better than to act in such a matter. As far as Zinjotnax is concerned, I betrayed him. You weren’t there that day.” She paused, swallowed hard. “What’s done is done. Some things cannot be made right.”

Not in this life.

I made my choices.

I have to live with them, too.

The look in Ruarc’s eyes was almost heartbreakingly sympathetic. “Commander … I …” he paused, floundered verbally again, “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Sujanha took a deep breath. “None of this should pass your lips outside of this room, not even to your brother.”

Ruarc bowed his head. “As you command.”

“If you would, send word to the others to return. There is still work to be done.”

As much as I wish this day could be over.

Ruarc rose, “As you command.” He executed a deep bow, deeper than he had ever gone before, and then withdrew.

The rest of the week passed incredibly slowly and yet incredibly quickly at the same time, or so it seemed to Daniel. After seeing the sheer scope of preparations involved for getting the Fleet and Army ready to leave for the Milky-Way, it brought home how vital supply chains were to keeping a military moving—who was it who said ‘an army marches on its stomach’?[3]—and gave him new appreciation for all the people who had worked behind the scenes at the SGC.

It was impossible to carry some supplies—food, equipment, weapons, and who knew what else—through the Stargate at all or in a timely manner. It would be even less possible for all the troops to go through the Stargate to the Milky-Way in a timely manner, not with the number of troops the Furlings and their allies are sending. Thus, it fell on the Fleet’s fleet of troop carriers and transport ships to get all of those supplies and people from one galaxy to the other, which also meant housing and feeding all those hundreds of thousands of troops meanwhile.

Though I have no idea exactly how fast Furling hyperdrives are.

Though … the more important question might be how fast the Ipyrsh hyperdrives are.

Wouldn’t the Commander want to keep the ships together?

One more thing for her to keep track of.

The hours Sujanha kept got longer as the week progressed, and at some moments, Daniel thought with more than a little concern that she was surviving mostly on spiced tea and sheer stubbornness. Jaax was still on Procater with the family emergency that had called him away but was expected back before Departure Day. Daniel and Asik were working overtime with him absent to ferry messages, check on arriving shipments, take notes in meetings, and a laundry list of other duties. With hundreds of warships and hundreds of thousands of troops from multiple militaries, there was just a simply staggering amount of work to do and things to coordinate.

Finally, the first of Ea dawned.

Departure Day had come, at last.

The days of the Goa’uld are numbered.

Dawn came early. With all the final checks to be done, no one had gotten more than a few hours of sleep. Daniel knew Sujanha must have been exhausted and in pain when she emerged from her quarters adjacent to her office, but she was hiding it reasonably well. He certainly was tired, exhausted really, and was wishing fervently for multiple large mugs of coffee, though he would have to content himself with copious amounts of Furling spiced tea, instead.

The six of them—Sujanha, Daniel, her bodyguards, and other two aids—ate a quick breakfast together before Asik left Ocelum for Uslisgas. With her fleet about to be spread across three far-flung galaxies, Sujanha needed one aid to remain in Asteria at all times to deal with what fleet business arose there and to make sure necessary information about what was going on in Asteria and Ida was passed on to Sujanha or others.

After breakfast, Daniel beamed up to the bridge with Sujanha and Ragnar and Ruarc where the Commander was due to address the fleet before departure. Commander Anarr would be doing the same for his troops and the allied contingents. The bridge was much busier that morning than it had been several days before when Ragnar had helped him get oriented to the ship. All the bridge crew seemed in place, and there were several extra people that Daniel did not recognize.

Sujanha took her seat, and silence fell across the bridge as her hologram was transmitted out across the fleet. “Seventy-eight years ago, I stood before you to announce the end of the war against our Great Enemy. After over 2800 years of war in which countless lives were lost and our peoples were brought to their knees, we for a brief period had peace. Now, we are ready to begin another war that is not in our galaxy, not in our empire, and against a race that does not directly threaten our people, our existence, or our livelihood.”

“We have asked much of you before, and now we ask the same of you again. The Goa’uld are a scourge upon the universe. They stole from us, corrupting our technology into weapons of terror, of destruction, and of subjugation. Using their ill-gotten gains, they have enslaved countless planets, and they ruthlessly kill all those who oppose them. We are the unintended cause of their rise to power. It is our duty to ensure their fall.”

Sujanha ceased speaking, her brief address complete. She turned to the navigator at her side. “Let us depart.”

Hyperspace windows began to open, and one by one, ships disappeared.

Months of preparation and planning had all led to this moment.

Within a day, the Furling Fleet along with the countless troops would reach the Milky-Way and begin deploying for their first attacks.

The war had begun.

The reign of the System Lords, though they did not know it yet, was fast coming to its end.

[1] Procater is the homeworld of the Etrairs, Jaax’s race. It is known for its warm, jungle-like environment and the violent storms that can pop up with little warning. As a result, its flora and fauna are quite hardy and resilient. The Etrairs generally live in massive and advanced underground cities like the Dovahkiin on Drehond.

[2] This is considered by the Dovahkiin to be quite an insult, similar to saluting with one’s left hand on earth.

[3] A/N: This is actually debated according to Oxford Reference. It may originally have been Napoleon or Frederick the Great.

Chapter Text

The Furling Fleet reached the Milky-Way Galaxy on the second day of the fifth month, what otherwise would have been a cold winter’s day in Colorado for Daniel or a warm summer day back on Uslisgas. He could not say that he had actually missed the cold on earth. After the heat of his dig-sites in the Middle East and, years later, the blistering heat of Abydos, the milder climate of Uslisgas and climate-controlled motherships was quite welcome.

Just over eight (earth) months had passed since he had fled earth back in March of the previous year. In some ways, being back on earth, working at the SGC, going on missions with Jack, Sam, and Teal’c through the Stargate seemed like another lifetime ago now that he had adapted to living on Uslisgas with the Furlings.

Just as much had changed for him personally in those months, much had also changed in the Milky-Way during his long absence. Apophis had fallen from power, having been captured by Sokar some months before and having disappeared into the depths of his enemy’s territory—considering Sokar’s reputation among the System Lords, Daniel was not sure he wanted to know what had happened to Apophis, but considering what Apophis had done to Sha’re, he wasn’t sure he cared. In Apophis’ absence, his once-powerful ‘empire’ was fracturing as his underlings squabbled among themselves, fighting tooth and nail for every scrap of power and every light-year of territory, killing each other off and weakening themselves in the process.

Less for the Furlings to do, I guess.

That being said, Apophis’ ‘empire’ had not totally fallen. Some of his Jaffa, loyal to their absent ‘god’ and confident that he would soon return, still controlled a number of his Hat’taks and, for the moment, several of his important worlds. That division and instability made Apophis’ territory a prime first target for the Furling military, and Sujanha had jumped on the opportunity to strike a blow while their enemy was divided.

In the week that followed the arrival of the Furlings in the Milky-Way, Sujanha and Anarr, in consultation with Master Bra’tac through meetings held on a neutral world, had settled on five of Apophis’ most valuable worlds to capture first, three of which—Chulak, Saqqara, and Kawawn—were still in loyalist hands. The coordinated strike, capturing all those planets in hopefully the space of a day, was designed to cripple Apophis’ remaining loyalist troops, prevent those planets from ever becoming pawns in the power struggle between Apophis’ former underlings, and remove the varied resources those planets provided from enemy hands. Chulak was … Chulak. Capturing Kawawn would remove a major source of naquadah from Goa’uld hands, and Saqqara contained ancient Goa’uld libraries. There were also vague and unsubstantiated rumors, Bra’tac had informed Sujanha, of hidden secrets somewhere on Saqqara, something important enough that Apophis had taken great care that his rivals would never find out what was hidden there. That had interested and concerned Sujanha enough to influence the decision of where to strike first.

Color me intrigued!

Some of Sujanha’s most experienced commanders had been chosen to lead the five fleets that would attack each world and work in support of the troops on the ground.

Nothing planning-wise was being left to chance.

6^rd of Ea, Summer, 6545 A.S.
(January 15, 1999)
Chulak, Avalon

On the day of the first strike against the Goa’uld, morning came very early for Daniel and most everyone else on the Valhalla, and probably in the entire fleet, or at least the part involved in this strike. It was just before the fourth hour, Uslisgas-time, when he crawled from bed, tired from only a few hours of sleep. The first strike would begin in six hours, and there was much to do before then. Sujanha had spent much of the previous two days in consultation with her brother and, though scouts, with Bra’tac, and everything that could be laid in order had been, but there were always things that could not be done until the final hours. And despite any best laid plans, there were always problems popping up at the last minute to deal with.

Sujanha was already at her desk in her office, holographic screen all around her, mug of tea within arm’s reach, when Daniel entered, finishing the last bites of his breakfast that he had eaten on the walk between the mess hall and her office. She looked like she had been working for some time, and Daniel wondered if she had actually gone to bed at all.

I wouldn’t put it past her to work all night. She had done it before, although she usually ended up paying for it soon after. Her strength was limited, which meant that she had to be careful in how she used what reserves she had. We’ll keep an eye on her.

“Commander,” Daniel greeted her and then promptly had to muffle a yawn behind one hand. “Sorry. What do you need me to do?”

Her look seemed almost … fond? Indulgent? “You’ll feel more awake once the battle begins.” Adrenaline is a wonderful thing. “Can you go up to the bridge and see if there are any messages from Master Bra’tac? He has not yet sent word of what world to pick him up from.”

There were too many ships to keep near the Furling-controlled bases, so the Valhalla along with the rest of its battle-group were currently in a void between systems, an out-of-the-way place that would keep them hidden from detection. Since Master Bra’tac had agreed to join Sujanha for the course of the battle, for multiple reasons, Sujanha had speculated late the other night, probably anything from studying Furling tactics to seeing first-hand if they kept their word about trying to spare as many Jaffa as possible to claiming any captured fifth-column soldiers … she had a few more ideas that I forgot … but that meant that the Valhalla—or another ship—had to retrieve him before the battle began. Given the speed of the Valhalla’s hyperdrive, the time for a detour would be negligible, but we need to know where we’re going before we head for Chulak.

Daniel nodded, “Of course. I’ll be back soon.” The outer office was empty, but he expected Asik and Jaax would arrive soon—for the moment, Sujanha needed all three of her aids with her. I wonder if she’s going to get a fourth to coordinate stuff back in Asteria. He had passed Ragnar and Ruarc in the mess hall while getting breakfast.

The corridors were busy but orderly as Daniel made his way up to the bridge, and he passed as many familiar faces as not. The Valhalla had a crew, whose standard size was 300 people, but from comments that Ruarc had made the past couple of days, there seemed to be extra crew members on board currently … for some reason. The bridge—a large room as advanced as something out of a movie—had the same sense of well-ordered chaos. The wall of holograms at the front of the room showed a nearly inky-black void, darkness only interrupted by the pinpricks of light from distant stars and the hulking grey forms of the other warships. Near the front of the room, Rusa (the Lapith navigator) and Chakrechi (the Iprysh weapons officer) were both at their consoles, their backs to Daniel as he stepped onto the bridge.

Mekoxe, the communication’s officer and one of the few other humans in the room aside from Daniel, was at his station at the back of the room, paging through screens and doing something at an almost dizzying pace.

“Fare morning, Doctor Jackson,” Mekoxe greeted him at his approach. “Can I help you with something?”

Daniel returned the greeting and then said, “The Commander sent me up to see if there were any messages from Master Bra’tac yet today.”

It’s going to be interesting to see them finally meet. Anarr had met Bra’tac in person, but all these months Sujanha had always communicated with Bra’tac and the Rebel Jaffa through scouts, her brother, or other underlings. The two had never met in person … until today.

Mekoxe frowned slightly, paged through several more holographic screens, and then exclaimed, “Ah, yes. Here we are. I thought I had seen a message. Yes, yes, this came in about ten minutes ago.” He spun the screen so Daniel could see the brief message and Stargate address without trying to read backwards, which did not work in Goa’uld like it did in ancient Egyptian. “I ran it through our translation program. It seems to just be an address and a meeting time.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Daniel agreed. I don’t recognize that address, but that’s probably the point. Another neutral or abandoned world. Safer. “Send that down to the Commander.”

Bra’tac had a Furling time-piece to aid in coordination between their forces, and the time he had suggested was in a little over three hours.

Mekoxe nodded, and Daniel left him to his work and went back downstairs to Sujanha’s office. Jaax and Ragnar had appeared during his absence. Sujanha was in the midst of a call with someone, and from her cool tone, it wasn’t clear whether the discussion was a discussion, a debate, or an argument. Whatever language she was speaking was not Furling, though I hear a few familiar words, and the blue hologram of the person she was speaking with was too small for Daniel to make out their species, especially with my eyes. While he thought about it, he removed his glasses long enough to clean them on his shirt.

“She received the message,” Jaax said in a low voice as Daniel took a seat next to his desk to wait, “and sent a message back to the bridge. A scout ship will go pick up Master Bra’tac at the appointed time and bring him here.”

Makes sense. Daniel nodded. It would be easier for a scout ship to break off from the strike force than the flagship, especially with all the work Sujanha was doing, finishing coordinating efforts and sending messages. Some communications systems did not even work in hyperspace!

Three hours passed. (About three more to go before the first strike began.) Daniel was sitting on the steps next to Sujanha’s seat on the bridge, his back against the arm of her chair, when the opening of a hyperspace window splashed a blob of color across the inky blackness displayed by the holograms. The scout ship dispatched to pick up Master Bra’tac had returned.

Sujanha was in the middle of a long-running conversation with one of her commanders, who was crouched next to her in holographic-form. Being in holographic form erased many identifying features, hiding fur-colors … shades of blue didn’t count … and fine details of appearances. His name seemed to be Sigurd—it was interesting how many Furlings had Asgardian names—and he looked like a Sukkim except for his pupil-less eyes, a feature no hologram could erase. Given his well-proportioned limbs, he was likely not Gaetir—determining sub-species of Furlings, another thing I’ve had to learn. More likely, he was Nafshi, a half-blood Etrair.

The Nafshi were the only other Furling sub-species without visible pupils, as far as he knew. Daniel’s guess had been confirmed about half-way through their conversation when Sigurd had slipped on a breathing mask, the only other movement he had made during the lengthy conversation, having otherwise effortlessly held the crouched position so long that it was making Daniel’s muscles hurt just looking at him! And my feet! Sigurd was the commander of the strike-force that would capture Saqqara. The conversation had started off about strategy and appropriate use of force, but the two had, seemingly unknowingly, slipped out of Furling only minutes into the conversation.

“Commander?” Mekoxe appeared at a break in the conversation.

Sujanha started and looked up, saying something in the same language that she and Sigurd had been speaking. Her eyes widened momentarily, and she laughed before almost flinching. (Daniel straightened with a frown, shifting his tablet that he had been making notes on to his off-hand.) Her expression cleared, as she shrugged off the flinch. Something about the laugh—the jolting of her muscles, perhaps—seemed to have hurt. “Yes?” She asked in Furling this time.

She must have code-switched earlier. She might not have even realized that she wasn’t speaking Furling.

I’ve confused a lot of people doing that.

“The Alcor has returned, Commander. Master Bra’tac is on board,” replied Mekoxe. “They are asking permission to beam him across.”

Sujanha blinked slowly. “Of course,” she replied after a moment. “Have him beamed across.” She turned back to Sigurd, still crouching at her side. “Is that enough for now?”

He nodded, and even across the holographic connection, Daniel could hear the echoing, raspy breath from his mask. “It is. Thank you, Commander.”

“Good fortune then, and safe journey,” Sujanha bid him farewell with now familiar words. “May the stars ever light your path home.”

Sigurd bowed his head. “And to you, Commander.”

His hologram winked out eerily … like he had never been there. Seconds later, there was a noise and a flash of light, and Bra’tac, dressed in his usual armor, staff-weapon in his right hand, appeared a few paces in front of the consoles, a few paces away from where Sujanha was sitting. Those not in the midst of other duties bowed, and there was a chorus of polite greetings.

Expecting that he might need to make introductions, Daniel pushed himself to his feet, leaning one hand on the arm of Sujanha’s chair for a moment, waiting to let the pins and needles fade from his right foot. Ow. Ow. Ow. How does that hurt so much? “Master Bra’tac.”

“Daniel Jackson.” The old Jaffa inclined his head slightly, his gaze sweeping the bridge before landing on Sujanha.

Now came the first test: how would Bra’tac respond to what came next. Sujanha had not risen and, apparently, had no intention of rising. Daniel had seen her walking earlier, though with a pronounced limp, and if the way she would need to stand if she rose were anything like the stiff, awkward way she was sitting, trying to find some relief for pained, cramping muscles, things would be even more obvious. Given the massive difference in rank, her not rising was not an explicit insult, though the other Furling soldiers who had greeted Bra’tac had risen where possible, but it would usually be polite.

“Master Bra’tac,” Sujanha bowed her head and saluted the Jaffa master in the Furling fashion, “welcome to the Valhalla.”

Bra’tac, however, seemed to know exactly which one of them Sujanha was. “Supreme Commander.”

“Only ‘Commander,’” Sujanha replied simply. “There is no need for such formality between us. Do you have any new intelligence for us?”

A flash of black in his peripheral vision drew Daniel’s attention away as Bra’tac answered. It was Ruarc, threading his way along the outer edge of the bridge. He must have just come up. I don’t remember seeing him a little while ago. Leaving the two to speak, Daniel crossed the room to Ruarc’s side.

“Were you looking for me … us?” He asked, switching back into Furling.

Ruarc’s eyes were flicking between him and the conversation taking place behind him. “No,” he shook his head, “Mekoxe told me Master Bra’tac had arrived. I hadn’t realized that time had arrived.” His ears flattened to his head for a moment.

Daniel’s mind cogitated on that for a moment, and he wasn’t sure he liked the implication. “You don’t trust him?” He asked.

“No, we do,” Ruarc replied quickly, “for as much as we know him, but one of us is supposed to be with her anytime someone from outside the Empire or the former Alliance is with her. I can bend the rules a little since there are so many others nearby, but …”

“We have a saying on earth,” Daniel murmured in reply, “Better to be safe than sorry.” I trust Bra’tac, but after everything that happened during the Great War, I understand why they’re cautious with anyone they don’t know well being around her. She did have her personal shield, and both Chakrechi—despite being a veritable walking, talking suit of armor—and Rusa could move quite quickly, as Daniel had seen the other day when Sujanha had stumbled while on the bridge.

“Very true.”

The time seemed to pass slowly from then on as the hours ticked by until battle would begin. Bra’tac and Sujanha seemed to get along well, and they spent much of the time talking quietly with each other when other messengers were not taking up Sujanha’s attention. Daniel drifted on and off the bridge, running errands or passing messages or fetching things for the commander as needed and otherwise trying to keep himself distracted. The waiting was making him antsy.

After all this time, after so many people had been lost, after all that had happened to Sha’re and Skaara, to Abydos, to the SGC, finally, finally, finally, the Goa’uld were about to get their ‘divine’ behinds kicked royally.

It was testament to how fast the Furling hyperdrives truly were—there were only Furling warships in Sujanha’s battle-group—that no ships jumped into hyperspace to make for Chulak until less than half-an-hour before the 10^th hour. The only reason, Daniel knew from overhearing conversations, that they were even leaving that early was because the ships needed time to slip into position unseen. They were not coming out of hyperspace guns blazing, and they were going to have to exit hyperspace far enough out not to be seen by any Goa’uld warships and then, cloaked, slip forward under sublight power.

Daniel was not exactly sure how many ships were in the battle-group in total. The holographic screens did not give a full 360-degree view around the Valhalla, and it was hard to keep count with ships moving and moving and moving. There were at least 4 motherships, a good handful of cruisers (scout-ships), and multiple transport ships.

The battle-group dropped out of hyperspace some distance outside of the solar system in which Chulak was. (The battle-groups dispatched to Saqqara, Kawawn, and Apophis’ two other worlds would be doing the same about now.) All the ships immediately cloaked, and hidden, they slipped through the darkness of space toward Chulak.

From space, Chulak looked almost like earth except for the Hat’taks in orbit and the two suns. At first glance, Daniel only counted six Goa’uld motherships, but it was possible that there were more on the other side of the planet, out-of-view of the Valhalla. As the minutes passed, reports started coming in from the other battle-groups that opposition both in the air and on the ground (based on preliminary scans) looked to be relatively small, a fact that seemed to please Sujanha. The less opposition, the fewer lives that might need to be spent … on both sides.

A timer on one of the holographic screens toward the back of the room was counting down the minutes until the coordinated strike would begin.

The bridge was starting to get more hectic, though the scene was still one of organized chaos. Sujanha was sitting quietly at her station, eyes fixed on the holographic screens showing the planet before them, either planning or lost in thought, it seemed. The bridge crew was moving about. Rusa and Chakrechi were calling back and forth, something about the positions of the Goa’uld vessels based on scans of Chulak as compared to the positions of the ships within the battle-group. Holograms were flickering in and back out quickly, as crew members from elsewhere on the Valhalla or commanders from the ships received final instructions.

Daniel drew Bra’tac away from the center of the room toward the edge of the room. There they would be close enough to hear everything that was being said—Bra’tac had been given a translator that was now stuck to the neck-piece of his armor—and have a good view of what was going on without getting in the way of the fast-moving crew.

I’m a little surprised she decided to give him a translator. If he were translating, Daniel could cherry-pick or paraphrase translations. An actual translator meant that Bra’tac would hear everything that was said in Furling, which would be most of what was said on the bridge. They’re putting a lot of faith in Bra’tac.

On the holographic screens, the cloaked Furling warships were sailing into position. Once, when the screens were shifted momentarily to show the view behind the Valhalla—the other 180 degrees—four motherships were lined up, two on either side of the Valhalla, forming a wedge-shaped formation with Sujanha’s flagship at the tip of the proverbial spear. The ships also seemed to be staggered vertically, which, I guess, gives them more room to maneuver.

Working for the Furling Supreme Commander had taught Daniel a lot of things. Tactical genius by osmosis, however, was not one of them.

Everyone talks about the flagships as if they’re better than the motherships, not just oversized versions of them.

I guess I’ll see today!

Seven minutes were left.

Mekoxe approached Sujanha’s chair from his station at the back of the bridge. (Daniel told Bra’tac his identity and position on the bridge in a low voice.) “The battle-groups above Saqqara, Kawawn, and Djedu are in position. Two more minutes for Nubt.”

“Very good,” Sujanha replied with a nod, her eyes flicking away from the holographic screens and back.

Those two minutes passed. (Five minutes remained. The tension level on the bridge seemed to rise. As far as Daniel knew, the Hat’taks were not any sort of credible threat to the Furling warships, but those with boots on the ground would be in much more danger. Even the dedicated personal shield the troops wore, more powerful than the gauntlets, had no hope of withstanding the weapons fire from even a Death Glider.) Mekoxe returned to Sujanha’s side. “The fleet over Nubt is in position. Sigurd is asking for final confirmation of the rules of engagement.”

“Sigurd is the commander of the battle-group leading the attack on Saqqara,” Daniel whispered. What his rank is, I can’t remember.

“And these rules of engagement?” Bra’tac asked.

Sujanha seemed to be thinking for a moment, so Daniel rushed to answer in the gap, “What you can and can’t do during a battle. Who fires first. How much force. Things like that. The rules of warfare, basically, for the fleet. Reasonably consistent throughout all battles. Supreme Commander Anarr sets corresponding rules for his troops.”

“Do not open fire until the call to surrender has been broadcast,” Sujanha finally replied. “Only fire to disable, not destroy, unless a fleet vessel is in imminent danger,” which shouldn’t happen unless there’s a technical malfunction. Unlikely. Not impossible, “Board any disabled ships, and capture them with as little bloodshed as possible. Do not fire at a disabled ship for any reason.”

Two minutes left.

From the look on his face, Bra’tac seemed pleased by Sujanha’s orders. Considering these were Apophis’ ships and Jaffa, it was probable that he had students or fellow Rebel Jaffa on board the ships like he had during Apophis’ attempted attack on earth two years before.

One minute left. It seemed to stretch on forever.

As the seconds ticked down and hit zero, Sujanha straightened, her gaze focusing on the holographic screens and one of the windows on Rusa’s console next to her.

It was time to begin.

“Uncloak,” said Sujanha, “Raise secondary shields.” Not primary? Okay. “Tell the transports that they may start deploying their troops as they deem wise, but ensure Knight Commander Nang knows that he must let several Jaffa through the Stargate before he secures it. The troops will have air support within minutes.”

(Nang. It was another name Daniel did not know. He recognized faces—and names—of the commanders Sujanha frequently dealt with. However, he could only recognize Anarr’s two High Generals by sight or name.)

There was a chorus of acknowledgements.

It was immediately clear when the blind-sided Goa’uld vessels suddenly realized that their world was about to be invaded. On the holographic screens, the Furling warships were appearing out of nowhere, and the six Hat’taks within about a minute pulled themselves into some semblance of a formation.

Now whether that’s a good formation … I don’t have a clue.

“The Goa’uld vessels are raising shields and arming weapons,” Chakrechi, the Weapons Officer, stated.

“Broadcast the call to surrender, but no one fires until I give the order,” replied Sujanha briskly, clearly in her element. “Tell the cruisers to enter the atmosphere in support of the troops on the ground. Watch out for the Death Gliders and the Alkesh.” Heavy fire from an Alkesh or from an array of Death Gliders (or even worse, the impact of a crashing vessel) would wreak havoc in the Furling lines, and such a danger had to be prevented at all costs.

Even the thought of that happening almost made Daniel cringe.

The call to surrender was dutifully broadcast.

Nothing happened.

The Hat’taks were growing closer.

I don’t think they’re interested.

Considering most Jaffa’s almost unthinking loyalty to their ‘gods,’ Daniel would have been surprised, almost flabbergasted, if they had surrendered. There probably wouldn’t be enough rebel forces to take control of the ship.

That guess was confirmed moments later when the lead Hat’tak opened fire with its staff-cannons, golden fire streaking across the void toward the Valhalla.

Instinctively, Daniel braced his feet, almost wanting to flinch again. He still remembered how Klorel’s ship had shuddered during the failed attack on earth, when the naquadah-enhanced missile had impacted the shield.

The Valhalla’s shields flared a sickly green as weapons’ fire impacted them. The ship, however, did not even shudder.

“Negligible effect on the shield,” Chakrechi stated, “A day, at least, until a danger level.”

Not that the fighting is going to last that long … I hope?!

Sujanha gave a snort of amusement. “Tell the other ships they may fire at will. One Hat’tak for one of our ships. Any ships not defending the remaining transports should fall out of orbit to support our troops.”

Remaining transports?

Probably boarding parties for disabled/captured ships.

“Confirmed,” someone acknowledged the order. There was enough ambient noise and ricocheting voices to make identifying that voice difficult.

“Chakrechi, reduce weapons to one-quarter power. Target the lead vessel. Disable it. Please do not destroy it.”

“Confirmed.”

From the technical specifications Daniel had seen, the Furling motherships (which probably meant the flagships, as well) were protected by at least two separate layers of shields as well as a heavily armored hull that, according to Ruarc, was supposed to be able to withstand moderate weapons’ fire for long enough for a ship to escape if its engines were still functioning. What do the Furlings consider moderate weapons fire, I wonder? Does a Hat’tak even rate that high? How many hits? Furling hyperdrives seemed to be much slower than their Asgardian counterpart, but the Furling motherships seemed to be, at least, as powerful as the Asgard Biliskner-class vessels. Which makes the Valhalla even more powerful? Talk about a dreadnought!

More fire impacted the Valhalla’s shields. Seeing the flaring shields but not feeling any backlash was a strange disconnect in Daniel’s mind.

The ship was moving, but Rusa was not even navigating evasively to attempt to evade the fire.

Blue fire streaked across the void as the Furling warships started returning fire. The ship did not jolt then, either. It was so strange.

Within minutes, one Hat’tak had unfortunately been destroyed, but thankfully the now twisted, burning hunk … hunks … of metal that had once been a ship were far enough out from the planet that there was no danger of the gravitational pull of the planet pulling the wreckage out of orbit. Within ten minutes, four more were dead in the water, and the sixth and last Hat’tak, with a crew somewhat more experienced apparently, looked like it would meet the same fate in short order.

With those remaining ships dead in the water, the more dangerous task began: boarding and securing the vessels. All the ships were connected via some sort of open channel/wireless broadcast thing—it was easiest for Daniel just to label it as ‘radio chatter’ whether or not it actually was—overlapping streams of words flowing from several different speakers on the bridge. Combined with the chatter of the Valhalla’s own bridge crew, it was almost a tangled morass of words, blending into one blob of sound.

Or so it seems.

How do you keep track of everything!

Some minutes passed. How many Daniel wasn’t sure. Time seemed different during a battle, even in the safety of the bridge of Sujanha’s flagship.

The remaining transport ships in orbit were beaming soldiers over onto the five disabled Hat’taks, and updates from the squad leaders were added to the tangled mix of voices along with the periodic echo of a distant staff blast. (Daniel knew that sound all too well, could instantly pick it out even in the morass of noise. He had had one fired at him all too many times.)

More time passed. (How much Daniel still couldn’t have said, forgetting to check his watch.) Resistance was heavy on the Hat’taks, with the Jaffa fighting for every corridor and room. The Furling troops were making progress, however, and prisoners were already being beamed back to the transport ships.

If you’ve got competent troops and leaders … there are enough halls and doorways to shoot from, you can put up a good resistance.

(He still remembered holding one of those doorways on Apophis’ mothership, half-dead from the staff blast that had caught him in the gut.)

If being the operative word, perhaps. Some of the Jaffa we’ve encountered, Teal’c and Bra’tac being the prime examples, are quite competent, and then you’ve got those who shoot like Stormtroopers.

Bra’tac stepped away from the wall and approached Sujanha, moving for almost the first time since the battle had begun. Sujanha glanced up immediately as he appeared by her chair.

“Master Bra’tac?” she asked in a questioning tone.

“Until your men have control of each peltak—the bridge—any Jaffa will have an opportunity to set the self-destruct.” From the lack of an answering echo in Furling, somehow Bra’tac’s translator had been set on one way, only translating from Furling into English.

That got Sujanha’s attention. She straightened with a jerk, and her ears went flat against her head in alarm. “They can only set off the self-district from the bridge?” She replied in unaccented English.

“Yes.”

“Mekoxe! Do you know how to disable the self-destructs?”

“I do,” the old warrior replied with a nod.

Mekoxe appeared seconds later. “Make sure that the men are aware,” Sujanha ordered him, “that there are self-destructs on-board as we expected but that they are only controlled from the bridge. Master Bra’tac knows how to disable any that are activated.”

A Peltak is so much different than this. Technology must have changed a lot since then.

(It was unlikely that any Furling troops could figure out the system, especially quickly, and especially since few if any knew Goa’uld. I think.)

“Confirmed,” Mekoxe replied, already hurrying back to his station.

Sujanha relaxed back into her seat. “My thanks,” she said to Bra’tac, “for the warning. If you wish to observe the course of the battles on the ground, there are maps and view-screens at the rear of the bridge. If you have concerns or warnings, please raise them at once.”

With a subtle inclination of his head, Bra’tac acknowledged her statements and then withdrew to take up the Commander’s offer. Daniel, who had heard about the technology that the Fleet used to oversee ground battles but had not seen it in action, joined him, threading the way through the crowd to the Jaffa master’s side.

The large tables, whose purpose Daniel had wondered about before, were, in fact, high-tech ‘sand tables,’ though there was no sand or sand-like substance involved. Rather, large holographic maps with separate sections of Chulak highlighted were projected with friendly and enemy ships in the air also noted. (There were even streaks of fire flying as the ships exchanged fire.) The amount of detail on the 3D maps of Chulak—apparently where the fighting was the heaviest, since there were certainly more battles going on than just the four displayed on the tables—was phenomenal.

The maps displayed the terrain, the Furling troops and the opposing Jaffa, encampments, and even gun emplacements. It was only possible, Daniel was sure, because of the powerful sensors onboard the Valhalla—mentions of the sensors enter the muddle of conversation simultaneously with momentary glitches in the holographs—that were continuously transmitting data in real-time. By changing the highlighted map section on the holograph, the 3D maps would show different sections of the battlefield. A commander in the air could then see approaching ambushes before they happened and see potential obstacles before the troops met them. There were several tacticians whose job seemed to be solely to watch the boards and transmit data to the men on the ground.

The map to which Bra’tac first went showed the area around the Stargate and the edges of the hills beyond. Having first had to take control of the surrounding heights, a large squad of Furling warriors, highlighted in silver, were now moments from capturing the Stargate from a handful of remaining Jaffa, highlighted in gold. Sujanha had said earlier than a few Jaffa needed to be able to ‘escape’ to spread the word of the defeat of Apophis’ forces so long as the Stargate swiftly came under Furling control so that no additional reinforcements could arrive to support Apophis’ beleaguered Jaffa. If the Stargate was about to be captured, that goal seemed to have been fulfilled.

The second map showed Chulak, the capital city several miles from the Stargate where Daniel, Jack, and Sam had come while searching for Sha’re and Skaara and the other Abydonians captured by Apophis and his guard. (Daniel had not been on Chulak in years, but the features of that city were imprinted on his mind forever, cemented in his nightmares … Sha’re climbing from that carrying chair. He shuddered.) This was where he lost Sha’re and Skaara. (But she’s safe ... safer … now. She’ll be free, and Amaunet cannot hurt anyone any longer. And we’re going to find Skaara.) It almost seemed fitting that Chulak was thus the site of the first battle of a war that would rid the Milky-Way of the Goa’uld.

More time passed, and the battles continued on Chulak and above.

By the time an hour or two had passed, Furling troops had already breached the wall surrounding Chulak in several spots, and the maps showed silver warriors pouring in the gaps, opposed by far too few golden Jaffa to stem the advance for long.

More time passed.

The Furling advance continued across Chulak.

One-by-one, all the Hat’taks came under Furling control.

More time passed.

In Chulak (the city), the Furling troops were sticking to main roads for now as they moved through the city, a tactic that seemed to please Bra’tac. The previous night, Ragnar had been opining on Goa’uld army tactics or rather, in his view, the lack thereof in most cases. Discussing Chulak in particular, he had mentioned a list of ways that the Jaffa could slow the Furling advance in the city if only the Jaffa broke from the age-old tactics that served better for intimidation, rather than actual combat: lure the Furlings into smaller, side streets where the Jaffa could concentrate their fire more; bring down buildings with explosives to block major streets and force the Furlings to find alternate routes or even to trap troops in the rubble. Ragnar’s discussion had been long and in depth, but it helped Daniel make a little more sense of what he was seeing.

As one group of Furling troops won their way up to Apophis’ palace, Bra’tac, who had been watching the maps with a critical but approving eye, walked back across the bridge to where Sujanha was sitting. All Daniel could catch of their conservation was one reference to “hidden passageways,” probably a warning as to what the Furlings might face within the palace.

If I never see the inside of that place again, it’ll be too soon.

Within twelve hours of the time the first strike against the Goa’uld had begun, all of Chulak had fallen, except for a few small outlying regions that were captured within two more hours, and within three more hours after that, news came from the other strike fleets that all resistance had ceased. Within a day and with relatively low loss of life on both sides, the Furlings had captured five planets. That being said, Sujanha was quick to acknowledge that all of the planets had been comparatively undefended and that the Furlings would face much stiffer opposition in the future.

It was into the wee hours of the morning of the 7^th by the time Sujanha finally left the bridge, leaving Chakrechi in charge. (Does he not sleep or something? Daniel had resolutely avoided sitting down anywhere, if at all possible, for hours lest he fall asleep. He was utterly exhausted, but not quite to the point of worrying that he might fall asleep on his feet … I hope!). With Bra’tac and Daniel, she went down to her office for what was hopefully going to be a brief discussion with Bra’tac as to the events of the day and plans for upcoming attacks.

Everyone needs some sleep, including her! Probably especially Sujanha! Sujanha, who sometimes seemed to have no sense of self-preservation, working herself to the point of, or beyond, collapse.

Within half an hour, the meeting was winding down when the door chime in Sujanha’s office alerted the occupants to a visitor at the door. Sujanha made a small motion, and the door slid open. A young boy (human or near-human)—10 maybe, but I’m a terrible judge of age—entered, carrying a tablet in one hand.

“You should be in bed, child,” Sujanha exclaimed in Furling, eyes widening as he entered.

“I slept this afternoon,” the boy replied in a rush, “And now I can’t sleep. Mama said I could carry messages until I got tired.”

“Very well, then. You have a message for me, then?”

“Yes, Commander,” the boy replied, going seriously as he came forward to hand her the tablets. “Casualty reports from all the strike-fleets and preliminary information about the ships and Jaffa captured.”

“Thank you,” Sujanha replied, “Run along then.” An almost mischievous gleam entered her eyes. “Ragnar would probably chase you if you asked. That will make you tired.”

Ragnar must have more energy than the rest of us!!

Or for the sake of a kid, he’d find some energy, anyway.

The boy giggled and left as quickly as he had come. Sujanha glanced quickly at the tablet, noting all the information it contained with a glance, and then handed it to Daniel.

Bra’tac, who had watched the messenger depart, suddenly asked, tone clearly displeased, “You have children in your military?”

“What? Hardly!” replied Sujanha, seemingly unoffended by his question. From all their interactions that day, she seemed to appreciate Bra’tac’s quite blunt manner of speech. “I would as soon have Asi near a battle as I would any children of my family. His parents serve on board, and Asi is young and energetic, and he is allowed to run messages and do other little tasks from time to time. Aboard my ship, the boy is perfectly safe, and this way he can stay with his parents and not be left to another’s care on our homeworld.”

Bra’tac nodded his head in acceptance of her words and then asked, “What news from your ships?”

“Of our own men, 37 have perished, and 91 were injured, mostly among those on the ground. We have captured 13 Hat’taks, 5 Al’kesh, and 4 Tel’tak. The number of Jaffa captured is in the tens of thousands. We will not know the final number for some time.”

Six worlds … six major engagements … that’s about 20 people per world.

It could have been much, much worse!

Though everyone who doesn’t make it home is one too many lost.

“What will become of them?” Bra’tac asked, his question drawing Daniel back from his thoughts.

“The ships, or the captured Jaffa?”

“Both.”

“We will tow the ships back to our bases. Our engineers and armorers will repair them, and once we have learned all we can from them, the ships will be loaned or given to our allies. We have no use for them,” Sujanha replied. “Any injured Jaffa will be tended to by our healers, and all will be taken to our prison worlds in our own galaxy. They will be well-treated, but they will be confined there until this war ends unless they are those who are willing to renounce their former masters.”

Like Teal’c did.

“And what of Chulak?” Bra’tac asked. “Will you leave the women and children and the aged to fend for themselves? The planting season approaches, and they must eat.”

“We do not make war upon women and children and the elderly, nor do we stand for … collateral damage.” That’s an earth term. Is Bra’tac going to know what she means? “I will speak with my brother and others, and we will see that they are not left to fend for themselves.” Her ears flicked for a moment. It was almost the Furling equivalent of a frown.

You’ll have to leave some sort of guard unless you want to risk Chulak being recaptured.

If you leave enough able-bodied men to farm, would it make that much of a difference in the number of guards you have to leave? If you keep control of the Stargate, would it really matter?

Bra’tac nodded his head in assent and then rose. “I must depart. The day has been won, but there is much more work left to do.”

Sujanha rose, also, leaving one paw casually on the edge of the table. “My thanks for your assistance today. We value the support of the Rebel Jaffa most greatly. If you return to the bridge, one of my crew will beam you down to the Stargate. The troops guarding the gate will let you depart to wherever you wish.”

Bra’tac bowed and then departed. A minute passed quietly, and Daniel was just opening his mouth to speak as another knock sounded at the door. Sujanha made the same motion as before, and the door reopened, framing Ruarc in the doorway.

“It’s late,” Sujanha said as her bodyguard entered. “I thought I sent you and your brother off to get some food and then go to bed.”

“We were about to,” Ruarc replied, coming forward, “but a report just came in from Sigurd, and I thought you would want to see it immediately, so my brother is getting us food, and I’m bringing this to you.”

Daniel felt a flutter of concern, which mostly vanished as soon as he took a longer look at Ruarc’s face. The guard seemed more surprised than concerned, so whatever had happened couldn’t have been an utter disaster.

Hopefully.

“Problem?”

Ruarc shook his head. “Due to the rumors that Bra’tac mentioned about Saqqara, Sigurd had his mothership do an in-depth scan of the entire planet after the battle was completed. And he found this…” Bringing forward a tablet that he had been carrying, Ruarc flicked open a large hologram. The hologram showed the Serekh, an enormous pyramid built by whatever Goa’uld had ruled Saqqara before Apophis—according to Bra’tac—and the ground deep below the structure. A long, slender mass that was very large and very thick was highlighted.

If it’s a pyramid, why did they name it, “Serekh”?

“What is that?” Daniel asked curiously, getting back up and approaching the table to squint at the hologram.

“Enlarge that mass, and then rotate,” ordered Sujanha, frowning.

Ruarc did, and Daniel could then make out a few more details. This thing buried in the ground—whatever it was … does Sujanha recognize it?—was several times longer than it was wide or tall. Its shape was vaguely cylindrical, with a squashed middle, and the mass seemed to be almost T-shaped at one end. When Ruarc tapped on the area, a mass of data appeared as a separate hologram off to the side, but Daniel wasn’t at a good enough angle to read any of it. It might not have made any sense to him, anyway.

Between the enlarged image and the data, Sujanha seemed to instantly recognize what she was looking at. Her eyes went wide. “It can’t be!” she exclaimed. “Did Sigurd double-check the scans?”

Uh … Okkkayyy.

“He had the scans run four times on his own vessel,” Ruarc replied, “and also had one of his other ships scan the area. All the data is consistent.”

What did they find?

Buried under the Serekh … must be quite old then.

“What is it?” Daniel asked, his curiosity growing by the second.

“It’s by the grace of the Maker that we do not face an enemy more powerful than ourselves,” Ruarc continued. It was utter shock in his tone, Daniel realized now, not surprise. Whatever this thing was that Sigurd had found, it was completely unexpected.

Okay … definitely, what the h**l?

“Tell Sigurd to double the ships guarding Saqqara, and have a message sent to Thor. He will want to know of this discovery”

Ruarc bowed and then withdrew. Sighing heavily, Sujanha rubbed her paw across her eyes and sank back into her seat, waving Daniel to his own seat. For a few long minutes, all was quiet. Finally, Sujanha said, “To answer your question, Daniel, that is an Ancient battleship, one of the most powerful warships created in all the known galaxies in a past age.”

Daniel knew little about the Ancients, aside from the fact that they had been part of the Alliance of the Four Great Races and had built the Stargate network. It was hard for him to imagine a race more powerful than the Asgard or the Furlings, though. It’s all in what you get used to. “Didn’t the Ancients leave this galaxy a long time ago? That ship must be very … ancient.”

No pun intended.

“That is correct,” Sujanha replied. “The Ancients departed from this galaxy many ages ago when a plague swept their lands, not the plague that forced our people away, but a different one. They went to a nearby galaxy but still had dealings in these lands for ages until their final departure within the last 9000 of our years or so. Bra’tac said that Saqqara has been under Goa’uld control since the beginning of their empire. I suspect that the ship crashed on Saqqara sometime prior to the foundation of the empire, though probably not that long before. The location of the pyramid above the ship is not solely by chance, I am quite sure.”

Probably not.

There was silence for a moment, and then Sujanha asked, “Are you hungry?”

“A little. I should probably eat something before I go to bed.” It has been a ridiculously long day. Eating at this hour of the morning. I guess I’m harkening back to my grad school days.

“Let’s go down to the food hall unless you would prefer someplace quieter to eat.”

Daniel was rather surprised that Sujanha actually wanted to eat in the mess hall. After such a long day and since she seemed to be in some pain, he would have thought she would have preferred eating somewhere quiet where she didn’t have to move. He shrugged, though, saying, “I don’t care. Whichever you prefer.”

Her preference was the mess hall for some reason. Out in the hallway on the way to dinner, Sujanha continued her explanation about the Ancient warship. “The Ancient vessel is quite old. In terms of hyperdrives and likely shields, my ships and Thor’s will be far superior. The Ancient motherships typically only have intra-galactic hyperdrives. That being said, their weaponry as a whole has always been far superior to either of ours. Yes, the ion guns of the Asgard are a match for those of the Ancients, so the Asgard tell us, and we borrowed that technology from the Asgard.”

No reason to reinvent the wheel, I suppose.

“You’ve never met the Ancients, have you?” Daniel asked, remembering how long the Furlings could live.

“No,” Sujanha replied, shaking her head, “not even the oldest among us remember them. By the time we settled in Asteria, they had already long departed. All we know of them comes from our archives, the Asgard, and an Ancient Database currently in the hands of the Asgard. What made the Ancient ships far superior to our own were their … drones.”

“Drones?” Asked Daniel.

“Yes. Projectile weapons and energy weapons both. They could pierce many types of shields, burrow into a ship’s armor, and then explode. A few drones could cause catastrophic damage on even a powerful warship.”

“And you’d like to get your hands on them?”

Sujanha nodded, leaning her weight onto the railing of the lift as they rode down. “Our engineers have long theorized that those drones might be of great value in our conflicts with the Replicating Ones, giving us a long sought for edge that would bring the Asgard some relief in their war. All previous attempts by us and by the Asgard to replicate the drones have been hitherto unsuccessful … sometimes … explosively so."

Daniel cringed.

“It’s by the grace of the Maker that we do not face an enemy more powerful than ourselves.”

…

That the Goa’uld didn’t get these drones, that’s probably what he meant.

If these ships were so powerful back then, why did the Goa’uld never copy the technology like they did the Furlings’?

He posed the question to Sujanha as they stepped off the lift. Just one short hallway was left to get to the mess hall.

“Because without a specific gene in the fabric of life of the host, the Goa’uld would be unable to power up any Ancient technology, much less comprehend how to use technology with control systems in a totally different language. The Asgard use control stones on their ships. We use control stones primarily, but also mental controls in some sections. Between the control stones and the training to use mental commands, anyone with enough training would be capable of controlling our ships unless they were locked out of the systems first. The Ancients, however, limited the use of their technology only to those with a specific gene, so you needed that gene to even power up major systems and the training to control the ship.”

“But, uh, wouldn’t that keep you—the Furlings, generally—from using this ship?” Daniel asked. “Unless you have an Ancient lying around somewhere.”

There are enough subspecies that I’m not sure I’d put it past them.

How exactly all those subspecies work genetically … everyone seems so different … I don’t have a clue, but I’m an Egyptologist, not a doctor or a geneticist.

…

And I just quoted Star Trek.

Sujanha gave a soft, rumbling laugh at the joke but shook her head. “You have met half-bloods before. We have married into other races before. There are Furlings, descended from these unions, who still hold the gene. If the ship is repairable, we can use it.” The conversation then switched intentionally to pleasanter topics, Sujanha asking about how Shifu was doing.

The first battle of the war had been won.

There was more to do, but for now, they could rest and then prepare for the next step.

Chapter Text

January 20, 1999
SGC, Earth, Milky-Way

The first clue that something was amiss was when the Stargate began to dial in unexpectedly. That afternoon, no SG teams were due back. No team members were scheduled to come back for supplies, consultations, or other there-and-back trips, and no visits from any of earth’s allies were expected. Alarms began to ring across the base, and defense teams hustled into the gateroom, taking up positions around the gate and manning the big guns covering the gate. Within moments, however, the concerning situation was resolved when Sergeant Harriman received an IDC.

“It’s Teal’c, sir,” the technician said to General Hammond, who had quickly come down the steps from his office when the alarms had sounded.

“He’s early. He just left this morning, and he’s not supposed to return until tomorrow,” replied the general, a look of concern mingled with surprise crossing his face.

SG1 was on stand-down for a few days, and Teal’c had taken the chance to return to the Land of Light to visit his wife and son, whom he rarely had chances to visit because of his work with SG1 and the SGC’s fight against the Goa’uld. For him to return early, something must have happened, but what? General Hammond hurried down to the gateroom as the Sergeant opened the Iris. Teal’c came striding through the wormhole a moment later and made straight for his superior.

“General Hammond, I must speak with you at once,” said Teal’c in his usual straight-forward manner.

“Very well. Let me call for Colonel O’Neill and Captain Carter, and then we can debrief,” General Hammond replied, inferring that the Jaffa’s news should be heard by the only other permanent members of SG1, as well.

Though roughly eight months had passed since Dr. Jackson had been forced to flee earth to escape from the clutches of the NID, finding a replacement for him was still a work in progress. The SGC’s archaeologists and linguists had been rotating through the team for months, and several new hires had even been brought in. O’Neill, Carter, and Teal’c had never been satisfied with any of the short-listed candidates to serve as the replacement for their missing friend. The longest candidate had lasted for seven weeks, the shortest for less than a day, and General Hammond was still trying to find a workable solution for this personnel problem. Everyone kept hoping that Daniel would be able to return soon, thereby avoiding the problem altogether, but the political climate had not changed enough to make such a return a possibility.

Off-duty though they were, neither O’Neill nor Carter had returned home, too caught up with tasks at the SGC, and both reached the conference room within about 6 or 7 minutes of the summons over the base-wide PA system.

“What’s up, T?” O’Neill asked, strolling into the conference room with his hands pushed deep into his BDU pockets. “How was the visit?” Carter followed a few steps behind him, blinking tiredly, a mug of coffee clutched in one hand.

“My visit was most pleasant, O’Neill,” the Jaffa replied from his seat at the conference table, “but that is not why I have returned early. During the meal a little while ago, Drey’auc told me of news sent to her not long ago by a messenger, one of Master Bra’tac’s students.”

Teal’c paused long enough for O’Neill to prompt him. “What’s the news? Apophis still enjoying Sokar’s company?” As far as they were all concerned, it couldn’t happen to a nicer snake.

“Of Apophis himself, there was no news,” replied Teal’c stoically. “Several of his most important worlds, including Chulak, Saqqara, and Kawawn, however, have all fallen in the space of a day.”

“We know from the Tok’ra that, with Apophis gone, there’s been a power vacuum,” Captain Carter added with a contemplative frown on her face. “Apophis still has loyal Jaffa but not enough to keep control of all of his worlds in his absence.”

“More Goa’uld infighting,” said O’Neill, rubbing his hands together with a gleeful grin. “Let them all kill each other off. Less work for us to do.”

General Hammond brought the discussion back on track. “Did Bra’tac say which Goa’uld it was who conquered Chulak and Apophis’ other worlds? Is this more infighting?”

“It was not a Goa’uld who did this,” Teal’c said, finally coming to the reason for his unexpected return. “That was the news, and so I have returned.”

“Someone escaped with news?” Carter asked, eyes wide. She suddenly looked much more awake and alert. Her mind was running on overdrive, thinking through who could have possibly captured those worlds, if not other Goa’uld.

“Four Jaffa made it through the Stargate on Chulak before it was overrun by the invaders. No Jaffa escaped from Apophis’ other captured worlds. One of those who escaped was one of Master Bra’tac’s Jaffa. He came to the Land of Light, hoping that Drey’auc would pass the news on to me. The news he brings is convoluted and … confusing. He spoke of stranger monsters appearing from thin air, who were untouched by staff blasts; of other Jaffa disappearing; of ships falling from the sky.”

“Appearing and disappearing out of thin air,” Captain Carter said slowly, remembering when Thor’s ship had arrived at Cimmeria to save the inhabitants from Heru’ur’s Jaffa. “That sounds like beaming technology like the Asgard have.”

“And warriors untouched by weapons’ fire, personal shields such as in a kara kesh,” Teal’c added.

“It couldn’t be the Asgard, could it? Roswell Greys would be strange but not exactly monster-worthy to the Jaffa,” questioned Carter.

“It was not the Asgard,” replied Teal’c, “from what the messenger could see before he was forced to flee. Neither the warriors nor the ships that appeared above Chulak matched any descriptions of the Asgard, whether of legend or what we ourselves have seen on Cimmeria.”

“How old is this news? Has there been any word from Bra’tac?” asked General Hammond.

“A few days old, at most,” said Teal’c. “I have not seen Bra’tac since the incident with Hathor on P4Z-326, and he spoke of nothing in this vein then.”

“Our meetings with the Tok’ra are still largely of the ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ variety,” Carter added. “Dad hasn’t been by since the incident with the Reetou.”

Through all this, O’Neill had sat quietly without commenting. He had propped his chin up on one hand and was staring off into the distance, listening but thinking.

“Thoughts, Colonel? You’re being unusually quiet today,” prompted the General.

“It’s the ‘Forgotten,” said O’Neill quietly, still staring off into the distance.

“Pardon?”

O’Neill suddenly straightened back up, his gaze snapping to the General out of a thousand-yard stare. “Lya mentioned a new mysterious race called the ‘Forgotten,’ when we found her not long after Maybourne drove Daniel away. She gave us some cryptic message about the ‘Forgotten’ returning soon and a ‘reckoning with the Goa’uld,’ yadda, yadda, yadda, and now eight months later, Apophis’ forces got their behind kicked in absentio out of the blue by a race no one has ever heard of or seen before? Does no one besides me make the connection? It must be them.”

Chapter Text

The Furlings were nothing if not efficient.

After capturing five of Apophis’ most important worlds in the space of a day or so, Sujanha and Anarr spent the next fortnight (by Furling measurements) leading their forces through the rest of Apophis’ former domain, cutting a swath through the territories of his squabbling underlings and “cleaning house.” Planet after planet held by the Goa’uld fell in quick succession. During those two weeks, so many more Goa’uld ships were captured that Sujanha was even forced to rescind her previous order about preserving captured vessels because the engineers were overloaded with ships in need of repair for the moment. There were only so many ships that could be repaired and only so many ships that the Furlings or the allies could make use of.

Any more than that is a drain on time and resources. The Stargate and fast inter-galactic hyperdrives did not entirely prevent supply chain problems for a military far, far away from its home-base.

On every world that they captured, the Furlings or whichever allied contingent led the siege allowed a handful of Jaffa to escape, thereby spreading rumors across the galaxy about the nameless dread that was relentlessly bringing down Goa’uld worlds and minor Goa’uld one by one by one. Thousands more Jaffa were captured as those worlds formerly controlled by Apophis fell to the relentless wave that was the Furling advance. Those few Rebel Jaffa that Bra’tac identified among the ranks of the prisoners were released as quickly as possible, while still concealing their true allegiance for safety’s sake, while the remaining Jaffa and any captured Goa’uld were returned to Asteria to be imprisoned.

Assisted by the Tok’ra and their wealth of information about the functioning of symbiotes, the Furling healers were still researching the best way to extract symbiotes and free the long-imprisoned hosts with the least chance of failure and/or death. Death was freedom of a sort and might be longed for by some, but it was not the freedom for those hosts that the Furlings were hoping for. The delay troubled Daniel, though he knew it was unavoidable. He was impatient for the chance to finally hold his wife again and have her free of Amaunet’s control for more than one short day.

She didn’t even have any time with Shifu before Amaunet reappeared.

Concurrent with the Furling advance in the Milky-Way, Sujanha’s ships kept a close watch upon Saqqara and its newfound prize: the Ancient warship buried beneath the desert sands. Within two days of its discovery, Ipyrsh engineers had determined that it was safe to beam personnel down to the buried ship without fear of structural disasters. The lack of a breathable atmosphere was easily solved. Breathable for a human or breathable for anyone? The ship’s power supply had long ago been depleted, but that was a problem the Furlings easily dealt with. Once power was restored to the ships and engineers, technicians, and other workers (along with their guards—Daniel wasn’t quite sure why there were guards, but … better to be safe than sorry, I guess?) could move around the ship without difficulty … or without extremely long walks in the dark, a detailed examination of the ship revealed that it was somehow relatively undamaged even after its hard landing on the planet’s surface and remaining unrepaired for ages.

Aside from scoring from sand-storms, unless you had cracks in the hull that could cause leakage or water damage, having the ship completely buried should preserve it, not perfectly, but … Similar to the ancient monuments in Egypt that he had devoted his career to studying before everything went array.

And thank goodness for strong hulls … and probably good navigators to pull off a landing like that. Daniel wondered what had happened to the crew. No bodies had been found, though a careful search had been made. In the environment within the ship, bodies should have survived from the crash until the present days. Either some or all of the crew had survived … hopefully … or … worse … any bodies had been taken by the Goa’uld. At least, the sarcophagus doesn’t work on deader than dead bodies.

Even though a number of control crystals were missing from the ship, hindering examinations of its logs and from repairs of critical systems, the Iprysh engineers joined by skilled Furling, Dovahkiin, and Asgardian engineers, were hopeful to have the ship, whose hull was still sound, totally repaired and ready for flight within six months. (That seemed extremely short to Daniel, but the Furlings had more resources to devote to such things than most.) The problem then would be extracting the battleship, which had been christened the Azrea (a Furling word that referenced Daniel knew not what), from the ground without destroying the Goa’uld pyramid built atop it.

But they’ve got six months, at least, to figure out that problem.

In the temporary lull midway through the sweep through Apophis’ territory—well, not so much as a lull, but a space of a few hours when Sujanha’s battle-group was unoccupied—Sujanha had traveled to Saqqara to see the Azrea for herself. After an hour or two on the ship, Daniel decided that the Ancient warship was more alien in a way than Furling ships with its strange control panels, strange layout, strange walls, and…well…strange everything. The Furling ships had seemed strange, at first, too. It’s all in what you get used to.

Sujanha—Daniel was interested to find out—had the specific gene in her DNA necessary for operating Ancient technology, a gene that made lights and some technology activate when she entered a room. The lights were one thing, but the technology made some engineers a little nervous. They were being very careful what they turned on while still going over the ship with a fine tooth-comb.

The Commander has Asgardian blood, so I suppose it’s not surprising her line has Ancient blood, as well. The Furling Imperial House, it was said, could trace its lineage unbroken back to the beginning of their written history long ago, and if there was one thing that a royal house did, it was intermarry. Did the other races ever have monarchies, or was it just the Furlings?

Daniel learned a lot more about the Ancients on that brief trip.

The Ancients had originally left the Milky-Way millions of years ago after a plague (a different plague than the one that had forced the Furlings to flee the Milky-Way). More than one widespread plague, wonderful. With the aid of a Furling holographic star-map (the inter-galactic version of a planetarium + phonebook + MapQuest), which he had used a handful of times before, Daniel also learned that the Ancients had then gone what he thought was the Pegasus Galaxy. Sam would know. After being defeated some 8,800 Furlings year ago by an enemy of theirs that dwelt there—an enemy that even Sujanha seemed disconcerted by, though she admitted she knew little more than vague reports and unsubstantiated rumors—the Ancients fled Pegasus back to the Milky-Way before eventually ascending as spirit-beings or something to a higher plane of existence, a process called “ascension.”

For a host of reasons, Sujanha had little positive to say about the Ancients’ choice to ascend. With the withdrawal of the Nox, even solely as peacekeepers or healers, from the Alliance, the subsequent ascension of the Ancients had dumped all the responsibilities of the entire Alliance first just on the shoulders of the Asgard and then, with the return of the Furlings many years later, on the shoulders of the Furlings and Asgard, the latter of whom were still fighting a galactic-wide war simultaneously. And still are!!! Even taciturn Ragnar had inserted his two cents, caustically comparing ascension to “a living death” and describing ascension as a violation of the natural order. For it is appointed unto men once to die, as the Bible says.

Despite those warnings and comments, there seemed to be much more that about ascension and the possibilities from ascension that were not being said. Daniel found himself very intrigued by the concept of ascension and mentally filed it away to research in the Great Library the next time he returned to Uslisgas and had some spare time.

22nd of Ea, 6545 A.S.
(~February 1, 1999)
Valhalla, Avalon

Two Furling weeks to the day after the capture of Chulak, the Valhalla was in orbit around Ushuotis, the Furling’s base inside of Lord Yu’s territory and the planet that Martouf had accidentally stumbled onto months earlier, unexpectedly bringing an end to the Furlings’ search for the Tok’ra. The sweep of Apophis’ territory had finished, and across the fleet, scout ships and strike-fleets were using the temporary lull following the end of that campaign to restock on supplies and carry out any necessary repairs. Sujanha herself was using the opportunity to receive briefs from their allies and send reports back to Asteria to the High King and the High Council.

And if the rest of us have our way, she’ll get badgered into resting for a bit.

A little past midday, Daniel was sitting in Sujanha’s private office in the depths of the ship. Slumped against the arm of her chair with her head propped on her left paw, the Commander was reading through several new reports from Bra’tac and the Rebel Jaffa on the response of the other System Lords to the fall of Apophis’ domain along with other intelligence. Daniel had left the Valhalla late that morning to go with the guards picking up the reports from the Rebel Jaffa on the latest of a continually rotating list of uninhabited or abandoned worlds. The main reason Daniel went was that, on the occasions that Bra’tac actually brought the messages, Daniel could sometimes get news about earth and all his friends at the SGC.

Good riddance to Hathor. Getting dumped in a cryo tank couldn’t happen to a nicer Goa’uld.

Bra’tac’s news had been old this trip, but Daniel had been happy to hear of Hathor’s demise just the same. Even thinking about that encounter with her back on earth made his stomach lurch.

Good riddance to the symbiote. The host finally is free.

What fuzzy memories he had of her hold over the SGC, he would have gladly expunged them permanently from his memory.

Maybe an hour after Daniel had returned from getting a late lunch, a chime sounded, signaling that someone was requesting entrance to her office. There was a long pause, and no one entered, which was slightly unusual. Any signals Asik, Jaax, Ragnar, or Ruarc made were usually perfunctory unless Sujanha had told them otherwise that she needed privacy, and they usually entered in quick succession. Must not be one of them then. Straightening, Sujanha made a motion with one paw, and the door slid open. Daniel swiveled in his seat to see who had arrived. In the doorway was Asi, one of the children who lived on the ship and sometimes ran errands or passed messages.

“Hello, child,” Sujanha greeted him kindly, “do you have a message for me?"

“Yes, Commander,” Asi replied with a little bob that was half a bow, half Daniel knew not what. “A message from the surface. A Tok’ra has just arrived through the Stargate and is requesting to speak with you.”

Out of the blue? No messengers were expected today. What happened now?

Sujanha seemed to wonder the same thing, given the worried look in her eyes. “Have them sent up at once.” Asi nodded, made another little bob, and then, spinning on one heel, disappeared, moving with all the energy of youth.

What’s the old saying: youth is wasted on those so young? I could use that much energy.

“I wonder who it will be,” Daniel mused when Asi had left and the door had slid shut behind him. “Whatever news he brings,” his voice sobered, “I can’t imagine it’s good. Not without notice like this.”

Sujanha scrubbed one paw across her face tiredly and then ran it back the other way, smoothing down mussed fur, heavily streaked with white. “No, I do not imagine so, but such is war.”

Ever since the Furlings had allied themselves with the Tok’ra, they had sent an operative every week or two with the latest intelligence and news about the Goa’uld. (The visits were relatively routine, and unexpected news usually meant trouble.) Sujanha always made sure the messenger had a real bed for the night (if necessary) and a decent meal (the food at the Tok’ra base was apparently not very good from what one operative had said in the midst of almost inhaling the fresh food that he had been given. Growing enough food to feed an entire base on deserted, inhospitable words … where you also have to live underground for your own safety … was incredibly difficult, and not prone to providing variety. The Tok’ra did trade for some goods, but still …)

There had been a revolving door of operatives, and Daniel did not think that even the same messenger had come twice these past months. Initially, meeting with the Tok’ra had been rather uncomfortable given his previous interactions with the Goa’uld, but he had gotten much more used to them as time went on. Daniel had even had very pleasant conversations with several over meals and liked most, though not all, of the operatives that he had met. Sujanha herself had similar thoughts about the operatives themselves but disliked the revolving door.

As long as they don’t start repeating messengers and send the woman who liked the leather clothes!

Oh, what was her name … Neither Daniel nor Sujanha had liked her.

Five or ten minutes passed, and then the door chime sounded again. A few seconds later, the door opened, revealing Asik in the doorway. “The Tok’ra operative for you, Commander,” he said and then stepped back.

The aforementioned operative—a man of medium height with dark skin, a short-cropped beard, and a healing scrape up near his hairline—entered Sujanha’s office. Definitely don’t know this one. The new Tok’ra was middle-aged in appearance, though how old he actually was, that was anybody’s guess. His eyes flicked warily from point to point, assessing every aspect of the room.

Must be a field operative.

They’re always more … twitchy.

The operative gave a shallow bow. “Supreme Commander, I am Ocker of the Tok’ra.” His voice was the dual-flanged one of the symbiote. Only the symbiote being introduced sometimes was another thing Daniel had had to get used to. Sometimes only one or the other, usually the one in control, was introduced, while other times both were introduced, no matter who was in control. It varied by Tok’ra, and from conversations that Daniel had had, it seemed that some hosts who had especially suffered under Goa’uld rule preferred to stay far in the background.

“You are welcome among us,” Sujanha replied in English, waving him to a seat. She looked past him then to Asik, still in the doorway, “If you would bring us some drinks while we speak, please, then you may return to your duties. Leave the door open.”

“Of course, Commander,” Asik gave a shallow bow and withdrew, leaving the door between the inner and outer offices open.

Ocker saluted Sujanha and finally took a seat next to Daniel in front of her desk. He moved somewhat stiffly, as if he had recently been injured. More severely than just that head wound. “Thank you, Supreme Commander,” the dual-flanged voice of a symbiote was much less nerve-inducing than it had once been. “I bring greetings to you from the Tok’ra High Council, who send congratulations on your recent successes these past weeks.”

“By the grace of the Maker, our first strikes have gone well, but Apophis had already fallen, and few strong ones remained to oppose us within his lands. Future battles might not be so easy,” replied Sujanha modestly and cautiously. “Were any Tok’ra operatives lost?”

“No,” Ocker shook his head. “Only a few operatives remained embedded within the dregs of ranks of Apophis’ underlings. Your warning gave us time to withdraw them without their covers being broken.”

“Good.”

Sujanha was kept from saying more by Asik’s swift return with a tray of drinks. Once Ocker had declined the offer of food and Asik had withdrawn, Sujanha continued, “Tell me, why have you come? Your coming is unexpected. What news do you bring?”

A dark, worried look passed across the Tok’ra operative’s face at the question. “Rumors of your attacks have spread across the galaxy,” said Ocker, “and the System Lords are greatly troubled. Some have even made accusations against each other, but so far none have progressed to open war against another.”

Sujanha gave a laugh that was almost a scoff. “My people look nothing like any of the races in this galaxy that have survived to this day. To accuse each other of this attack is folly.”

Ocker had no reply to that. “I do bring quite serious news on two accounts.”

Sujanha gave Daniel a look that he knew was his cue to make notes—copious, detailed notes—and settled back into her chair, her eyes laser focused on the Tok’ra across from her. “Go on.”

“There are whispers at several courts that, if these attacks continue, some of the System Lords might form a temporary truce and ally themselves against your forces.” Ocker pulled a data crystal from a hidden pouch and handed it to Sujanha. “This is the latest data that we have from our operatives.”

A partnership among the Goa’uld? Among the System Lords?

Could they even be a threat, or would it just be more eggs in one basket?

Sujanha carefully took the crystal from his hand—there was always the risk of scratching a human with her claws—and then passed it back across to Daniel. He got up from his chair and took the surprisingly heavy crystal across to a data reader that sat on a table on the other side of the room.

As soon as the reader engaged, multiple holograms depicting the info appeared over her desk, before condensing into one hologram that had multiple ‘pages.’ Sujanha swiped through the screens quickly, probably looking for anything that she might need to ask Ocker for more information about. There would be time after he left to study it at her leisure.

“This will be very useful. My thanks,” Sujanha always spoke more formally around the Tok’ra than she did around Bra’tac or the other Rebel Jaffa. Why exactly this was, Daniel wasn’t sure. If he had to guess, it probably had something to do with the revolving door of messengers, which made building relationships … extremely hard since we haven’t had a repeat yet.

Sujanha then pulled out a differently colored and shaped crystal from a desk drawer and passed it across to Ocker. “As our attacks increase in number, your operatives might come under greater risk of exposure. This crystal holds the addresses to twelve worlds not within the Goa’uld Stargate network. They have all been confirmed to be uninhabited within the last three days. As I made clear to the operative who came last, any Tok’ra are welcome to flee to one of our bases if need be. Some of those addresses have already been given to you. Our bases are heavily guarded, and they would be assured of aid and medical care there without the risk of capture.”

“We thank you,” replied Ocker formally, taking the crystal and returning it to the same hidden pouch within his uniform.

Sujanha nodded, “And the other urgent matter of which you spoke?”

“The High Council wishes to know if you have determined which System Lord is your next target.”

That’s a statement, not a question.

And how does that lead into urgent news exactly?

Aside from the need to warn their operatives, which is a given anyway.

Sujanha leaned back, shifting in her chair. “We have been in conference in recent days, discussing that issue, but have not yet come to a final decision, though multiple possibilities have been raised. Do the Tok’ra have counsel?”

Heru’ur’s been taking advantage of Apophis’ downfall, she’s said.

Cronus and Nirrti are also potential targets.

“Sokar.”

Sujanha looked over to Daniel, inviting his usual mythological explanations for each of the Goa’uld.

“We never encountered Sokar while I was SG1, but in Egyptian mythology, Sokar was a god of death who presided over a necropolis, a city of the dead, near Memphis in Lower Egypt. He was one of the most feared gods in the Egyptian pantheon and represented the eternal death of the soul: no afterlife, just oblivion,” Daniel replied, only realizing half-way through his explanation that he had code-switched back into Furling.

Oops.

English! Stick to English!

 “Sokar is one of the cruelest and most feared among the System Lords ever since the days of the First Goa’uld Dynasty,” Ocker continued. “He has taken on the persona of the devil from a Tauri religion,”—the devil. How does he know that term?—“He is one of the oldest of the surviving Goa’uld and once ruled the System Lords long ago before Apophis and Ra defeated him. The rumors of Sokar’s death, however, were greatly exaggerated.” That is an idiom I’ve never heard outside of earth. Who has he been talking to?? “Since the defeat of Apophis some months ago, Sokar has been quietly building his forces, preparing for an attack against the System Lords, which before your arrival could, if successful, restore his position as Supreme System Lord. Three of our operatives have been lost, trying to infiltrate his ranks, the latest only three days ago. If they are still alive, they will have been sent to Netu … to hell. The last news we received was that his fleet was at least seven times what we originally thought.”

Seven!??

Yikes!!!

How big is his fleet, then? How many ships?

Seven times as big!

“‘Devil,’ ‘hell,’” Sujanha repeated the words slowly, her gaze turning to Daniel, “Those are Midgardian terms. Is there anything significant that I need to know right now?”

How do I explain Satan to someone with no concept of Christianity?

Daniel shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Very well.” Sujanha’s laser-like attention returned to Ocker. “What are the chances that any of your operatives still live? Would he not slaughter any exposed as spies?”

Ocker’s face twisted in a mixture of horror and revulsion. “Sokar prefers to torture his prisoners for as long as possible rather than just kill them. The ways on and off of Netu are extremely limited, and it provides him a secure place for keeping any who cross him imprisoned forever.”

Some fates were worse than death.

Far worse.

“Tell me of Netu then.”

“Netu is a terraformed world that barely supports life. The surface is uninhabitable, we believe, and prisoners probably live in tunnels or caves beneath the surface. Its atmosphere is impenetrable by ship. Only escape pods can reach the surface.”

By regular ships maybe?

Would Furling ships have trouble getting through?

“Is Netu a planet? A moon?”

“A moon,” Ocker replied, “that orbits Sokar’s homeworld, Delmak.”

“Can you give me the Stargate address for Delmak?”

Ocker nodded. Sujanha opened a hologram that Daniel recognized as one of the entry pages into the 2D version of the Furling star map. She pushed the hologram across to Ocker, who, after a moment studying the screen, quickly drew the address into the waiting blank boxes. When he had finished, that holographic window vanished, and a star map appeared over Sujanha’s desk with Delmak highlighted in red.

“If Sokar’s new fleet is truly as large as Selmak’s data stated, he will prove a major threat. If Selmak and other operatives can be rescued …” Ocker’s voice trailed off.

Sujanha was quiet for several minutes, staring at the map. “You said Netu’s atmosphere barely supports life. Can you explain further?”

If Ocker can convince Sujanha, I doubt Commander Anarr will disagree.

 “Netu was once an industrialized world, but when Delmak was captured by Sokar, it was bombarded from orbit by his ships, allowing molten lava and toxic fumes to pervade the surface.”

“Such an atmosphere will not hinder us; we have many who can survive in such atmospheres or worse with no difficulty,” Sujanha replied.

Would the Ipyrsh suits withstand the heat? I know their homeworld is basically an ice-world. If they use the suits at home, would they function in the heat?

The Etrairs have breathing masks that might be able to deal.

Don’t the Dovahkiin live on a fire world, too? Or do they live in tunnels beneath a fire world?

“I will speak with Supreme Commander Anarr, but from what you have said, I think making Sokar our next target and doing so as quickly as possible would be advisable. If the Maker is merciful, we might rescue your operatives if they still live.”

Signaling that the interview was at an end, Sujanha rose, a motion that was almost smooth, except for a small catch when she put too much weight on her right leg too suddenly. It was her right side, arm and leg, that gave her trouble more often than not when she had trouble.

“Thank you for your time, Supreme Commander. I will pass your news to the High Council.” Ocker rose and bowed slightly. “Please let us know as to your decision as quickly as possible.”

Are they going to try a rescue if Sujanha and Anarr don’t agree?

“Of course,” Sujanha replied. “Asik will show you out.” Her voice was raised in pitch slightly on the last sentence, giving Asik the necessary clue to come.

Asik appeared and led Ocker out, leaving the door open behind them. Sujanha returned to her seat with a hissed sigh, as Ragnar appeared in the doorway. “Anything you need from us?” Her bodyguard asked.

“Do you know where Elder Brother is?” Sujanha asked. “I know he has not returned to Asteria, but …”

There was a murmur from behind Ragnar, and he twisted to look back at someone in the outer office. From the low pitch of the voice, it was probably Ruarc who had spoken.

“Ruarc thinks Commander Anarr is on Calydon right now, or at least he was as of yesterday when my brother received a message from one of his friends still within the Imperial Guard.”

The Imperial Guard, Daniel also knew from his reading, was one of a handful of elite shock-troop units within the Furling Army. Ragnar and Ruarc had both actually served in the Imperial Guard before being assigned by Anarr to guard Sujanha in 6108 AS after they had recovered from injuries gained at the Battle of Three Peaks the previous year, an important battle near the end of the Great War.

Sujanha nodded, “Well—I don’t care who takes the messages up to Mekoxe—I need a message sent to Anarr that I must speak with him as soon as possible. Messages also need to be sent to the leaders of the Ipyrsh and Dovahkiin contingents that their aid will probably soon be needed.”

I guess that answers the question about how heat resistant their armor is.

“Do you want to wait until you have spoken with Commander Anarr?” Daniel asked cautiously. Granted, he was pretty sure of what his decision would be, but … better to be safe than sorry.

Sujanha glanced up from her perusal of the data Ocker had brought—she was quite good at multitasking. “No, it’s fine. I know what he will say. Sokar is a much better candidate for our next offensive than all the other System Lords we had discussed, especially given his expansionist plans and this fleet of his. If even the Goa’uld consider Sokar to be evil, I shudder to think of what his deeds might be.”

How low can the Goa’uld sink … I should stop being surprised.

Ragnar gave a low snort.

Daniel rose. “I can take these messages up to the bridge. Should I wait for responses?”

“No,” Sujanha replied with a shake of her head. “He’ll send the replies down when they come. Go eat—it’s far past time for the midday meal anyway—and then come back.”

I thought I said so earlier.

Maybe I just thought about saying it. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“I already ate,” Daniel replied.

Ragnar tacked on a moment later, “We can have food sent up for you, Commander. You haven’t eaten since the morning meal, and you barely ate then.”

“Maybe later,” Sujanha said, shaking her head.

Worth a try, at least.

Daniel nodded and turned for the door. “I understand why the Iprysh, but why the Dovahkiin?” He asked, turning back for a moment.

“I’ll explain when you get back.”

Only fifteen minutes later—there had been several others in front of him who needed to speak with Mekoxe—Daniel returned to Sujanha’s office. Asik was still absent. “I gave Mexoke the messages,” Daniel said, retaking his seat. “He’ll send down the replies as soon as they come.”

“My thanks,” replied Sujanha, “As to your earlier question, for any attack on Netu, we will want soldiers from the Dovahkiin … and the Iprysh … because of the atmosphere and the terrain. We—the Furlings as a race—are not primarily close-quarters fighters, though that varies somewhat by sub-species. We can fight hand-to-hand, but our staff weapons make us best suited for longer-range combat, and our staffs are too long to be properly utilized in tunnels. We are also susceptible to toxic atmospheres, though not to the same degree as humans. Because of the extremely inhospitable conditions of their homeworlds, both the Iprysh and the Dovahkiin live underground and are especially skilled at close quarter combat, especially in tunnels. The Iprysh armor has a closed atmosphere and is very resistant to temperature extremes, cold and hot. Drehond, the Dovahkiin homeworld is a fire-world, but they can survive on the surface, because their lungs naturally filter out the toxic gasses and harmful particles in the atmosphere.”

Okay.

Wow.

Sujanha was right as she usually was. Within two hours, Anarr appeared on board the Valhalla with Odin and Frár, his two High Generals, in tow. Once High Commander Algar was present via hologram, a war council began. All the information that Ocker had delivered was presented, including the details about Sokar and the ‘threat’ of his growing power and increasing fleet as well as about the missing Tok’ra operatives—who, if they’re still alive, probably wish they aren’t … a horrible thought to contemplate. Hearing that, it was agreed that Sokar and, more specifically, Delmak because of the urgency of this intelligence, would be the Furlings’ next target. Destroying Sokar’s main fleet on Delmak, capturing his homeworld, and, hopefully, capturing Sokar also would destabilize the rest of his territory.

Furling battle-plans, so far, seemed to be made slowly and methodically, no rushing in headlong, or so it had been these past weeks and months.But here, now, there was no time to delay.

No one knew how much longer the Tok’ra operatives could survive on Netu, if they still lived at all.

No one knew how quickly Sokar’s fleet would leave Delmak, and once it scattered among the stars, it would be much harder to take out quickly. The havoc it could wreak before the Furlings could track the ships down could be devastating.

Everyone buckled down from commanders to generals to simple scouts to collect intelligence and atmospheric data on Netu, construct battle plans (Delmak would be much more heavily defended than Chulak or Saqqara), and transmit news to the Tok’ra and Rebel Jaffa. Within four days, enough intelligence had been gathered that Sujanha and Anarr were confident enough that they would not be rushing headlong into disaster to give the go-ahead for an attack on Delmak and Netu. Much more time to gather intelligence and plan would have been highly preferable, but … needs must?

(There were murmurs on board ship that those days of planning in haste was like being brought back to some days of desperate planning during the dark days of the Great War when Sujanha and Anarr and their commanders and troops had kept ahead of the Enemy only by the skin of their teeth.)

But then other intelligence came in … and maybe the first-strike against Sokar needed to be expanded.

The morning of the fifth day dawned just as early as it had on the morning of the capture of Chulak. At least I got more sleep last night! Around the 5^th hour—three hours to go time—Daniel was down in the mess hall eating a hurried breakfast when there was a chime from a gauntlet and a text message appeared from Sujanha. He had spoken with her briefly right before coming down to eat, not more than fifteen or twenty minutes earlier, so why the unexpected summons back?

The message had not said that he needed to come right then and there, though she had said it was urgent, so he took five minutes to scarf down the rest of his toast, meat, and strangely colored eggs and finish his mug of tea. Then Daniel hurried back up-deck. Asik had stepped out in the intervening time, but a tense Jaax was still at his desk, attention fixed upon his tablet in front of him. He looked up as Daniel entered and gave him a sympathetic look.

Okkkayyy …

The tension in the office was so thick Daniel thought he could almost cut it with a knife.

Probably a very dull knife.

It’s been like twenty minutes, at most!

What the h**l happened?!

Sujanha was standing behind her desk, eyes blazing in a thunderous scowl, Ruarc flanking her on one side. Across from her was a hulking Dovahkiin, who always looked to Daniel like the cross between a dragon, a gargoyle, and a man. He or she—Daniel still struggled to distinguish genders—had red-gold scales; massive horns, the two largest of which curled behind his head like a big-horned ram; and broad, leathery wings that just brushed the floor behind him. His clothes were made of thickly woven and padded cloth, topped with leather.

Why ever she summoned me, I’d bet money it has something to do with their arrival.

From the stiffness of her posture and the anger in her eyes, Sujanha seemed extremely displeased with whatever had just been said by the Dovahkiin, probably a general within the Furling Army or the Dovahkiin Army contingent. Despite that, she greeted Daniel calmly and without any heat in her voice as he entered.

“You called for me, Commander?” Daniel asked, hovering just inside the doorway.

Might just need a spoon to cut the tension.

Butter-knife would work.

“Knight Commander Qethkroruth,” Sujanha replied, voice tight but calm, “has raised a reasonable issue of how we are to deal with any guards and, especially, the prisoners on Netu during our assault. The Dovahkiin can only speak their own language, and few of the Iprysh can speak English without a translator. And,” she paused and made a face that, if human, would have been wry, “it is not as if we can hope that those on Netu will speak English or even Goa’uld necessarily, except for the Tok’ra in the former case perhaps … if they live, and with a strike-force made up almost entirely of Dovahkiin or Iprysh … some might fear us as much as their captors.”

Yea, all this does take a little getting used to.

“It would be too convenient,” Daniel added wryly, “but …” His voice, trailing off, made his point for him. What’s your point?

“Since you speak Abydonian and some Goa’uld and are quite skilled at communicating with new races, even those whose languages you do not speak, Qethkroruth has suggested that you accompany the soldiers as a translator,” Sujanha finished, voice going tight again.

A human face that won’t risk frightening some into an early grave.

Daniel thought for a moment. What Qethkroruth said—or rather what Sujanha had said he had said—seemed reasonable to him, but something about the suggestion had angered the Supreme Commander, and that fact made him cautious. “I’ve been in skirmishes with SG1 before, but never outright battle,” he cautioned. “I would probably be a liability.” A battle on Netu would be a far cry from the ‘battle’ in Apophis’ mothership over earth.

And that got me … temporarily … killed. That itself was still a strange thought.

“No one expects you to be on the front lines,” Sujanha said, shooting a pointed … glare … at Qethkroruth. “You would stay with the healers and be called forward only at need.”

Daniel still hesitated. He was an archaeologist and a linguist by training, but his skill-set had been expanding during his time with SG1 and even more during the last eight plus months with the Furlings. Ruarc and Ragnar have been ensuring I know how to handle myself in a fight. Despite her clear distaste with something to do with the idea, since Sujanha was willing to even suggest the idea and not just slap it down instantly, she evidently thought he could do it. “I’m willing,” he replied after another moment’s thought, “if you can spare me, that is.”

The first strike against Sokar was a three-pronged attack, expanded from the first plan of a sole attack on Delmak and Netu due to further intelligence in the days following Ocker’s visit. Supreme Commander Anarr with his soldiers and one strike-fleet was going to capture Delmak and Netu. Sujanha would command the strike-force attacking Memphis, one of Sokar’s most infamous and feared strongholds, known for being the home of terrifying monsters and a place of horrible experiments.[1]

(The mention of those final details had brought dark glances to the eyes of the Furling commanders and a curdling feeling to Daniel’s stomach. Whatever Sokar had been having done there, it sounded much too similar to what had been done too many Furling and allied POWs during the Great War or to what the Nazis had done during WW2 on earth.)

Algar, with a third strike-force, would capture a world known only as Necropolis, a fearful world that served as a graveyard and a prison. There were as many rumors as fact about this world, and all were dark.

A prison … what are the chances there are Tok’ra there … among the imprisoned?

On both worlds, the Furlings only had a basic idea of what they face, which almost went against all Furling tactics, but …

The sooner Memphis and the Necropolis are under Furling control, the better … before who knows what risks getting freed.

Sometimes risks had to be taken to keep worse things from happening. All the Furlings could do was try to mitigate the risks. Hence the heavy weaponry, souped-up personal shields, and heavy infantry being called in.

No one needs the galactic version of Cthulhu or who knows what getting unleashed!

Sokar was ruthless. It stood to reason his underlings were, too, and sometimes ruthless leaders preferred the take-everyone-down-with-me strategy.

Under a law left over from the Great War, Supreme Commanders and High Commanders (or Generals) could not be part of the same attack, except under certain extreme (and quite rare) circumstances. No one wanted to risk a worst-case scenario where one battle could cripple the Furling Military by the death of much (if not all) of the senior commanders. By joining the group capturing Netu, Daniel would be absent from the Valhalla for as long as the first strike took, which could be days.

Chulak, Memphis and the Necropolis and Delmak/Netu will not be.

“I can,” said Sujanha, before turning to Ruarc. “You’ll go with Daniel. Come back alive and sound, both of you!”

“Of course,” Ruarc said, moving back to give himself room to bow deeply. “Good fortune then, and safe journey, Supreme Commander, Knight Commander.” He moved towards the door, motioning Daniel to follow. Qethkroruth remained. Daniel bowed and repeated the same words.

“Be careful,” replied Sujanha with a nod of acknowledgement, deep concern still clear in her eyes.

Ruarc led Daniel out from Sujanha’s office but turned the opposite direction from the one they usually took.

“The Commander isn’t happy with the Knight Commander’s suggestion, is she?” Daniel asked Ruarc quietly once they were half-way down the hall.

“She cannot deny that what Commander Qethkroruth is suggesting is sensible, but no, she still does not appreciate the last moment suggestion or having to have you put in harm’s way, though there is more at play than just that,” Ruarc scowled briefly. Ancient history I don’t know about? “We all lost much during the Great War. Most of her family died, as well as at least five of her aids, so she has a tendency to be quite protective of you all.”

The room(s) to which Ruarc led Daniel was, apparently, the armory or maybe some sort of storage facility if they’d run out of room in the former. Ruarc claimed several weapons for himself—only one of which Daniel recognized because it bore a resemblance to a Zat—as well as heavy-duty personal shields, reinforced body armor, and breathing masks, much like Jaax’s, for them both. Ruarc quickly explained how the heavy-duty personal shield differed from the one in his gauntlet and how to use the breathing mask. His explanation had barely finished when he was commed a warning, and two minutes later, they were beamed across to one of the transport ships soon to leave for Netu.

Furling transports, unlike motherships and their larger or smaller variants (all fighting ships seemed to be differently scaled variations of the same model), were made primarily for transport of people or supplies and for transport only. During the time that remained before the assault on Netu began, Daniel quickly discovered that these transports were not made for convenience and had few of the amenities of the larger ships, except those for the permanent crew. Most of a transport ship was taken up by a large, heavily shield cargo hold that could not be opened to the atmosphere. The areas for the troops on more than short-hops were … almost dorm-like.

It was what … a 12-hour trip from Asteria to the Milky-Way at max speed?

Most trips don’t take anywhere near that much time. Even Ida is less than an hour away from Asteria. It’s half-an-hour from one extreme edge of Avalon to the other.

The strike-force that would capture Delmak and Netu dropped out of hyperspace far outside the bounds of the solar system, and there they waited for some time, cloaked and silent, or so Ruarc said the plan was. As go-time approached, the ships, still cloaked, slipped forward under sublight power and silently sailed toward Sokar’s homeworld.

Daniel knew he should be nervous, but he wasn’t ... yet.

For the moment, safe inside a Furling ship—he could have convinced himself that he was just in another room on the Valhalla if not for all the gathered soldiers—what they would face on Netu was all a future, theoretical thing, not yet painful, probably terrifying reality … of the battle and the horrors that he was soon to face.

That would come soon enough, though.

Even for the Furlings, battles could go sideways without warning.

At a verbal signal over the ship-wide comms, all the Dovahkiin and Iprysh soldiers started moving into battle formations. Daniel and Ruarc, along with those whose uniforms marked them as healers—mostly Dovahkiin along with a number of Furlings—were moved to the centers of those formations, which seemed largely circular. That shape, Ruarc explained, would largely break down as they were forced to adapt to any terrain that they encountered on Netu, but it would provide security against an ambush or an attack as soon as they beamed down.

Once they were in place, Ruarc helped Daniel fit his breathing mask across his face. The air he was breathing in was cool and on the dryer side, and his glasses were not fogging up, which was good. Better hope they don’t fall off, or I’ll be in trouble. At Ruarc’s direction, Daniel also brought up his personal shield but pulled it in so that it was skin-tight, which would allow for closer formations in cramped spaces without shields colliding.

“The bridge will give us a little warning before it is time to beam to the surface.”

“I thought Ocker said Netu’s atmosphere was too thick for ships to make it through.” And I’m pretty sure that was one thing nobody tested. Too much of a chance of detection. “How are the sensors going to work through all that?” The breathing mask was comfortable but odd, making every breath hissy and echo-y.

Ruarc gave Daniel a dry look as he fitted his own much larger breathing mask across his muzzle. “The atmosphere is too thick for Goa’uld ships, but our ships shouldn’t have a problem. There are no ground defenses on Netu because of the conditions, so the transport ships will just pierce the atmosphere. We have heavy shields.”

Shouldn’t have a problem?

“Shouldn’t have a problem?” Daniel asked with a slight gulp. This day is just getting better and better. Despite Sujanha’s faith in him, he was starting to fear like he might be in over his head. “Is one ship going to be a Guinea pig then, or all the ships going to go for it while we all cross our fingers?”

Ruarc cocked his head, puzzlement clear. “What is a Guinea pig?” he asked. “How does it have anything to do with our ships? And why would crossing our fingers help anything?”

Having to explain the concept of a Guinea pig and of crossing one’s fingers to Ruarc was a sufficient distraction from his nerves that the next minutes passed quickly.

“In the event anything goes wrong,” Ruarc finally said, once the topic was off English idioms, “there are only two rules you need to remember. First, do NOT panic. It’s the worst thing you can do and likely to lead you into even greater peril.” Yea, I can believe that. “Your personal shield can withstand staff-weapons fire for some time or even a rock fall. You also have your gauntlet, which will serve as a backup personal shield and has your distress beacon. Second, whatever happens, stay beside me or one of the others. We are safest together.”

Could the ships even beam us out from inside the caves/tunnels/whatever?

Somebody has to have thought about it.

Having to fight our way out of the tunnels in an emergency to get beamed out … even with personal shields, Daniel could imagine many ways that could go very wrong, very quickly.

Daniel nodded. The nerves were really curdling in his belly now. Here he was, an archaeologist and a linguist by training, about to be in a battle, a real battle, not the skirmishes of a sort before. Even the battle on Apophis’ battleship was a far cry from what this attack was going to be. He could put his skills to good use, but Daniel still felt out of place.

Just don’t screw this up.

It was immediately clear when the transport ship began to pierce through Netu’s atmosphere. The series of bumps and jerks and shimmies were quite noticeable compared to the usually smooth ride, but nothing was so bad that Daniel couldn’t keep his feet after the first hard jerk that necessitated Ruarc grabbing his arm to steady him. His friend then showed him a better way to stand, and then he was okay. Ruarc also explained the reason for the bumpy ride: the navigator would have had to dial back the inertial dampeners to make it through the nearly impenetrable atmosphere.

Why exactly that was necessary, he didn’t say.[2]

Sam would know.

Not long after, an announcement came over the Furling version of an intercom/loud-speaker. “Prepare to beam out.”

“Cloaks have no hope of hiding a ship punching through this atmosphere. If there is some sort of lookout system on Netu, we have to move quickly or risk losing the element of surprise,” Ruarc murmured.

A minute passed.

One final warning.

A flash of white engulfed his group.

It was time.

Netu was hell, metaphorically and almost literally, too.

It took only seconds after beaming down to the surface for Daniel to realize how fitting the comparison truly was.

Mountains towed up all around the plain on which they were standing. Fiery rivers of lava crept down the mountain sides and even across the plains, more distantly. The air was choked with haze and fumes that obscured sight-lines, and Daniel knew that he would be struggling for breath without his mask. Here and there, the dark, foreboding landscape was interrupted by towering crags and jagged cracks that rent the landscape.

Hell, indeed.

All you need now is the screaming of the damned …

(They’d probably find that soon enough.)

The soldiers on the outer rings of the formation quickly spread out, securing the immediate area and looking for nearby entrance ways into the caverns below. Three tunnel systems were discovered within minutes. The large group that Daniel was in split evenly into three sections, one taking each passageway. (Other groups beaming down across the planet would be infiltrating other tunnels at the same time.)

The tunnels were roughly hewn and dimly lit with an eerie, reddish glow. The Iprysh and the Dovahkiin, used to such conditions, moved easily in the lead, walking without hesitation, checking and clearing every side-passage as they passed. Hampered by his poorer vision, Daniel struggled to see in the dim light and stumbled several times, Ruarc steadying him each time. Daniel could feel his heart pounding with every step. The tortured moans and screams of the prisoners, now audible, which echoed in and drifted up the tunnel, did not induce calm.

Trial by fire, literally. Daniel thought ironically. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Just stay calm. You’re not under fire … yet. You’ve got two shields … and … a Ruarc.

He had been in pickles before with SG1 and in his time in the Middle East as an archaeologist.

Looters, rebels, and troublemakers were often problems at ancient ruins.

The quiet and easy passage lasted only minutes.

Two burly men, possibly not Jaffa given the lack of forehead tattoos, but probably guards nonetheless, suddenly appeared out of a side tunnel right ahead of the advancing troops. One let out a shout of surprise and turned to make down the main tunnel, while the other advanced toward the Iprysh and Dovahkiin in the front line.

Towards the back of the column, Daniel only got a few quick glimpses as the tunnel descended into chaos. An Iprysh strode forward, standing a head above his fellow soldiers, and lifted one arm. A bolt of streaking blue fire flew out from some sort of weapon mounted on his arm. His first and second shots, fired in quick succession, missed, hitting the tunnel wall in a spray of stone fragments, but his third shot clipped the man’s leg, and he fell headlong with a cry. At the same time, the other enemy guard, who bore a wooden staff, advanced against the front line, his staff a blur of movement. One blow at least must have connected since Daniel heard one of the Dovahkiin roar in pain—they wore heavy body armor, but not shields because of some complication with their wings—but seconds later, the guard himself went down with a howl of agony that made Daniel’s blood curdle.

Rekdurlaan, the Dovahkiin leader of the combined Dovahkiin and Iprysh strike-force, began to bark out orders. With the weird way the tunnels were distorting sounds, it was hard for Daniel to understand what he was saying, even with the aid of his translator.

Ruarc, who had immediately stepped forward to physically shield Daniel and the other healers, relaxed … somewhat … for the moment. “Most anywhere else, cries like those would instantly reveal our presence, but due to the … surroundings ... Rekdurlaan hopes that our cover … has not been blown.”

The two enemy soldiers were moved into a dead-end passage and carefully restrained with bonds that took account of their injuries. A Dovahkiin healer quickly examined them to ensure that their injuries were not life threatening, and then, leaving two guards with the prisoners, the strike-force moved on.

The cries of the prisoners and the heat grew greater as they descended deeper through the tunnels. Without a breathing mask, the stench of filth and of suffering and death would have probably been almost overpowering. The whole situation reminded Daniel of reading Dante’s Inferno in high school many years earlier. Netu was a place he would not soon forget.

The deeper into the tunnel system of Netu that the Furlings went, the more and more native guards they encountered. For the next two times, the strike-force’s luck held, and they were able to relatively quietly take down any opposition, but on the fourth encounter, one guard escaped.

Rekdurlaan immediately increased their pace.

From the way the guards that they encountered so far had acted, it seemed that the Furling attack had not been discovered yet. That or the news just hasn’t spread widely yet. The winding tunnels would make passing messages slower. Whatever the case, Rekdurlaan wanted to cover as much ground as possible before they were discovered and resistance increased.

The sounds coming up the tunnel increased as the strike-force descended deeper into the bowels of Hell.

A few minutes later, there was the sound of rushing footsteps coming up a side-tunnel.

That tunnel, which had just a moment before been cleared, led straight into the heart of the advancing strike-force.

Daniel and the healers were quickly shoved backwards, and the soldiers turned, weapons coming up and around to defend against whatever was coming.

A few heart-stopping seconds later, a figure almost barreled into the group. It took seconds to realize that this was not another guard, but a prisoner. His garments were tattered. Open sours dotted his skin, and several bloody wounds were staining his already filthy garments red with blood.

Fear lends wings!

For a moment, the prisoner halted, just inside the circle of Ipyrsh and Dovahkiin weapons. His already thin and sickly face blanched pale. He froze like a statue, immobilized by fear, for a split-second. Then he started to back-peddle towards what must have seemed to be the safety of the side- tunnel but only managed to trip over his feet and fall to the ground. He scuttled backwards on hands and feet until he was cowering against the tunnel wall, hands up to protect his face.

The man began to babble at a quick pace, words tumbling one over the other at a frantic pace. Though he only caught one word in three, Daniel still recognized the language he was speaking as relatively similar to Egyptian and Abydonian. “I need to get up there,” he said to Ruarc urgently. “I can understand him."

I hope.

Ruarc pushed his way up through the lines, Daniel moving along in his wake. Rekdurlaan moved to join them. “Can you understand him?” The Commander asked, the harsh sounds of his own language translated by the translator pinned to Daniel’s collar.

“Enough,” replied Daniel. Up close, the prisoner’s babbling emerged as the galactic version of “Please, please, please don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.”

Using a butchered mix of Abydonian and Goa’uld with a few hand gestures for good measure, Daniel quickly calmed the prisoner down, reassuring him that he was safe, would not be killed, and was soon to be freed from his imprisonment. After the first rush of immobilizing terror had passed, the prisoner, who said that his name was Ahmose, a very familiar Egyptian name, was willing to answer questions, though he was still visibly wary of anyone … not Daniel.

Ahmose revealed the reason for the increasing noise coming from not that far down the tunnels. A nearby strike-team had reached one of the main caves—living/gathering areas, for lack of a better word—and had engaged in battle with Na’onak, the Lord of Netu’s … whoever he is … First Prime, and a number of the other guards.

Only this First Prime had a staff weapon, his guards being armed only with wooden staves, but he had the advantage of a good, sheltered position and shown a willingness to shoot anyone—even the prisoners and his own guards—to keep the Furling troops, who wanted to minimize collateral damage at all costs, at bay.

Only one staff weapon … that makes our lives easier.

Happy for collateral damage … oh, wonderful.

Rekdurlaan sent Ahmose with one Ipyrsh as a guard back up the tunnel to where he had left the last pair of guards with the captured enemy guards. Once they were gone, Daniel and the others continued down the tunnel.

The main cave was full of chaos as the Furling troops reached one of its entrances. Weapons blasts filled the air, creating a haze where they had struck the walls, people, and other objects. Daniel could hear shouting in several languages, including Goa’uld, and the screams and moans of injured men. His strike-force immediately split up, some entering the battle and others going off side-tunnels to secure the area to help prevent the Furling troops from being outflanked or attacked from the rear.

The healers, fearless in their duty even when weapons blasts struck their personal shields, entered the battleground, bending low to drag the injured out of the line-of-fire, no matter whether they were members of the Furling army, prisoners, or some of Na’onak’s guards. Daniel, in what he considered to be one of the bravest or dumbest actions of his life, helped, spending some of the most terrifying moments of his life helping to drag bodies, some near dead-weight, out of immediate danger. Most Furling injured were Dovahkiin soldiers stuck down by weapons fire or injured by blunt force trauma, though one Iprysh, not one from Daniel’s group, had had their shield fail. Their armor was blackened and dented in several places, and they were limping, but their armor had somehow held.

Towards the end of that battle—one of many happening simultaneously across Netu—Aaraav, one of two female Dovahkiin healers in Daniel’s group, appeared out of nowhere out of a side tunnel, running towards them without calling out a warning. Only the quick reflexes of Reythvudu’ul, one of the tallest and brawniest of the Dovahkiin soldiers, kept her from receiving a crippling blow to the legs.

Aaraav made straight for Ruarc, rattling off a string of words in her own language. There was enough ambient noise that Daniel, only a few paces away, helping another healer tightly bandage a gushing wound, could not understand what she was saying. Ruarc did, his eyes going wide and horrified before careful blankness replaced horror. A minute later, Daniel was finished and bolted over to join them.

“The three missing Tok’ra operatives have both been found in a side chamber along with other prisoners, the suffering left to die before they are raised again,” said Ruarc. “We must go to them.”

Daniel went pale but followed Ruarc and Aaraav and several guards back up the tunnel, leaving the noise of battle to fade behind them. As they threaded their way through the tunnels, Daniel steeled himself for the horrors he was about to see. Prisoners left to suffer and die … it would never be a pretty sight.

(There were three missing Tok’ra: Ar’sif and his host Arvuk, Jarruc and her host Teti, as well as Selmak, whose host had not been named. Less common, but not unheard of during the Furling interactions with the Tok’ra.)

The cavern Aaraav led them to was small, made even smaller by the bars that divided it up into multiple cells. Five of six cells were occupied. The sixth had been occupied, but the man inside was so … visibly dead … that Daniel’s stomach rolled. (He forced his eyes away.) There was nothing healers could do for him … without a sarcophagus, and that was a length the Furlings refused to go to.

There was a mix of prisoners and healers in the other five cells. Of the maybe dozen or so living prisoners, some were probably not long for this world, given the way the healers were muttering. The largest of the cells, which also was getting the most attention, had three prisoners inside: two men and one woman … the missing Tok’ra.

One of the Tok’ra, a younger man, was dead, and a Dovahkiin healer was gently straightening his limbs as Daniel approached. Selmak, whose host was an older, grizzled man who looked like he might be vaguely familiar, was conscious, though obviously weak, and speaking quietly with the healers next to him. Teti was stubbornly clinging to life, another healer who waved Daniel forward said, though her symbiote had already died, and she herself had little time left.

Teti, whose darker skin and dark hair would have marked her of probably Middle Eastern descent on earth and who would not have looked at all out of place on Abydos, was half-conscious when Daniel knelt by her side but not totally lucid. Her hand, which Daniel took, was blazing hot, and mumbled words in her own tongue spilled half-formed from her lips. He was thankful that so many worlds conquered by the Goa’uld spoke some form of ancient Egyptian or a near-derivative.

“Am I dreaming? Are you really there?” Teti asked finally, dragging her eyes open. Who knew what phantoms formed by the fever had come to her when her symbiote was too weak to heal her any longer?

“This is real,” Daniel replied, struggling to keep his voice level.

“I’m alone,” Teti whispered, forcing words across her cracked lips.

Considering that Teti had not been blinded and there was enough light in the dim room for her to see him, Daniel assumed she was referring to her symbiote’s death. “Just for a little while,” he replied, glancing across at Ruarc, who had knelt on Teti’s other side. “You’ll be with her again soon.”

If there’s any mercy and actually something after this life … The Furlings believed there was, at least. Daniel wasn’t always so sure.

Teti’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment before she could summon the strength to open them again. “Who are you?”

“The Tok’ra High Council requested our help. We are the Furlings,” said Ruarc through Daniel. “The reign of the System Lords is fast ending, and you will be avenged. Rest now.”

Teti gave a half-smile, saying, every word growing fainter, “I would … have … liked to see … the sun once…” Her eyes fell shut, and her chest stilled.

Ruarc touched her head gently in a final benediction. “Find peace, brave one. May you find swift passage across the Sea of Night.”

The rest of Daniel’s time on Netu—the rest of that day and the next two days—passed like a blur. The literal maze of tunnels beneath Netu’s surface took much longer to secure than regular cities of the same size. Na’onak, the mysterious masked First Prime of Bynarr, was killed in the shoot-out in the cave and was later revealed to be Apophis, the late ‘great’ System Lord.

Shocked to hear of the First Prime’s real identity, Daniel was pleased both to hear of Apophis’ death and to know that his host’s suffering was finally at an end. Bynarr, the ‘Lord’ of Netu who served only at Sokar’s pleasure, was captured trying to escape to Delmak via a hidden set of rings in his quarters. Bynarr was a disgusting man whose presence made Daniel’s skin crawl even after only a few moments in his general vicinity.

On the afternoon of the eighth day after the beginning of the campaign against Sokar, who had been killed during the capture of Delmak, Daniel returned to the Valhalla. The attacks on Necropolis and Memphis had been successful, if much lengthier, than the sieges of Netu and Delmak. After eating a few bites of lunch, an exhausted Daniel, subdued by his experiences on Netu, joined Sujanha in her office. Even before returning to her flagship and even more while onboard, he had heard many … rumors … stories … floating about concerning the “monsters” different groups had encountered while capturing those two other worlds and about the tombs of ancient Goa’uld found on the Necropolis. There were even rumors floating around that, maybe, some Tok’ra had been rescued from eternal imprisonment there, as well.

(There would be time enough to ask Sujanha about that later, if she didn’t end up just telling him now, anyway. He was too tired to want to hear too much more about war and sieges. He wanted to sleep in a real bed, and everything would, hopefully, be some better in the morning.)

“I am glad to see you return,” said Sujanha in greeting as he entered, visibly checking for any injuries.

“It’s good to be back,” Daniel replied, sinking into his usual chair with a tired groan.

“Ruarc tells me you performed well under fire and were of great service as a translator.”

“I only wish I could have done more,” said Daniel softly, thinking of Teti.

“You did all that was in your power to do. The dead are in the Maker’s care now. The bodies of the Tok’ra will be returned to their people, and we will see that all others are accorded the honor of a proper burial.”

There was silence for several minutes, and then Daniel asked, “Does it get any easier?”

Sujanha cocked her head. “Does what get any easier? Being in battle? Being at a death-bed? Or some other matter?”

“The first two.”

“In some ways, yes, and in others, no,” Sujanha replied slowly and thoughtfully, weighing her words. “Over time, a soldier becomes more accustomed to battle. He learns through painful experience how not to panic under fire, how not to let his feelings control him when a comrade falls, how to keep fighting when he is cold and tired and hungry. Yet, he still should not be unaffected by either battle or death. If he feels nothing when his enemy falls or his comrade dies, he has been in battle too long and must find a new occupation immediately.”

She paused for a moment and then continued. “The Jaffa of Sokar who perished, they were our enemy, yes, but they are also the misguided slaves of a corrupt master, many of whom know no other path besides service and slavery and torment, save, perhaps, for death, though the sarcophagi prevent even death from being an assured escape. The Jaffa are not animals that we should rejoice at their deaths. They are living beings as we are with spirits like ours. They have families and ambitions and hopes, just as we do. Many among them will die as the Goa’uld fall and this galaxy is freed, but we should pity them, not rejoice at their demise.”

“How do you all do it?” Daniel asked. “Keep fighting after thousands of years of war, after so many of your own people have already died. How do you do it? Why do you keep fighting?”

“How do we do it?” Replied Sujanha, with a sad and weary shake of her head. “I am afraid that I can say nothing profound. It is with difficulty that we do so many days, but we go on because we must. What else could we do? To give into despair, hopelessness, or even apathy, and stop fighting would render as naught the sacrifices of all who came before, would dishonor the memories of the countless soldiers who have made the ultimate sacrifice. We fight because it is our duty, because our work in this world is not yet done.”

“One of our wise men once said, ‘It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succor of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule.’[3] By our carelessness in setting up our stashes in the Milky-Way or our negligence in failing to return for our technology or some other factor, the Goa’uld rose to power primarily on the basis of our technology. They have enslaved millions, killed millions more, and committed atrocities that cry out for vengeance. It is our duty to ‘uproot’ their evil and make right an ancient wrong. Then we may enjoy the peace we have won for ourselves at a great cost, and those in your galaxy may determine their own fates.”

[1] Details on Memphis and the Necropolis are taken from Stargate SG1: Living Gods.

[2] Inspired by https://archiveofourown.info/works/6211903/chapters/14465911.

[3] Quote by Tolkien.

Chapter Text

The conquest of Sokar’s territory was much more complicated and time-consuming than the quick sweep through Apophis’ territory, unsurprisingly. Sokar had controlled much more territory than Apophis had by the end, and his territory was not fragmented either, with underlings squabbling for power. Even with Sokar killed in mid-Ea, his fanatically loyal underlings put up a concerted and devious defense of his lands, making the Furlings fight for every planet they captured.

From the first attacks on Delmak, Netu, Memphis, and the Necropolis in what would have been late April on earth, it took just over six (Furlings) weeks for the Furlings to be fully satisfied that they had captured all Goa’uld-controlled worlds within Sokar’s territory and hunted down and captured any and all of his underlings. Though Sokar’s ‘empire’ was not massive by Goa’uld standards, many of his strongholds were well-hidden with twists, turns, and secret chambers that all had to be cleared, lengthening the time it took to capture most worlds.

Finally, Sokar’s empire fell, and the Furlings found themselves in control of the territory that had once belonged to both Sokar and Apophis. Heru’ur, the son of Ra and Hathor, was picked as the next target since he was seeking to take advantage of the chaos caused by the attacks of the Furlings and expand his territory. Daniel, however, was not present for almost the entire campaign, because just days into it, he got his first taste of Furling diseases.

11^th of Xuxiq, 6545 A.S.
Uslisgas, Asteria

It was around the 7^th hour when Daniel’s alarm woke him from a fitful sleep, and he knew, from the moment his eyes opened and awareness of his body hit him, that he was sick. His guess from the previous night that he was coming down with something had, unfortunately, proved correct. It would, somehow, be the first time he had gotten sick in the almost year he had been with the Furlings. He would have been happy to make it two years … or more.

The heaviness in his chest. The bone-deep ache in his limbs. The pounding headache behind his eyes, like he had spent too many hours trying to decipher the worst handwriting in the most obscure Egyptian text imaginable. Something Demotic would do it. The inability for his body to decide if he were burning hot or freezing cold … although it was fall and a very pleasant temperature both inside and out.

Yep, I’m sick.

Daniel threw back the covers with a grimace, resisting the urge to pull them back over his head and curl up in a ball. A wave of dizziness hit him as soon as he was upright, and then a coughing fit spasmed through his lungs, making him do his dead-level best to cough up, at least, one lung.

Definitely sick.

It was the worst possible time for him to be sick. He and Sujanha were only supposed to be on Uslisgas for two days at most. The campaign against Heru’ur was kicking into gear, and there was work to be done. He didn’t have time to be sick.

(It was like those sicknesses that struck right around finals.)

Sickness, however, had a mind of its own.

Don’t tell me Asteria has its own version of the flu?!

Slowly, his head throbbing and spinning the more he moved, Daniel rose from bed and forced himself to dress for the day. Even if, in the end, he got his wish to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over his head, and sleep the day away until he felt better, he still needed to get up and do Sujanha the courtesy of telling her he was (A) out of commission and, therefore, (B) good for nothing at Headquarters.

Sujanha was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, mug in hand, gazing out the living room window into the garden, adorned with fall colors, when Daniel made it off the steps. He kept a steadying hand on the stair rail.

Dizziness, fever, cough, and headache.

World’s worst case of the flu or something.

Came on all of a sudden, though.

She looked up and visibly frowned, eyes going wide and ears going back at his appearance and unsteady steps. She scanned him over from head to toe and then back up again and frowned harder. “You do not look well at all.”

It was probably the understatement of the century.

“I don’t feel well at all,” Daniel said dryly as Sujanha retreated into the kitchen long enough to set her mug down and then returned.

“I was concerned last night, but I am not that surprised,” she replied. “Mid to late fall is around the time the cold-weather illnesses start to circulate, and ships make for easy spread, especially with tired crews. What symptoms do you feel?”

Lucky me.

There was a list by now, and Daniel rattled them off. “Pounding headache, cough, sort of heaviness or tightness in my chest,” and I don’t have asthma, “fever—I can’t decide if I’m hot or cold—and dizziness.”

The laundry list.

Sujanha’s eyes widened and then narrowed in quick succession. She motioned him forward. “Come here.”

Daniel hesitated. “I don’t want to give you whatever I’ve had.” The last thing we need is for you to get sick. Considering her health was more fragile, he had no idea even how badly a seasonal illness could strike her.

The look he got in response was equal parts fond and chiding. “Come here,” she repeated. “If my guess is correct as to what you have, I have probably had about every variation imaginable, considering before the last forty years, I used to get it more than once a year for the fifty years before that.” Yikes! “And besides, my health may be fragile compared to others of the Gætir, but I’m not that sickly. What is strong enough to make you ill is not necessarily strong enough to make even me sick.”

And I’m guessing what would make you or, especially, your brother or Ragnar or Ruarc sick would put me even more down for the count?

Daniel did what he was told and came across the hallway until they were an arm’s length apart. Sujanha reached out and gently pressed the pad of her left paw to his forehead, carefully keeping the claws out of the way. The pads of her paw were rough but blessedly cool, as for the moment he was back to feeling like a blazing furnace.

“You feel like a furnace,” Sujanha said after only a moment, her choice of words eerily matching his own thoughts, drawing her paw away. “Come sit down before you fall down.”

Daniel took a seat at the kitchen table and let Sujanha bring him a cup of tea and a slice of bread. He wasn’t hungry, though he didn’t feel sick, not in that way, but he knew he needed to keep up his strength. “Any chance I can just go to bed and sleep this off?” He asked.

“None,” Sujanha said, shaking her head. She retook her mug and leaned against the counter a few feet away. “Unless I am much mistaken, you have what we call ‘Fever’s Touch,’ and as badly as you feel now, you will feel worse.”

Worse …

Oh, joy!

Daniel groaned. “Oh, joy.” It was a slightly strange expression in English, somewhat stranger in Furling, but the sheer sarcasm of his words carried over fine.

That got him a sympathetic look. “From how quickly your symptoms have appeared, I fear you have a worse case than some, and you will be quite miserable for a time. Do not fear. You will be well in the end. Go pack yourself a bag, and I will take you to the Healer’s Halls before I go to headquarters.”

Tiredly and slowly, Daniel returned to his room and packed a bag with some spare clothes and his current notebook, fighting off a wave of dizziness as he worked. “Why do I have to go to the hospital … the healers?” Daniel asked, fumbling his words, once he returned downstairs.

“Aside from the fact that you have never had an Asterian disease before and that you already are quite sick?” Sujanha asked dryly, taking his bag from him and hooking it over her good shoulder, “It is not safe for you to remain here alone. With some, fevers can go high enough to cause dark visions, and some have coughing spells bad enough to break bones.”

Hallucinations … wonderful.

Break a rib coughing … not an experience I’ve ever had. Can definitely do without that … ever.

“Oh,” was all Daniel could say to that. He focused his attention on keeping his eyes open and himself steady on his feet. All he wanted to do at the moment was crawl back under the covers of his own bed and sleep for a week, assuming that he didn’t feel too horrible to even sleep. That was sometimes an unfortunate fact of life: being too tired or too miserably sick to sleep.

I hate those days.

Sujanha input a set of coordinates on her gauntlets, different from the set for Headquarters, and seconds later the two were beamed away. The Healers’ Halls—the Furling equivalent to a hospital—was a sprawling complex on the outskirts of the lower town, though there were smaller ‘clinics’ as well as beaming locations from which one could reach the main facility located within the city itself. Where exactly within those halls, Sujanha had beamed them, too, Daniel had no idea. He had never been to the Healers’ Halls before and was feeling too tired and miserable to try to study the area too much.

Scholarly-brain had to take a backseat today.

Sujanha’s arrival drew a lot of attention from the healers in the room they had beamed into, and Daniel was quickly handed over to the care of the healers. She bid him farewell, hoping that he would feel better soon, and then the two parted ways. Daniel looked back as he was wheeled away on a high-tech wheelchair, and the last glimpse he saw of Sujanha, for the moment, was her disappearing in a flash of light, a pensive, worried frown settled deep on her face.

As the days passed, it became even clearer and clearer to Daniel why exactly the bug he had contracted was called “Fever’s Touch” by the Furlings. The illness, which seemed to be some horrible mutant combination of a high fever, the flu, pneumonia and maybe bronchitis simultaneously, was completely and utterly misery-inducing. Not even on Abydos had he ever felt this sick. Daniel did not think that he had felt this awful either since he was a graduate student, who did not do a good job of taking care of himself, or since some of his first digs in the Middle East when he was first getting used to working/living conditions there.

His fever spikes came in waves, and though some spikes were high enough to get his doctors rather concerned and make Daniel feel like he was in the Sahara or had been dumped in the Antarctic without survival gear, there were, thankfully, no hallucinations. Daniel had never been sick enough for hallucinations, and that was an experience he would be glad to never, ever have. Seeing things, hearing things, not knowing what was real and what was not, that was beyond disturbing.

He ended up breaking a rib and cracking another by the time the first week was out.

That made even breathing painful.

Ragnar and Ruarc, Asik and Jaax, as well as Sujanha, all came to check on him at the hospital before they returned to the Milky-Way and the Valhalla two days after his admittance. It was nice to have people to worry about him, check on him, ask how he was feeling. Sujanha seemed especially concerned and especially sympathetic, occasionally telling a story or two about one of her bouts with the same illness. She, it seemed, had had bouts that made even Daniel’s sound light.

It got lonely once they left.

Not that Daniel had no visitors, but ‘doctors,’ ‘nurses,’ and volunteers were different from his friends.

By the time the second week was out, Daniel was still sick, and his cracked rib had turned into a second broken rib. ‘Fever’s Touch’ was a nasty virus. There were no magic medicines that the healers could give him to make him feel better quickly. This was a virus, not an infection. All the Furling healers could do was treat his symptoms, keep him as comfortable as possible, and let him ride it out.

Ragnar and Ruarc appeared occasionally in his room at completely random intervals, sometimes for such a brief time, that if their visits happened at night, he sometimes wondered if he were simply having a vivid dream. Their visits seemed to coincide with breaks between battles when Sujanha could get away with sending her bodyguards to slow boat messages back to Uslisgas, instead of just transmitting it through a Stargate or via long-range transmitters off the Valhalla. Quite concerned for his health, they were completely unwilling to tell him more than the most basic details concerning the ongoing campaign against Heru’ur, and even that much sometimes had to be coaxed out of them.

Rest.

Rest.

(The pallidness and glassiness of his features from the long illness and the high fever and his persistent wracking cough did not exactly help make his friends worry less.)

All I do is rest.

Rest, rest, and more rest.

Daniel was tired from his illness, exhausted from trying to cough up his lungs on a daily basis, and still completely sick and tired of being sick and tired when he was awake, unable to sleep easily however much he wanted to. Sometimes he felt well enough to be bored stiff briefly, but if he tried to shift to get comfortable to write or read, the motions often sent him into a coughing fit or sent his persistent headache flaring back into full, nauseating force.

Being sick and tired was infuriating.

He didn’t like being stuck in bed.

There were people fighting … and dying … his friends and acquaintances among the Furlings … his friends back at the SGC … to try to bring down the Goa’uld, and here he was … stuck in a hospital bed. When he felt well enough to care, Daniel hated it.

Sujanha appeared from time to time, too, though even less frequently than Ragnar and Ruarc. She had an entire fleet to command and multiple galaxies to protect. Her time for checking on a sick aid was quite limited, but Daniel was touched that she made the effort. Her level of concern for her subordinates generally, not just Daniel or her bodyguards or other aids in particular, the little people without whom an army or a fleet could not function, made it clear why her people would follow her, as the saying on earth went, to hell and back.

As bad as he was feeling some days, Daniel was not so out of it that he didn’t notice that Sujanha always seemed on edge during those visits. As many times as she said that she had had Fever’s Touch and with her long illness after being poisoned during the war, he could only imagine that she had spent so much time in the hospital as to have a pathological hatred of them.

Two weeks turned into three weeks, and then three weeks turned into four.

By the end of the fourth week, Daniel was mostly recovered, though still very low on stamina. He was not strong enough to return to the Valhalla, but he could finally go home and sleep in his own bed.

That was a plus he would most definitely take for the moment.

Getting to go back on duty would come soon enough.

Daniel would end up being sidelined on Uslisgas for another two long weeks before being allowed to return to duty. There were only so many books he could read and so many hours of recording observations and scrawling notes in his notebooks he could spend before his still-returning strength gave out or he got a pounding headache.

One wonderful thing did happen during those two further weeks: a solution for Shifu and his genetic memory was finally settled on. His son was almost a year old and growing like a weed, but ever since his birth, his identity as a Harcesis had always been hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles. What did it really mean for a human child to bear the entire genetic memory of the Goa’uld? That was a question that had always troubled Daniel. Obviously, it was a heavy and dangerous burden.

Were those memories accessible to a host or only to a symbiote? If the former, how early?

Were they accessible like other memories, or did someone have to go digging mentally for them? Like with the Tok’ra and their memory retrieval tech…

Was his little boy doomed to become a galactic megalomaniac with delusions of divinity?

Was Daniel going to watch his son’s behavior change as he grew?

It would seem rather risky to have the memories easily accessible by the Harcesis alone. They could have delusions of divinity and try to set themselves up as a god. They could reveal secrets that the Goa’uld did not want revealed. Perhaps, if they were tormented by those memories—given what Daniel had seen with his own eyes of the evilness and cruelty of the Goa’uld, who knew what more dark secrets were lurking in their genetic memory—might there even be a risk of the Harcesis being driven to madness or even suicide?

Those were horrible thoughts to contemplate in general, more horrible when this was his son. This was Sha’re’s son.

Furling healers had long been busy trying to devise a safe method of dealing with those genetic memories in Shifu and any other Harcesis or one similarly plagued who might be encountered before the war was over. Memories were a tricky thing to deal with and a risky one to mess with, especially in children, but given the unknowns, there was a risk in waiting and a risk in not-waiting.

(There were quiet murmurs that such a device for suppressing memories might find use among the most tormented of the survivors of the Great War, as well.)

While the Furlings themselves had little experience with such things, many of their allies did. Nem’s people, the Ohnes, had psychic abilities and memory manipulation technology … as Daniel well remembered. The Tok’ra had a memory recall device, though whether it could be used to permanently suppress memories, Daniel did not know. Given the need to transfer their memories from one cloned body to another, the Asgard obviously has experience with dealing with memory. The Azhuth—the bear-sized tigers, who were just as intelligent as any human or humanoid race—were telepathic, which just made them more intimidating!

Between those four allies, the Furlings had been certain that some solution for suppressing genetic memories could be devised.

The effort took months. It took the Ohnes and the Tok’ra collaborating to create an entirely new piece of technology for this purpose, with some assistance from the Asgard and Azhuth with pinpointing and isolating specific memories to be dealt with. This new … thing … of theirs was related to the memory recall device of the Tok’ra and the mind machine that Nem had used, but much different, much more advanced … and less nightmare inducing in its application.

It was rigorously tested and proven to be safe to be used on children, even very young children. What had happened to those other children to need such help … Daniel did not want to know, was afraid to know.

Daniel did not fully understand how it worked despite the lengthy explanations, but it did work.

The healers said it was best to carry out the procedure sooner rather than later. No one knew how soon the Goa’uld genetic memory might rear its ugly head, how soon his son might change.

It did work.

It did work.

Shifu was free, his genetic memories that made him Harcesis permanently blocked.

He was free.

21st of Xeux, 6545 A.S.
(~April 26, 1999)
The Valhalla, Avalon

After being sidelined on Uslisgas for six (Furling) weeks, Daniel returned to the Valhalla at the tail end of the campaign against Heru’ur. The major battles had already been waged and won, though not without heavy losses during some, and only clean-up and consolidation were left to do.

Two days after Daniel’s return from sick-leave, one of the odder incidents of his time with the Furlings occurred. It was early afternoon, about an hour after Daniel had come back from lunch. He was sitting in Sujanha’s office reading a book on the history of the late-great Alliance, keeping her company while she plowed through a day’s worth of paperwork and fresh reports from their allies. He was much recovered after being sick, but after being so sick for so-long, his strength had not fully returned, and Sujanha was purposefully giving him as little to do each day as she thought she could get away with before … Daniel got annoyed at being coddled.

At least I didn’t have to wait the usual weeks and weeks and weeks for my ribs to heal. Once he had recovered enough to not run a severe risk of rebreaking an artificially healed rib by attempting to cough up his lungs multiple times a day, a healer had used a Furling healing device—the modern version of a thirty-thousand-year out-of-date Goa’uld healing device—to speed the healing process in his two broken ribs.

There were footsteps in the outer office, and then knuckles drummed on the frame of the open doorway. Mekoxe, an indecipherable, pinched look on his face, was standing there. Sujanha looked up, and from the momentary look of relief on her face, she seemed relieved to have an excuse for a break. As dedicated to efficiency as the Furlings were, a dislike of paperwork still seemed to be a universal constant among generals.

“The Asgard vessel Glaðsheimr just dropped out of hyperspace,” the ship’s communications officer said. “Commander Adair is asking for permission to beam over.”

Adair … that’s a Furling name. There was a pattern to Furling names. Most masculine names ended in -ir, -ar, -arr, or the like, while many feminine names ended in -ra. He could be an Asgard, though. There were Furlings with Asgardian names, so why not vice versa?

Sujanha went rigid with alarm, and if she had been human—given the look in her eyes—she would probably have been blanching sickly white, too. Daniel had gotten reasonably good at reading the looks in her eyes during his time with the Furlings. Her black eyes went wide in some combination of shock and fear, before anger quickly replaced shock.

“What is that fool boy doing here?” She growled, a rumbling, angry sound that made the hairs on the back of Daniel’s neck stand on end. “He knows the orders.” Her anger usually ran cold, but whatever specifics Daniel was missing made this an exception.

Oh, boy!

Mekoxe did not respond, his face now a calm mask, but simply waited, giving Sujanha a moment to draw her temper back under control. Sujanha closed her eyes and pressed her paws together, forcing herself back under control. After a few moments, she spoke again. Her voice was frigid. “Send him down, please.”

“Of course, commander.” Mekoxe bowed and withdrew. A second later, Daniel heard the telltale sounds of a beam out.

Sujanha rose and turned to Daniel. “Why don’t you take your book and find someplace else to sit for a time?” Her statement was phrased as a request but was clearly an order. “It is still close enough to the midday-meal hour that you might find Ragnar and Ruarc in the food hall.”

Daniel was certainly going to go look for them and ask them about this mystery with this … Commander Adair. Ruarc was always happy to explain things if they weren’t private and not reticent, when necessary, to politely tell him to mind his own business.

Daniel closed his book, got up, and stretched. “Sure,” he said carefully. “Do you want me to come back after a certain time, or wait until you call?”

“I’ll call for you when I need you. Until then, your time is your own.”

Nodding, Daniel bowed perfunctorily and then left the office, passing a Furling—a Maskilim built like a Jaguar but with strange white-grey fur and very pale blue eyes … Is albinism a thing among Furlings?—who must have been the hapless Commander Adair.

Why is there a Furling in the Asgardian military?

There are some Asgard commanders under Sujanha, so why not the reverse … I guess?

Sujanha had guessed correctly, and as Daniel entered the mess hall, he instantly spied Ragnar and Ruarc, sitting at a corner table that gave them a good view of the entire room. Ruarc had finished eating and was sipping on a mug of tea. Ragnar, who must have arrived later, was alternating plowing his way through a plate of meat and Furling potatoes and telling some story to his brother, complete with wild paw gestures. They both paused and greeted Daniel cheerfully as he slid into a seat across from them.

“Is there any reason why an Asgard commander named Adair is in big trouble with the Commander just for showing up?” Daniel asked once Ragnar had finished his story.

Ruarc, who had just taken a big gulp of tea, went bug-eyed and choked on his tea. “The Prince is here?” He spluttered, coughing.

Prince?

“This will be interesting,” said Ragnar with greatly exaggerated mock-cheerfulness as he pounded his brother on the back until he stopped trying to hack up a lung. “Cover your ears.”

Uh … okay?

Is Sujanha going to be blistering his ears or something?

Daniel looked back and forth between the two brothers, more and more confused. That a Furling prince was an Asgard commander was unusual, but what about his presence here was so surprising? He was unfamiliar with the family tree of the Imperial House that there being others of the same general generation as Sujanha and Anarr was not surprising.

Ruarc explained in a hoarse voice, “Adair is the Crown Prince of the Furlings. The commanders are his cousins. Commander Thor has standing orders from the Asgard High Council not to send Adair to the same region where the Supreme Commanders are during war time. That is for the same reason that Sujanha and Anarr may not be part of the same attack and, even outside of battle, only remain on the same ship for the briefest of times and only in Furling-controlled space. It would be a disaster if all three were injured or killed at the same time.”

I remember that rule from the first strike against Sokar?

Ooohhhhh, so this is the Crown Prince. I’d never heard his name before.

Sujanha rarely talked about her family. Aside from her brother, Daniel had only ever heard her briefly mention her brother’s children. From a comment that Ruarc had made before the attack on Netu months earlier, it was clear that much of her family had passed during the Great War. The Furling Imperial House was more like royals from a long, long time ago on earth. Lead by example, and lead from the front. That didn’t aid survivability in wartime, though it inspired loyalty.

“How is the commander related to the Crown Prince precisely?” Daniel asked.

“Her father Atar was the much younger brother of the late king, Andórr, which makes the commanders the cousins of the current king, Ívarr, and cousins of his son Adair,” Ragnar explained.

“The Commanders are second and third in line. If they all perished,” Ruarc continued, “the line of succession would fall to Anarr’s son, Lord Ansurr. It would have fallen to Odin, Anarr’s eldest, but he died during the war.”

Yea, he was her aide.

He was poisoned at the same time she was.

“And Ansurr is only …,” Ruarc paused and tilted his head, thinking, “34 or 35. I don’t remember when in the year is his birthday. Most Furling sub-species, including the Maskilim, do not come of age until 250 years.”

Does the Crown Prince not have children then?

And why is Sujanha in front of Ansurr?

So Ansurr was quite underage. No one wanted a child of that age to be forced to rule long before his time. “Oh! So … Commander is in front of Commander Anarr’s son … not behind? Does the Crown Prince have no children then?”

Ruarc nodded. “The line of succession falls by age irrespective of blood-closeness to the reigning High King or Queen. If Commander Anarr had been born before Prince Adair, he would have been Crown Prince instead. Thus, the commanders are second and third, with Lord Ansurr following them, and the Crown Prince married fifteen years ago, and his son follows Lord Ansurr. Following them both is Commander Anarr’s daughter, who is only … seven, I think. Midgard is different?”

Only six in the line of succession, and half kids?

Yikes. That’s risky.

The Furling method was odd, compared to what Daniel was used to from modern and ancient monarchies on earth, but he supposed their way made sense. It made little logical sense to have an underage kid like Ansurr or the Crown Prince’s son ruling, who would both need regents, when an adult like Sujanha was available to take the throne.

“Quite,” Daniel replied. “There are several different methods of succession on earth. In most monarchies, they follow absolute primogeniture, where the first-born child succeeds regardless of gender, or male-preference primogeniture, where sons succeed first even if born later and then daughters,” Daniel replied. “Is the Crown Prince going to be in big trouble? What’s her full title?”

Ruarc had to think a minute before he answered, “Her Imperial Highness, Supreme Commander Sujanha Staðfastur. As to the prince, it depends on why he violated standing orders. She’ll be as worried about his safety as she is angry about the orders.”

Daniel absorbed this and then asked, “What does Staðfastur mean?” The word sounded Scandinavian, which meant it might be Asgard. Daniel had never been that good at the Scandinavian languages. He had also never heard either Supreme Commander addressed with a family name or a house name (like Windsor), so Staðfastur was more likely an epithet.

“The Steadfast,” Ragnar answered before his brother could, “Sujanha the Steadfast. It is the title that the Asgard gave her towards the end of the Great War.”

It seemed like a very fitting epithet for all Daniel knew of her.

Chapter Text

Xuxiq, 6545 A.S.
Ardea, Asteria

Late one-night, Sha're awoke from a deep sleep, the last wisps of a pleasant dream of Abydos—of home with her family, with Dan'yel and Skaara and their father, of sand and safety, of freedom before the demon came—fading from her mind. Without opening her eyes more than a crack, the young woman rolled over, pulling the bed coverings up to her chin to keep off the chill in the air. A long moment passed before the enormity of her actions sunk in, and when it did, Sha're came to her senses with a start and sat up.

She had awoken.

She had fussed with the bed coverings.

She had sat up.

Not the demon.

Not Amaunet.

Not her captor.

Sha're herself had done those things.

With her heart pounding in her throat, Sha're looked around her prison chamber as she struggled to stay calm. Her cell was the same as it had been when the demon had taken them to bed hours before: the same illusions that made her chamber look like her father's tent on Abydos, illusions that both soothed and increased her homesickness. Sha're rubbed her fingertips across her night-dress, feeling and reveling in the roughness of home-spun fabric on her fingertips, a simple action with simple sensations that she had never valued so highly until she had lost control of her own body to the demon that was her captor. Sha're could feel the demon's horrible presence at the back of her mind, a slimy sensation like fruit gone bad, a sensation that made her skin crawl.

The demon slept … but just for now.

Sha're did not know how long her reprieve would last.

Sha're pushed back the covers on her bed and rose to her feet. Goosebumps sprang up on her arms within moments. The room was unusually chilly, but for the moment, Sha're didn't care. She could feel. She could feel. After appropriating one of the smaller coverlets on the bed as a makeshift shawl, she padded across the room to her cell's doorway. Her captors had given her a small time-piece like Dan'yel's watch, though different, and they taught her how to tell time. She knew one of her guards would come by her cells on her rounds very soon.

Sha're had four female guards who took turns guarding her cell. Each guard was present two days out of every week. They made their rounds every half-hour during the day and every two hours at night, though one was always nearby and always came when Amaunet shouted and raged. The Furlings had treated her well for all the months and months she had been confined in their keeping after her Dan'yel had taken her from Abydos to keep her safe and after she had given birth to Shifu.

The Furlings had treated her well, ignoring Amaunet's raging imprecations and violent fits of temper. They never treated her harshly in return, no matter how badly Amaunet acted. Sha're was always spoken to with kindness, and sometimes her guards brought her those favorite foods that she liked best. Dan'yel must have told them what I like. Her guards even gave her simple things to read to help pass the time. Amaunet occasionally deigned to read them when the boredom became too overpowering.

Sha're was kept separate from the Jaffa prisoner and the other Goa'uld prisoners—for her safety, they emphasized—but Sha're did not lack for human contact. Dan'yel came as frequently as he could. Her guards spoke to her, and there were others who came, figures with strange faces like great creatures who looked at her with pity and spoke to her with kindness.

Sha're wondered how her son was faring, where he was now, how big he was. Dan'yel came by often to see her, but in her cruelty and pettiness now that her power had been taken away, the demon let her have a glimpse of her husband and then locked her away in their mind until Dan'yel had departed. Sha're longed for news of her family, news of her son, and wondered whether Skaara was here, as well, or what his fate was.

Clutching her make-shift shawl tightly to her shoulders, Sha're waited at her cell door just inside the energy barrier—it was like the shield on the demon's kara kesh and kept her inside, though it did not hurt her to touch it—that blocked her from exiting her cell unless it was lowered. Not long after, she heard footsteps, and her guard, S'Manatek, appeared around the corner. A tall, thin human, with dark grey hair and eyes, she was one of the Boii, or so she had said. What the significance of that designation was, Sha're did not know.

S'Manatek stopped dead as she came around the corner, surprised to see Sha're by her cell's entrance, especially that late at night when she usually slept. She touched her collar and then asked in somewhat stilted English, "Are you in need of anything, Amaunet?"

"May I have some water, please?" Sha're asked quietly. The demon had been in a dark mood that day and had eaten and drunk little at the evening meal. Sha're felt quite thirsty as a result.

S'Manatek's surprise only increased, if the look on her face was anything to go by, when Sha're, not Amaunet, answered. The demon, unlike some among the System Lords, never used the host's voice. "Sha're?" The guard asked cautiously, approaching a few steps further on silent feet. Most of the guards spoke to Sha're in English, though a few only addressed her in Goa'uld.

"Yes," Sha're replied with a hesitant smile at the kind guard. "I awoke, but the demon sleeps … for a time."

S'Manatek just looked at her for another long moment, her face cycling through a range of emotions. "There are small mercies in the darkest of times. I will return in a moment."

The guard went back the way she had come, but within only a minute or two, she returned carrying a pitcher of water in one hand and a blanket draped across the other arm. She put both items on a small platform just outside the cell-door, and then in a flash of light, they appeared inside Sha're's cell. It was a casual use of technology that even the Goa'uld could not do.

False gods!

"I am sorry for the chill in the air," S'Manatek said, as Sha're wrapped the blanket, warm as if it had been lying in the sun, around her shoulders and then poured herself a cup of water. "There have been problems with the ventilation system because of recent weather. It should be fixed soon."

Sha're nodded, her attention focused on the cup of cool water. Water had always been precious on Abydos, a desert world, but she had never appreciated such simple pleasures so much before. "Do you know of my Dan'yel?" She asked, after she had slowly downed two cups. "Of my son?"

S'Manatek stared at Sha're for a long moment, her face puzzled and uncomprehending. "I do not understand," she said. "Daniel Jackson comes often to see you. I thought … the hosts knew what occurs even when not in control."

Sha're eased herself down to the floor and tucked her feet underneath herself. "I usually do," she replied softly, "but my demon is cruel. She hurts me, but still I fight, so when my Dan'yel comes and tells me about my child, she locks me away so I cannot see or hear."

It was one of the cruelest punishments her demon could inflict.

Far worse than the pain originally used to keep her compliant.

S'Manatek's expressive face twisted with horror. "I know little," she replied, "but I will tell what I know."

After making a few strange motions with her hands, she moved back to lean against the wall across from Sha're's cell and began to speak. S'Manatek did not have a gift for storytelling but had a clear voice and a direct and simple manner of speech. She spoke of Dan'yel and her boy from what she had overheard in Dan'yel's conversations with Sha're, of the great commander and hunter who helped lead the fight against the demons in a far distant land, of the progress of the war and the demons who had fallen (Sha're was sure that her demon would be pleased to hear of the enemies of her pharaoh who had perished), and of many other things as well.

As S'Manatek came towards the end of her brief tale, Sha're felt the demon begin to stir in the back of their mind. Something must have shown in her face for S'Manatek abruptly fell silent, before speaking a few final words, "One day you will be free. We swear it on our honor."

Sha're was calm.

When she had awoken, the thought of the demon taking back control had frightened her, but now she had hope, more than she had had before, after hearing of the downfall of the demons.

Her family and her people would be safe.

Her demon could hurt no one else any longer.

One day, she believed that she would be free again, and until that day came, she could wait with hope and peace in her heart.

Chapter Text

29th of Xeux, 6545 A.S.
(c. May 5, 1999)
Valhalla, Avalon

During Daniel's long illness and convalescence on Uslisgas after having contracted "Fever's Touch" early in the 7th month, his frequent visits to Ardea to visit his wife and to Abydos to visit their son had, unfortunately, been curtailed. In the midst of long campaigns, his visits to them had already become unfortunately sporadic, work tying him up off-world for days or weeks at a time. A long leave and a long stay on Uslisgas, at any other time, would have been prime time to go visit his family, just not when he was as sick as the proverbial dog, however. (Trying to explain that idiom to Sujanha later had been much too hilarious for his aching, still-healing rib cage.) As much as he always wanted to see them—Shifu was over a year old now and growing so quickly—for weeks he had been bedridden, but even after he was released from the Healers' Hall (the Furling version of a hospital), doing normal stuff at home had sapped a lot of strength. Then, almost as soon as he had gotten cleared to return to work … duty called.

With those events keeping him from Ardea, Daniel did not know about what had gone on with Sha're and her guard only weeks after he had fallen ill.[1]

No idea … that was, not until a strange message arrived on the Valhalla for Daniel during the clean-up phase at the end of the campaign against Heru'ur.

Daniel was still recovering somewhat from his long illness. His strength had mostly returned, though he still could tire a little more quickly sometimes, but as long as he was careful, he was fine. Sujanha had stopped sending him worried looks every time he coughed, which was another plus. Her concern was touching. He just didn't like being a constant worry. Being human also didn't mean he was about to break just because he coughed. With almost any respiratory bug that Daniel had ever had in his life, the cough almost always hung around the longest of any symptom.

It was mid-morning when the message appeared on his tablet. There was a note from Mekoxe attached, saying that the message, encrypted simply for privacy, had just come in with a larger data package from Uslisgas. The time stamp for the original message, however, was about three Furling-weeks old, which was strange.

"That's odd," Daniel murmured aloud, seeing the time-stamp.

How or why did that get so delayed?

Whatever this is …

"What is?" Asked Sujanha, looking up from a report she was reading. With a word of thanks, she took a proffered new mug of tea from Jaax, who had just appeared out of nowhere, seemingly all-knowing, at least, when it came to tea refills, and then sent Daniel a puzzled look.

"Mekoxe just forwarded a message to me that came in with the latest updates from home, and the time-stamp is like three weeks ago," Daniel replied, puzzlement clear in his tone. The Furlings were almost efficiency incarnated. It was almost unheard of for a message to get delayed this badly.

"It's rare to have messages that delayed," Sujanha said, echoing his thoughts. "It does happen from time to time. And with your illness … routing may have gotten … confused."

The message was from a person whose name he did not recognize, which was also strange. "I suppose," Daniel replied with a shrug, tapping on the message to open it.

The message was gut-punching.

Short.

Gut-punching.

Heart-breaking.

The header identified the sender as S'Manatek, a Boii guard at Ardea, the main Furling prison world in Asteria where the captured System Lords and other Goa'uld were being held. In consultation with the Tok'ra, the Furlings were still determining the safest method of extracting the symbiotes with the highest chance of success and the least risk to the hosts.

What S'Manatek had to say was wonderful, horrifying, and gut-punching all at the same time. Sha're had regained control of her body for a short time, Amaunet's control slipping while she slept. (This had occurred two nights before the message was sent.) And Daniel, he hadn't been with her when it happened. He had hardly seen her at all recently with his illness, had not even been able to see Shifu much. (Spreading Fever's Touch to Abydos could be an even greater disaster than spreading it to many other planets. A foreign disease on a less-developed world could spread faster than European diseases in the new world. It would be an utter disaster, possibly even with Furling intervention to help.)

He hadn't been there.

He had missed the chance to be with her.

(That the encounter had happened in the middle of the night seemed to him, at that moment, beside the point.)

And not only that …

All of his visits to talk to her, tell her about Shifu?

They had all been for utterly nothing.

Amaunet had kept Sha're from hearing a single, solitary word.

Daniel read the message once and then a second time and then a third time. He could hardly believe his eyes. A well of grief and anger rose in his chest, and he must have made some noise of shock because, as he looked up, Sujanha was gazing at him intently, concern clear in her face.

He reread the message again. And then, for one of the first times since he had come to Asteria, Daniel utterly lost his temper in an explosive burst, slamming his tablet down onto the table and throwing his own mug of tea without care to what direction it went. Then he burst into tears and buried his face in his hands.

Sujanha, who had risen, realizing something was badly wrong, and had started to come around her desk, somewhat awkwardly dodged the thrown mug, a remnant of reflexes and agility dulled by years of declining health. At the crash of a shattering mug, Jaax appeared in the doorway, and if Daniel had looked over his shoulder, he would have seen him, weapon in hand, with his free hand hovering over his gauntlet, ready to activate the comm or emergency beacon and call for help. (It was probably a good thing Ragnar and Ruarc were out at the moment.)

"Commander! Are you injured?" Asked Jaax urgently, his tone penetrating through the fog in Daniel's mind. "I heard a crash."

"No harm, Jaax," Sujanha said, easing herself awkwardly and painfully down to kneel by Daniel's chair. "Daniel has received some bad news and reacted accordingly. Leave for us now. One of us can clean the mess up later."

I'll do it.

I'll do it.

I made it.

"As you say," Jaax replied and retreated, his footsteps fading until there was the slight squeak of him sitting down at his desk.

A paw was placed on Daniel's shoulder, and Sujanha squeezed gently. (Her strength was faded compared to most of her kind because of the Enemy's poison, but her strength was still greater than a human, and she could easily hurt Daniel, especially with her claws, if she was not careful.) For several minutes Daniel wept, the weight of Sujanha's paw on his shoulder and then the brush of her other paw (shaking slightly) across his head grounding him.

Finally, once his tears had slowed, Sujanha spoke gently in a tone that seemed half like a commander and half like a mother. "No more weeping. It will do neither of you any good. You must be strong. What is happening to Sha're,"—she must have seen on the screen—"is out of your control. You could have done nothing to prevent this. All will be made right in the end, and once she is freed, she will have all the time she needs to heal and be with you and your son."

Her tone more than her words helped Daniel calm, and after another minute, he straightened and roughly dried his eyes on the cuff of his sleeve. "I'm sorry," he said, sheepishly glancing at the shattered remains of his mug on the floor and the pool of spilled tea.

"All is forgiven. In circumstances such as these, you can be forgiven a display of temper, which is mild compared to some I have seen in all my years," Sujanha replied, with an effort levering herself to her feet with a groan. She pushed aside a stack and perched on the edge of the desk, instead of returning to her chair. "I glanced at the message for any clue as to what ill had befallen you, though I read only the first few sentences. The wickedness of the Goa'uld will be their ruin at the end. Sha're will be free one day."

"Not soon enough. Their work is taking forever," Daniel blurted out the words.

If Sujanha was bothered by his words, she did not show it. "Some matters cannot be rushed if one wishes for the highest chance of a favorable outcome. With the aid of the Tok'ra, our scholars and our healers are working as fast as possible with the information that they have. They have no wish to repeat the mistakes of other methods of extracting symbiotes."

Daniel shuddered, remembering the conversation so many months ago about the potential pitfalls of using Thor's Hammer or beaming technology to free Goa'uld hosts. One time, maybe twice, you might get away with it, but statistically, the odds of something going wrong built up the longer you went.

He didn't want Sha're getting her neck broken or her brain carved open by Goa'uld fangs or parts of her brain beamed out with the symbiote.

"I know, I know," he muttered, "It's … I …"

I want her to be safe.

I want to be with her again.

I want her to be able to hold our son.

Sujanha squeezed his shoulder, "The waiting is merciless." She said simply. "For now, she is as physically safe as possible, and Amaunet can harm no one else,"—no one but Sha're—"And soon she will be free, and then in time she can heal."

Soon by whose standards? The thought was snide, and he felt guilty a moment later. They're trying their best, I know.

Being a Goa'uld host. Watching your body commit nightmarish atrocities, being a prisoner in your body as you were puppet-ed into doing things you would never want or thinking of doing in your wildest dreams.

Is that something you can heal from?

(He would be with her every step of the way … whatever the outcome, and he could only hope.)

You're being maudlin.

"You are excused from your duties for the rest of the day," Sujanha said gently. (Everything she was doing and saying right now was gently done or said.) "Unless you would prefer to stay on duty?"

Daniel shook his head. Distractions were helpful, but he doubted he had the concentration or focus to do any work for her, and he would not risk messing something up to try. "I'll go write or read a book or something."

Or something.

He had a feeling that he might end up reading the same page repeatedly or just staring at a page, either of a book or his journal.

Some days, it would have been nice to never have gotten out of bed in the first place.

It was days before the shock of the message about Sha're started to wear off for Daniel.

It was even longer before that message stopped giving his subconscious fertile new ideas for nightmares.

The clean-up phase following the end of the campaign against Heru'ur ended, and a slight lull ensued between campaigns. Three weeks of comparative quiet ensued, giving the Furlings valuable time to resupply, let their troops rest, effect any necessary repairs for ships or equipment, and continue gathering intelligence towards future campaigns.

Throughout these weeks—throughout the period since its discovery months earlier, really—the work on the Azrea, the Ancient warship, which Sigurd's fleet had discovered buried beneath the sands of Saqqara, continued. By this point, the ship had been fully repaired, and a new crew was in the process of being trained to use the Ancient technology specifically. The Azrea was extremely large—about half-again as large as a Furling flagship like the Valhalla—and required a decent size crew during normal operations.

(There were mentions of automated systems, but the Furlings seemed to want a normal crew, regardless.)

(They had and used automated systems but much less than the Asgard, who could run an entire mothership autonomously, and never without a crew in the vicinity.)

(That was worth a question for Ruarc or Sujanha at some point, especially given the advancement of their AI-like system that was used like an auto-pilot on ships and to help Sujanha run the house.)

Scientists from across the Empire and from the Asgard were making slow but steady progress on replicating the Ancient drones from information from the ship's computers. Their work was further aided by two lone drones found in the weapons' bay that had somehow lain undiscovered all these years. Unopenable, thick bulkheads had kept the Goa'uld from searching the entire ship.

Daniel, out of curiosity one evening, made the mistake of asking Nizul, the Dovahkiin Chief Engineer aboard the Valhalla what kind of power source the Ancients used to power their warships. The Goa'uld, he knew, used naquadah. The Asgard and the Furlings used neutrino-ion generators, but Daniel did not remember ever hearing what the Ancients used.

The resulting conversation lasted for well over an hour, and by the end Daniel was totally lost, the conversation having quickly spiraled into concepts and terminology that he had no clue about and that he thought would have stumped even Sam. Whatever the Ancients used normally—not naquadah and not neutrino-ion generators—Nizul's explanation, made especially difficult because of the translator matrix, went right over Daniel's head.

The problem of translating technical terms between languages sometimes.

I understand the words he's saying. I just don't have a clue what they mean … without something to even attempt to compare them too in English technical speak.

What Daniel did understand was that Ancient ships were powered by the use of a potentium, a one-to-two-foot tall, cylindrical orange crystal. These potentia were long-lasting power sources that could last for thousands of years if not under heavy loads (like aerial bombardments?) but were extremely hard to make because reasons. Potentia had also been the main power-source for Ancient city ships, a topic Daniel definitely wanted to know more about.

If one of those potentium was needed to power the Azrea, Daniel wondered how the Furlings were going to make one or find one. Ruarc, who had joined the dinner-time conversation half-way through, simply replied that the Furlings had an extremely limited supply of them. What qualifies as "extremely limited," I wonder? They were used, Daniel learned, to power the primary shields onboard Furling flagships and to power "last-ditch defenses" on Uslisgas and one other world.

That explained why Sujanha always had secondary shields raised on the Valhalla during battles, never the primary shields. Daniel had been wondering about that for months. Overkill, I guess, to use the primary shields against the Goa'uld. Ruarc also explained later that most of the potentia that the Furlings had in their possession were … old and, therefore, not at anywhere near full power in the case of a few. These potentia had seen considerable use during the Great War, and it was prudent to conserve their power as much as possible for future conflicts where their great power might be needed to combat a foe much mower powerful than the Goa'uld could dream of being. Ruarc seemed to allude to a foe possibly even greater than the Replicating Ones or the Great Enemy themselves. I'm not sure I want to know who could be worse than them.

(It would be several years in the future, but Daniel would learn.)

The fundamental problem that the Furlings were facing was extracting the ship from beneath the sand dunes of Saqqara. With the ship buried in the ground beneath the Goa'uld pyramid, there was no good way to remove the ship without risking damage to or destruction of the pyramid and all the knowledge it contained. When Daniel asked why the Furlings did not just beam the Azrea out from the ground, Ruarc replied that the ship was not buried that deeply in the earth and neither the geologists nor the engineers were sure that the remaining ground between the ship and the pyramid could support the weight of the pyramid if a cavern suddenly opened beneath it.

And no one wanted the pyramid with all its knowledge collapsing into the earth into a rubble pile. The library contained the "sum total of the collected knowledge of the Goa'uld," or so the captured "librarians" had said.

It could be like losing the Library of Alexandria all over again!

Even the thought made Daniel cringe with horror.

It was very unlikely that the "sum total of the collected knowledge of the Goa'uld" contained endless variations of "I conquered this planet" and "I committed this atrocity." Who knows what knowledge might be found there, some of it probably helpful?

The current plan, if no other sensible one could be thought of soon, was to empty the pyramid with its subterranean caverns of its storehouse of knowledge, beam the pyramid away to a safe distance (where its tablets would then be restored), and let the Azrea punch its way out of its cavernous prison.

22nd of Vysad, 6545 A.S.
(June 8, 1999)
Valhalla, Avalon

The comm on Daniel's gauntlet activated moments after he stepped out of his quarters onboard the Valhalla. It was around midday, and for the moment, he was off duty. The previous day had been extremely busy, much more so than usual, and Jaax was filling in for him for the morning, and Daniel would rejoin them after lunch. As it was just past the 12th hour, it was high-time for lunch. Hearing the chirp of his comm, Daniel paused on his way down the hallway and waved his hand across his gauntlet to accept the call, and a heartbeat later, a small hologram of Jaax appeared, hovering above his arm.

"What's the matter?" Daniel asked, surprised to be called while he was off duty.

"All is well," Jaax replied, his echoing, rasping breathing still apparent over the comm. As a Nafshi, he did not have to wear a breathing mask constantly, unlike full-blooded Etrairs, but he wore it more often than not. "The Commander is currently in a meeting with High Commander Algar, but a Tok'ra operative has just been beamed aboard to the bridge. The Commander wishes for you to meet him. If his news is urgent, bring him to her. If not, she can see him in about an hour. Please make sure that all his needs are met during the waiting period, if necessary."

"Of course." Daniel replied. "I'll head there right away."

Jaax nodded, and his hologram flickered out.

A Tok'ra operative.

I wonder who it will be.

The thought passed across Daniel's mind as he started making his way toward the bridge. The Valhalla had been in orbit around Ausonia, a Furling supply world for several days. When the Tok'ra needed to get in touch with the Furling High Command, they usually sent word to Ushuotis, and the garrison there would then send them to the nearest world to where Algar or Sujanha's ships were docked.

The bridge was quiet, with only a low hum of activity, as Daniel stepped inside. Mekoxe was at his usual station towards the back of the room. He glanced up as Daniel entered and gave a nod and a smile of greeting. Rusa, the Lapith navigator, was at her station by Sujanha's command chair. As the most senior bridge crew present, she was in nominal control of the ship during that shift, not that there's much for the bridge crew to do right now. Sat'a, the Ipyrsh weapon's officer, was absent, his skills unneeded while the ship was in orbit around a friendly world.

An older gentleman, dressed in the tan uniform of the Tok'ra, stood, looking out the holographic view screen at the planet below, his back to the rest of the room. His hair was salt-and-pepper, and something about his build seemed familiar from the mission to Netu. Was this Selmak, the only one of three Tok'ra operatives who had survived their imprisonment on Sokar's hellish prison world?

No one ever said what his host's name was.

"Sir?" Daniel said, approaching the operative and stopping a few feet away. He spoke in English. All the Tok'ra operatives who had been sent so far spoke English.

And something about his host seems familiar.

The Tok'ra turned, revealing a somewhat familiar face. It was Selmak, looking much healthier than the last time Daniel had seen him. The older man gave a nod of greeting.

"I am Daniel Jackson, aid to Supreme Commander Sujanha. I was also with the force that captured Netu some months ago."

Selmak (or the host) smiled. "I know who you are." It was the host who spoke.

"Then I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage," Daniel replied. "We know the name of your symbiote, but we were never told the name of the host."

A slightly exasperated look crossed the man's face for a split second. "Jacob Carter … formerly of earth."

I was about to say that name sounded earth-y.

Carter … he looks familiar … What are the chances?

Daniel blinked in surprise and then grinned. "You aren't, by any chance, related to Sam Carter, are you?"

"Her father."

What are the chances?

And how on earth did that happen?

"You match the description my daughter gave of you reasonably well, too," Jacob Carter added after a moment.

Daniel chuckled. He had changed somewhat since he had left earth. His hair was cropped much shorter, especially. Longer hair was a pain when he was in a hurry, and few of the human men around Asteria wore their hair long, either, not that it was frowned upon to keep it long. 's just inconvenient. He had transitioned from wearing his BDU-style garments that he had gotten at Rho's shop after he first came to Uslisgas to wearing the typical Furling tunic, trousers, and heavy jacket (which was full of pockets of a variety of sizes). It always amazed Daniel to see how much stuff both Ragnar and Ruarc could fit in the pockets without visible signs.

How recently has he been on earth? Could he have recent news about his friends?

"I'm sure you'd like news from earth. If I have some time after I speak with the Commander, if she can see me, that is, I would be happy to share," offered Jacob.

"The Supreme Commander is actually in a meeting right now with High Commander Algar," Daniel replied, trying to resist the urge to look as happy as he felt as the offer of news and stay professional. "If your news can wait an hour, she can meet with you then. If your news is extremely urgent, I can bring you to her office right now."

Jacob paused for a moment, thinking, brow furrowing. "My news is urgent, but it can wait an hour."

Urgent. What's new? The Tok'ra never brought good news, it seemed.

Helpful, yes. Good, no.

At least, it isn't a drop-everything emergency.

Daniel relaxed a little. "I was about to get some lunch before I was told you had arrived. Would you like some refreshments? We can sit and talk until the Commander can see you."

Jacob gratefully accepted, and the two made their way down to the mess hall. They could have beamed down, but walking gave the other man the chance to see the ship, and with the lifts that ran through the belly of the ship, the walk was not really that long at all. The mess hall was crowded but orderly despite it being prime lunch time. The room was quite large, with a serving counter built into one long wall. There were several lines with platters of food customized for several distinct races. Seeing a server he recognized at the counter, who spoke some English, Daniel directed Jacob into the human line, before himself getting into the Furling line. After over a year among the Furlings and eating what Sujanha commonly ate, he had gotten a taste for their cooking. Daniel emerged from the line a few minutes later and found that Jacob had already found a table in one far corner of the room.

With a sandwich on a plate in front of him, Jacob was seated with his back to the wall—old habits died hard in an operative, Daniel supposed—and looked with wary askance at Daniel's choice of food. The plate of stew Daniel had picked tasted much like curry, just without the great heat, though it still often made his eyes water a little, but whose rice, meat, veggies, and sauce were brightly and somewhat oddly colored.

"It tastes like curry," Daniel said dryly, as he took a seat, "despite the colors."

Jacob still looked skeptical. "Good to know."

I don't remember Sam ever talking about her parents. As far as he knew, her father had never been affiliated with the Stargate Program, either.

Although my information on most things is a year out of date. There's only so much news I can get from Bra'tac.

"How did you get involved with the SGC?" Daniel asked once they both had had time to eat a little.

"Short version: I was dying of cancer, and Selmak gave me a second chance."

Ooof.

"Wow!" was Daniel's only reply. After many interactions with the Tok'ra operatives and discussions about the Tok'ra with Sujanha and the other Furlings, he had slowly progressed beyond his near-pathological hatred toward the Goa'uld. He was slowly growing more comfortable around hosts and symbiotes alike, even genuinely liking some of the operatives who rotated through the Valhalla, bringing intelligence to Sujanha.

I'm still not sure I would have made the same choice if I were him.

"How are they doing?" There was only one they Daniel would be asking about: SG1. "I get some news from Bra'tac but never enough."

And I've not talked with him for a while. Being sick as a dog for a while had not helped anything.

Jacob's information and number of stories was somewhat limited since his contact with earth had been limited since he had been Tokra-fied—oh, ****, I'm turning into Jack. No, he'd probably have something more colorful to say—but all the news he had, Jacob gladly told with the occasional input from Selmak.

Some of his news was first hand, but other bits, Sam had told him on his occasional visits to the SGC. Jacob proved himself a decent story teller, and several times Daniel found himself laughing hysterically at the crazy antics the SGC had gotten itself into during his absence. Other times, he was almost goggling in horror.

Jacob told of the SGC's nearly disastrous encounter with a black-hole and the death of SG-10; of Jack's meeting with an Ancient database and his meeting with the Asgard, a story Daniel had actually already heard on one of his visits to Othala with Sujanha; of the battle against the Reetou in the SGC and Jack's fondness for the second Charlie (remembering what Jack had been like on the first mission, which had come so soon after the real Charlie's death, Daniel's heart broke for his friend).

Daniel's stomach gave a lurch when Jacob recounted the cliff-notes' version of SG1's disappearance and capture by Hathor and of Hathor's final demise. Good riddance. He still remembered in vague, shadowy images her takeover of the SGC; how she had used him; and how she had escaped. His stomach gave another lurch, and he put down his spoon and took a drink of tea, thankful for its stomach-soothing properties.

There were some horrors, some nightmare-inducing events too awful to contemplate that he preferred to never see the light of day again, to stay buried for all eternity.

"Good riddance!" Daniel murmured, as Jacob finished the Hathor-saga. He hoped he didn't look as pale and shaken as he felt.

Jacob agreed, eyes shadowed. "Hathor's a nasty piece of work. We lost a good operative during Hathor's demise, but it was a small price to pay to get rid of her for good."

The Tok'ra host continued, telling of earth's new involvement with the Protected Planets' Treaty—a fact Daniel had already heard from Thor via Sujanha—but then wound his stories to a close. Jacob and Selmak had been on multiple assignments since Netu, and he had not been at the SGC or seen SG1 for some time.

"Sam told me about your wife," Jacob continued later, once the two had finished eating. "What happened to her, it's …" He broke off, with a shake of his head, anger clear on his face. "Have you made any progress in finding her? Sam said that was one of your main reasons for rejoining the SGC."

Daniel hesitated for a moment, thinking about what was safe to tell Jacob. He had a feeling there were some details—Shifu, mainly, and his status as Harcesis, a status that trustworthy and tight-lipped Bra'tac had explained to him—that he should keep quiet about even with the Tok'ra until he had a chance to double-check with Sujanha.

Shifu, thirteen months now by earth measurements, was the sweetest and most adorable baby ever, in Daniel's … totally unbiased … view, and took after Sha're greatly. Free from the genetic memory of the Goa'uld, he was safe on Abydos with Kasuf. "She's safe. She's held back in the Furling's home galaxy until they can determine a safe way to extract the symbiote."

Jacob opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Daniel's comm chiming. Jaax's hologram appeared over his left arm a second later.

"The Lady can see you now," his fellow aide said in Furling, before his hologram vanished as soon as he had finished speaking.

Jacob raised an eyebrow, a question in his eyes.

"The Commander's ready for us." The summons saved Daniel from figuring out how to dance through any further conversation on that topic.

The two men turned their food dishes in to be cleaned and reused and then made their way back up-deck to Sujanha's office. Jaax was sitting in the outer-office and waved them on through. Sujanha was not alone in her office as the two men entered. Algar, his meeting concluded, still remained, sitting in the chair closest to her desk. High Commander Algar was a Kushik, a Furling-Dovahkiin hybrid, with impressively large wings that were draped over the back of the chair and swept the floor behind him and striking red-gold scales. He and others like him were one main reason Sujanha always had, at least, one low-backed chair easily accessible.

More Dovahkiin than Furling visibly. Those features are all Dovahkiin.

If I had wings, I wouldn't want them pinned against a chair.

They really do look like dragons. The more time Daniel spent around the Dovahkiin, the more he wondered if there was the slightest possibility that they had ever been on earth and kick-started the legends about dragons. Dragons or dragon-like creatures appeared in the mythologies of so many major cultures across earth and from very early on, too, especially in the east, though no scholars could agree on how the myth of the dragons originated.

The Furlings have been crisscrossing galaxies for who-knows-how-many years, and the Dovahkiin are supposed to be maybe just as advanced.

The Stargate et al. has already explained a few unexplainable things on earth. Why not this?

Daniel had wondered vaguely in the same vein whether the legends about werewolves could be laid at the fear of the canine Sukkim, but he had quickly discounted that as unlikely. References to werewolves in earth literature were much, much later than anything about dragons (5th century BC and later, instead of pre-cities in Sumer), and the Furlings had only been on earth much, much, much earlier … tens-of-thousands of years earlier. It was not impossible that some thread could have been passed down, though.

Both Commanders looked up as Daniel knocked perfunctorily on the door frame and then entered, Jacob a step behind him. Neither rose. Sujanha met Daniel's eye, and her eyes smiled a greeting.

"Commander," Daniel made introductions, knowing that Sujanha only knew of Jacob-Selmak from Tok'ra briefings and, unlike Daniel himself, had never met him, "This is Selmak and his host Jacob Carter of the Tok'ra."

Sujanha gave a sharp nod of greeting. "I am pleased to see you well," she said, "after the horrors of Netu, and I am pleased to meet you, as well, though as usual, I am sure we would both prefer the circumstances to be different. Sit." She waved them to a seat. Daniel, who had been sitting for most of the morning, moved around to lean against the wall, instead, and opened his tablet to his note-taking screen. "This is Algar, my chief High Commander."

Jacob took a seat and then bowed his head, letting Selmak come forward. "I bring greetings from the Tok'ra High Council, Commander, and thanks for the latest intelligence briefs and supplies that you sent us."

"We were pleased to be of assistance. We greatly value our alliance with the Tok'ra," replied Sujanha politely, "but tell me: why have you come? What news do you bring?"

"I am afraid the news that I bring is of grave concern," the symbiote continued. "Your recent successes against Sokar and Heru'ur have caused great consternation among the remaining System Lords. Even the great fleets and armies of Sokar and Heru'ur have not slowed your advance, and they are concerned for their own survival and that of their power."

Slowed, yes … somewhat.

Hasn't changed the end result would be a little more accurate.

"Such news is unsurprising," Sujanha said slowly, seemingly puzzled. "Tyrants are always concerned for their preservation of their own power and dominion."

"As you say, but to that end, recent intelligence from one of our operatives planted deep within Cronus' court has indicated that Nirrti, Cronus, and Selket have just brokered a truce and formed an alliance against you."

Daniel winced internally at Nirrti's name. He would never forget what she had done to Hanka, to Cassandra and her people. She was as mad as the hatter or just an obscenely messed-up type of evil. Human experimentation was a special type of evil.

Selmak bowed his head, and Jacob came forward, continuing the explanation, saying, "Two or three months ago, Nirrti had a major fall from grace and disappeared from the galactic scene, but now she's reappeared at Cronus' court. Cronus is a heavy hitter, one of the most powerful and influential of the remaining System Lords. He has a large fleet of ships and a massive army of Jaffa. He's cruel but calculating, smart. He's willing to go to any lengths to win and harshly punishes his troops when they fail." He paused for a moment, possibly speaking with his symbiote from the faraway look in his eyes. "Nirrti and Selket are the wildcards, however, very dangerous wildcards."

Sujanha glanced across at Daniel, who had been diligently making notes. "Have you encountered these Goa'uld before?" She asked.

"Not personally," Daniel replied. "I've heard of Cronus, but not Selket … aside from Egyptian mythology. However, we—the SGC and SG1—have seen the aftereffects of one of Nirrti's rampages, though. She has a penchant for biological weaponry. She wiped out one of her planets with a … sickness … some engineered virus … plague … thing. One of our SG teams was killed, and only one child from the whole planet survived and only because Nirrti implanted her with a naquadah bomb to try to blow up earth, instead."

"Biological weaponry … and human experimentation," Selmak added, returning for a moment. "For millennia, Nirrti has sought to create better hosts."

Sujanha flinched, though Daniel wondered if anyone beside him and Algar would have noticed. The Furlings had spent millennia fighting an enemy, one of whose main weaponry was of the biological variety, who had conducted 'human' experimentation on captured Furling and allied soldiers to increase the effectiveness of their biological weaponry. Those events had left widespread scars across the Empire.

"Another enemy with a talent for diseases and poisons," Algar noted in Furling, almost spitting out the words, "that will pose a great danger to morale among our men."

Sujanha nodded, seeming almost slightly shaken, though she shot her lieutenant a sharp look. For what, not speaking English? I guess it is a little rude, though they are careful of what they say about the Enemy and the War. Her voice was level when she spoke again, noting, "Personal shields are useless against contaminants in air or water." She paused and then added as an aside for Jacob-Selmak's sake, "Our last enemy in our galaxy used biological weapons to great effect against us and our allies."

"Nirrti's arrogant and too smart for her own good. There always a chance she'll become too big of a thorn in Cronus' side, and he'll get rid of her, alliance or no," continued Jacob, slipping seamlessly back into the conversation.

If she becomes more of a threat than a possible help …

Good riddance if it happens. Save us the danger of dealing with her.

"How old is this news?" Sujanha asked.

"A few days."

Sujanha nodded. "Continue. We can consider what must be done in a few minutes, but first tell me of Selket."

Selmak retook control. "In terms of domain and overall power, Selket is a minor Goa'uld and not a System Lord. Her power comes from her fearsome, infamous reputation as Lord of the Ashrak. The Ashrak are her private army of trained hunters and assassins, whom she contracts out to the System Lords from time to time. They are highly skilled and capable of surviving in enemy territory for long periods without detection. They can easily switch hosts repeatedly to avoid detection, and some carry cloaks."

Daniel went pale, remembering the Ashrak that had killed Jolinar, nearly killed Sam, and tried to kill him. "One managed to infiltrate the SGC by impersonating one of our soldiers," he interjected quickly. "He killed several before Teal'c managed to stop him."

"The problem of their cloaking devices is comparatively easy to handle. We have technology that can disable cloaks," said Algar, speaking this time in English. Unlike the full-blooded Dovahkiin, the Kushik could speak English. "The switching of hosts will be a greater problem. We have human contingents within our army … and within the fleet, for that matter." Anyone who infiltrated the ground troops could reach the ships, too. Of course. Just have to join a group beaming up. "If an Ashrak hidden among the population of a planet we captured took one of our troops as a host, the intelligence he could gather could be devastating, notwithstanding the lives lost."

The language barrier is a protective measure, but if a Goa'uld took one of ours as a host, that barrier would be gone.

"Or on scouting missions," Sujanha added, "which could already be an issue. We do not actively check any soldiers returning from battle or other missions. There are simply too many."

In a lot of cases, it wouldn't be a risk.

What had happened to Kawalsky had almost been a fluke. A tragedy, but a very unusual set of circumstances, nonetheless.

Most of the species who regularly served with the army and the fleet could be hosts to Goa'uld symbiotes, or so the healers said. (Only Furlings and several half-bloods had as yet joined the ranks of the Tok'ra.) Asterian humans were subject to the same dangers from the symbiotes as Jack, Daniel, Sam or anyone from the SGC or the Milky-Way in general: they could be taken as hosts and repressed, while the symbiote mimicked them in public. Unlike the Asgard, however, whose physiology rejected the presence of symbiotes like with that host of Ra's from the tunnel paintings on Abydos, the Furlings could become hosts but were mentally and physically advanced enough to, in the case of an unwilling possession, fight for control of the body. The fight could be, in the end, unsuccessful, but it would give the new host enough time to get out a warning and be taken into custody.

"…Their presence could cause us great difficulties," Algar was saying, Daniel suddenly realized.

Pay attention!

"But not insurmountable ones with this warning," Sujanha finished. It was simultaneously amusing and weird how the two could finish each other's sentences sometimes. Well, they have been working together for hundreds of years at least. "And for that warning, we owe you great thanks."

Selmak nodded. "We are pleased to be of assistance."

Sujanha turned to Daniel. "Dr. Jackson, please tell Jaax to summon Oskar and Nizul and Mus to me as soon as they can find replacements to cover their stations, and then go to the bridge. Tell Mekoxe to send word to Elder Brother. I need to see him as quickly as he can come. Also have word sent to Saqqara: I need Avar, the head of the Azrea project, here as soon as possible, as well." She was always more formal when others were around.

Daniel straightened. "Of course, Commander."

Daniel stepped out into the outer office, leaving the meeting with Jacob-Selmak to continue. Jaax was sitting at his desk, flipping through several holographic screens of reports, but looked up immediately at the sound of the door.

"The Commander needs to speak with Oskar, Nizul, and Mus as soon as they can get up here," said Daniel, inserting a note of hesitation on Mus' name, whom he didn't recognize or at least didn't remember.

"Of course, I will comm them immediately," Jaax replied. "Mus Voreck is the Chief Healer onboard this vessel." He added quickly at the end.

The bridge was comparatively quiet as the door slid open and Daniel stepped inside some minutes later. Rusa was gone now, but Sat'a was there now. Mekoxe was absent, too. Out the front viewscreen was a stunning view of hyperspace, which surprised Daniel. He hadn't even realized that they had jumped into hyperspace.

"Where's Mekoxe?"

"Here," the looked-for man replied, appearing out of a side room that Daniel hadn't even realized existed. "What do you need?"

"The Commander needs word sent to Supreme Commander Anarr. She needs to speak with him, and the faster he arrives here, the better. She also needs to speak with Avar, the head of the Azrea project, as soon as possible."

Mekoxe blinked and then grimaced. (There was never a good reason for Sujanha to see multiple high-ranking commanders ASAP.) "Of course." He moved across to his station and started doing … something … quickly.

The meeting with Selmak stretched long into the night. In response to his sister's urgent summons, Anarr had appeared within the hour, and Avar not long afterwards. An impromptu council of war congregated in a conference room near Sujanha's office, as the commanders, engineers, healers, along with several others began to plan how to deal with the threat from the Ashrak and Nirrti's experiments. More people joined the meeting as the hours dragged on, some with familiar faces but mostly unknown to Daniel. By the time Sujanha sent Daniel and several of the other humans to rest around the 3rd hour early the morning after Selmak's arrival, Daniel had learned more about the biology of the Furlings and their allied races as well as about various types of sensor technology than he had learned in all his time with the Furlings up until then.

(He could have handled never knowing some of the more graphic details about how such-and-such a poison could have such-and-such effects on these species and how to compensate militarily for the potential for such attacks.)

Daniel collapsed into bed just past the 3rd hour and didn't manage to drag himself out of bed for over nine hours. Somehow, the same meeting was actually still ongoing when he returned to the conference room after snagging a quick breakfast. Only some of the participants had changed. (Daniel could only hope someone had talked Sujanha into resting, even briefly. He rather doubted it, though, knowing her. It was not like any of them could order her into doing anything, and her relationship with her brother was too … off (the most politic way of putting it) … for him to do any good in that regard.) He and Jaax traded places, so Jaax could get some rest. Daniel spent the rest of the day going back and forth between her office and that conference room, dealing with reports, passing messages, or just dozing when there was nothing to do for a little while.

The warning from the Tok'ra came just in the nick of time. The Furlings had a few days to brainstorm and start adapting technology to combat the new threat before the first Goa'uld attacks began. Daniel was slightly amazed by how quickly the usually slow-moving Furlings could act when needs must. Their long-lifespan made them used to being able to do things on a longer time-schedule. Fighting the Goa'uld, however, had taught them the meaning of haste.[2]

Four days after Jacob-Selmak brought the warning to Sujanha of the Goa'uld alliance against the Furling Empire, a cloaked Ashrak slipped through the Stargate onto Delmak, Sokar's former homeworld. His timing was fortuitous … for him, not the Furlings. A slight gap during a changing of the guard prevented the ripples in the event horizon from giving his presence away. The Ashrak escaped detection for several hours, long enough to plant multiple explosive devices before the Furling guards detected him. He went down fighting, managing to detonate his devices before he was killed.

The damage he inflicted was mostly on infrastructure, and the loss of life among the garrison was comparatively small, only 10 killed with about a dozen more injured. (Getting buried under tons of rubble … there was only so much a personal shield could do in some cases.) Supreme Commander Anarr was understandably furious that the Ashrak had managed to slip through the Stargate at all, that the guards had not noticed the Stargate activating or the cloaked assassin slipped through.

A Goa'uld homeworld is probably not high on the list for random/accidental dial-ins. Especially not Delmak. Especially not any world belonging to Sokar once upon a time.

It could have been a lot worse, though. The Furlings rarely kept their personal shields activated unless they sensed immediate danger. The Ashrak could have started trying to pick off people and see how many he could get before he was discovered. The body count could have been much higher than 10.

That mistake isn't going to be made again. The Furlings would learn from the mistakes on Delmak, but if the Ashrak had gotten off a message before he was killed, the Goa'uld might learn, as well.

The very next day, better news came, though. Better in some senses, that was. A second Ashrak had attempted to infiltrate Soma-Kesh, a former shipyard belonging to Heru'ur. His presence was immediately noticed by the Iprysh guards as he came through the Stargate, though he managed to escape from the immediate vicinity of the Stargate before his cloak was disabled. In the ensuing hunt, which took half the day, three Ipyrsh received minor damage to their armor before the Ashrak was brought down. There were no other casualties and no infrastructure damage. His tactical skill at adapting to the unfamiliar terrain and fighting against foreign troops, highly opposed to the brute force tactics of most Goa'uld and Jaffa, earned the grudging respect of the Iprysh squad commander as well as the garrison commander.

Over the next two weeks, a series of successive attacks were carried out across the galaxy on a number of major and minor worlds once belonging to Apophis, Sokar, and Heru'ur as Cronus and his allies continued to test the Furlings' defenses. Even the lack (so far) of blunt, brute-force, head-on, all-out attacks showed that the Goa'uld could learn and adapt to dealing with a far superior force. The Furlings were still and would remain technologically superior, though numerically inferior, but careful strategies could make up that deficit … if the Goa'uld used their brains and didn't resort to the intergalactic version of "Hulk smash."

A big if … with some.

The Ashrak attacks were not as successful as the System Lords would have wished for, but neither were they entirely unsuccessful.

The advanced warning that the Tok'ra had brought to the Furlings meant that most of the Ashrak were discovered as soon as they passed through the Stargates, betrayed by Furling anti-cloaking devices or the superior senses of the guards (or the sensors of the Ipyrsh). However, on Nekhen as well as several smaller worlds, the Ashrak were successfully able to plant explosives, foul water supplies, set traps, and carry out covert assassinations. Across those worlds, several hundred people were killed or injured, and much confusion was sown. On Nekhen, one Getae scout, who became separated from his patrol, was taken as a host by the Ashrak there, and using his host's knowledge of the patrols and the base, the Ashrak was able to assassinate the base commander before he was discovered. The scout was unfortunately killed in the ensuing fire-fight between the Ashrak and the Furling guards.

Having to watch your hands kill your commander … I wonder if it was a kindness that he died.

(It made Daniel think of Sha're, what she might have been forced to watch Amaunet use her body to do.)

During those covert attacks, the Furlings had not been quiet. Even as the Goa'uld tested their defenses, searching for cracks and weaknesses, the Furlings were learning and adapting to the strategies and tactics of the Ashrak. Simultaneously, the Furling High Command were gathering intelligence from the Tok'ra, the Free Jaffa, and their own scouts to finalize plans for a crippling strike against the combined power of Selket, Nirrti, and Cronus.

Several worlds belonging to Nirrti were going to be involved in the first strike. One in particular was a priority. On seeing the address of one particular world among the list the Tok'ra had sent her, Sujanha had thought that the Stargate address seemed familiar. It was promptly forwarded to Othala to be compared to the lists of planets within the Asgard copy of an Ancient database. What is this database they're talking about? This world had once been under the control of the Ancients and, according to the database, contained an Ancient science laboratory.

Ancient science laboratory plus a Goa'uld with a fondness for science experiments and biological warfare?

That sounds like a recipe for utter disaster if I've ever heard one. Many of Nirrti's planets could wait for a second strife. It was vital, however, that this one world, whose name was unknown, not remain under Goa'uld control, especially Nirrti's control, any longer.

Selket herself controlled only a handful of worlds, so the intelligence from the Tok'ra and Free Jaffa indicated, aside from her heavily guarded homeworld of Lira-ke. This planet had escaped attack by rival Goa'uld in the past because of her reputation and because of the Ashrak and hidden dangers that safeguarded it. Both Sujanha and Anarr had reservations about attacking a planet guarded by "treacherous traps and cloaked hunters, who would have the advantage of fighting on familiar ground," as Anarr had put it one afternoon, but Sujanha felt that making Lira-ke a priority would send a strong message that even such protections were futile. The planned attack on Lira-ke was going to necessitate calling up several large, elite strike-force units within the Furling Army.

Cronus' territory was going to face the hardest attack, as his troops and ships were the backbone of this new alliance. Six of his main worlds were on the attack list, including Lekanos, a desolate but still important world that supplied food to Cronus' Jaffa; Kalydon, a vital training ground; Delos, one of his homeworlds; and Tartarus, a barren, hellish planet full of labyrinths and sprawling tunnel complex in which Cronus held his most dangerous prisoners, including (legends said) his son Zeus, a former System Lord. The Imperial Guard, in which Ragnar and Ruarc had once served, had been called up to assist in the dangerous mission of capturing Tartarus.

Three weeks exactly after Selmak's warnings had come, the combined might of the Furling fleet and army moved against the Goa'uld coalition of Cronus, Nirrti, and Selket. Sujanha, who always led a separate attack from her brother, led the ships against Tartarus.

Daniel was on the bridge, standing next to Mekoxe, as the Valhalla dropped out of hyperspace. The look of Tartarus from space did not match its fearsome reputation, though the number of Goa'uld ships in orbit about it testified to its importance in Cronus' mind. Out the front view screen, Daniel could see the other Furling warships fanning out on either side of the Valhalla, which was at the head of the spear-tip formation. The transport ships carrying the troops stayed sheltered behind the warships until it was time to deploy.

Sujanha, sitting at her station, just stared out at the planet for a long moment. What exactly she was staring at, Daniel didn't know. "Be ready to deploy on my command," she said finally. "Locate the Stargate and beam it into our hold, and then lock down the hold." Beaming the Stargate out, while the Valhalla was in orbit, did not prevent the gate from being dialed or anyone from coming through. It just kept reinforcements from reaching Tartarus and anyone on that world from escaping through the gate.

The Goa'uld warships had strangely remained stationary even after the Furling ships had dropped out of hyperspace. Daniel wondered idly if this was supposed to be a game of chicken to see who would blink and make the first move. In most previous battles, the Goa'uld had not waited to attack, trying to not let the Furlings get the upper hand first, though to little effect due to the Furlings' superior technology.

One of Mekoxe's screens made a strange noise, and a symbol Daniel had never seen before appeared. Mekoxe seemed startled. "We are being hailed, Commander."

"How interesting," Sujanha said aloud, though Daniel thought she seemed to be speaking more to herself. "On screen."

One section of the holographic viewscreen displaying the planet and Goa'uld ships was replaced by a view of the inside of a Goa'uld Hat'tak. In the center, upon a splendid throne, sat a huge man, bear-like in his size and features, with graying hair that cascaded down his shoulders, pale skin, and hard blue eyes. He was dressed in ceremonial armor, and the expression on his face, almost a sneer, was full of arrogance and contempt.

And that must be Cronus.

For a moment, neither Sujanha nor Cronus spoke, the two studying each other like predators. "So you are the thorn in the sides of the System Lords these past months? You dare challenge your god?"

He actually admits we're a thorn in their side?

I'm surprised he admits that much.

Sujanha tilted her head. "A god?" There was a slight hint of mockery in her voice. "You are a parasite, who has imprisoned a living being as your puppet. Your kind are not gods. If you were truly greater, how could we stand against you? How could Sokar and Heru'ur have already fallen before us?" Her voice was firm now. "There is one Maker, and you are not He."

"The other System Lords have grown weak, bloated on their power and wealth. I am Cronus, Lord of Fate and Time."

Daniel snorted internally at Take #105 of the typical Goa'uld bombastic "I am a god; bow before me" speech. Sujanha did not seem to be any more impressed than he was and simply continued undaunted. "You say you are more powerful than the other System Lords. They met us in battle alone, save for their underlings. You stood aside, watching them fall, capitalizing on their demise. And yet now, when you deign to face us, you require the assistance of Selket and Nirrti? Are you too weak to meet us without their aid?"

Cronus visibly bristled, going red with anger, and Daniel could almost imagine cartoon-like puffs of steam shooting from his ears. There aren't many who have the guts and gumption to talk back to a System Lord. "You dare to defy me," he roared, "I am your god."

You said that already.

"You are no more god than I." Sujanha replied. "You have one chance: surrender. You will not win today."

With a growl, Cronus cut off the communication, and outer space replaced the view of his mothership. A moment later, Sat'a Chakrechi said flatly, "The Goa'uld are arming weapons."

"Deploy the troops, and make sure to cover their advance," Sujanha nodded and began to issue instructions briskly. "Target the vessel from where that hail came. I want Cronus captured alive."

The Valhalla's shields flared green as the Hat'taks began to fire. Capturing the ships was always a complicated endeavor for the Furlings. While the Goa'uld motherships could fire on Furling ships for a day and not make a dent in the shields—you're probably exaggerating … slightly—the Furlings, if they fired their weapons at full power, could blow a Hat'tak to smithereens with one barrage. Capturing a ship involved a complicated dance of how low they could power their weapons and still cripple the ship without either destroying it or allowing it to flee.

With Tartarus, the battles in space and the battles on the ground were almost completely separate, unlike most previous battles. With the Furling army fighting in the tunnels beneath Tartarus' surface, there were few possibilities for direct intervention that the ships could take on their behalf. Updates from the troops on the ground were constantly being broadcast on the bridge, reports in a multitude of languages and codes which Daniel could understand only a fraction of. Sujanha's main attention remained on the air battle, though she stayed apprised of major developments on the ground. Daniel had few duties to attend to and remained on the bridge at Mekoxe's station, watching and listening and hoping that what bits of news he heard from the ground were not as dire as they sounded.

The battle for Tartarus began mid-morning and lasted well into the night of the fifth day. The air battle, which lasted only for a portion of the first day, proved entirely successful. Despite their evolving tactics, the Goa'uld warships were no match for the Furlings. A number of ships and Jaffa were captured, and Cronus was captured, as well, his boastings of divinity falling headlong before inescapable reality.

Pride goeth before a fall.

The battle for Tartarus itself was successful, though not as overwhelmingly so. Cronus' troops within the tunnel system had the advantage over the Furlings, knowing the lay of the land, choke points, and prime ambush spots. (Scanning technology could only do so much to illuminate what lay beneath the surface, especially in the deeper tunnels) The Furlings advanced in fits and starts—so Daniel heard after the battle's end—and, though the advance continued, many soldiers were lost in ambushes, tunnel collapses, and explosions. Personal shields did not make the Furlings invincible, and even a personal shield would eventually collapse under a heavy barrage of enemy fire or under tons of rock, and not all soldiers carried personal shields. Body armor could only do so much. Heavy losses came especially when securing the gateroom, which was guarded by the remotely activated, automated defensive energy weapons and in one of the farther tunnels when a damaged Al'kesh crashed into the planet, killing people on both sides in the resulting explosion. There were whispers that the Furlings' reliance on only large warships—even their cruisers, the smallest class of warships they had, were about the size of a Hat'tak—had worked against them here.

Daniel did not know the death toll from the battle for Tartarus, or the other battles from the first strike against the coalition. (Too many.) Part of him did not want to know how many had died, but yet … they were dying to free the Milky-Way from the Goa'uld. He was, however, with Sujanha in her office on the seventh day—all the battles had been brought to an end by that point—when a grave-looking Ruarc entered and handed her a tablet.

Daniel saw her almost visibly deflate, shoulders slumping and ears flattening, as she took the tablet from his hand. "Leave me," she said softly.

The two men, bodyguard and aide, stepped out into the outer office. Jaax was absent.

"The lists of the dead," Ruarc said quietly, "for both the army and the fleet. She always wants to see them both."

Daniel nodded but couldn't bring himself to speak, the image of Sujanha's dark eyes filled with heartbreaking sadness stuck in his mind. He wondered how many people, how many friends she had seen die in wars that had lasted almost her entire lifetime. Too many. "Never forget," he murmured, as they stepped out into the hall.

"No victory comes without sacrifice," Ruarc replied, nodding in agreement. "The fallen will always be remembered for their sacrifices, and their names will be remembered as long as our people endure."

Freedom was not free.

Cronus' subordinates proved themselves reasonably competent and more cunning than most, and with the help of Nirrti and Selket's Ashrak, the Furling campaign against the alliance dragged on for over two months. Some battles were sieges of planets and straight-forward attacks on fleets, while others were feints, as Ashrak were sent alone or in small groups to attack Furling controlled worlds and had to be repulsed, sometimes with more than a little loss to the defenders.

By what was early October on earth (Ihom, which was mid-spring, on Uslisgas), Cronus' domain was declared officially defunct. Nirrti and Selket's territories had already fallen. Some mopping up remained to be done, but most, if not all, of his lieutenants had been captured or killed; his home worlds and planets that served as shipyards, training grounds, or supply grounds had all been captured; and his fleet had been almost entirely captured or obliterated. Selket had been killed, and her remaining Ashrak, fanatically loyal, had chosen or 'chosen' to die with her. Nirrti had been captured and imprisoned, and the worlds that she controlled were in the process of being thoroughly checked for and cleansed of any biological traps.

Many had died, though, among the Furlings and their allies.

More families left bereft.

More names to be remembered.

Freedom is not free.

There was one piece of good news on a personal level for Daniel. During the midst of this lengthy campaign, Klorel, who had never reared his head even during the capture of Apophis' territory, appeared. Two rival Goa'uld factions appeared in orbit above Ausonia, a Furling-controlled world, one day. The Goa'uld did not seem to realize that the Furlings even had a base there, but they just immediately started trying to blow each other to smithereens. During the ensuing battle, after the Furlings moved to intervene and end the battle to protect their base on the ground, a death glider crashed on the planet's surface. When troops from the base went to check the plane and either capture or bury the pilot, it was found that not a Jaffa pilot was flying the ship, but a Goa'uld. It was Skaara, injured and temporarily in control while Klorel was unconscious, who begged for help. He was promptly taken into custody and cared for.

Being able to briefly return to Abydos and tell Kasuf that his son was (comparatively) safe and now had a chance of being freed pleased Daniel beyond measure.

A tense sort of temporary peace settled over the Furlings and their captured territory. The remaining System Lords were not cowed by the demise of the alliance of Nirrti, Cronus, and Selket. Despite their losses, the Goa'uld were still convinced of their own greatness and power and were unwilling to back down before the Furlings. Yet, the quick demise of those three had made them more cautious, and there was temporary peace as they reconsidered their future plans.

The Furlings, and Daniel also, were glad for the chance for a short peace, a chance to regroup and plan, and to bury their dead. Sujanha began to plan a short return to Uslisgas to check on the situation in Asteria and in Ida and to deal with some upcoming High Council meetings. Sujanha had only returned to Uslisgas on very rare and brief occasions since the war against the Goa'uld had begun, High Commander Bjorn having largely managed events in Asteria and Ida during her absence.

Daniel was looking forward to being home on Uslisgas, being able to sleep in his own bed, and not have his visit overshadowed by a lengthy illness. He could go to Abydos and visit his son and to Ardea to see Sha're and Skaara, while hoping that Amaunet was not blocking out his presence 100% of the time.

Scholarly interests would also take up some of his non-sleep, non-work, non-family time … assuming I actually have some time not taken up by one of those three things. After the discussions about ascension in relation to the Azrea and the Ancients, he wanted to do research in the Great Library to assuage his curiosity about this mysterious process, which the Furling called "the living death."

[1] See Interlude IV.

[2] A/N: LOTR reference intended.

Chapter Text

35^th of Ihom, 6546 A.S.
(October 24, 1999)
Uslisgas, Asteria

Ever since the end of the Great War and before the beginning of the Furling-Goa’uld War, Sujanha’s life had followed a set pattern, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Except on rare days when she was too ill to work, she always rose early, ate quickly, stayed at work until late in the day, went home (or slept in her office … to the consternation of her aids, bodyguards, and personal healer) for a too short a period, and then started the cycle again the next day. Her life was regular and dominated by an almost unvarying routine. The order and set pattern gave her some control over a life overshadowed by the unpredictability of a lifetime of war and centuries of chronic, severe illness. Getting through one day had a time was often the goal. Every moment of ill-health reminded Sujanha that she should have died four-hundred-and-ninety-eight years ago, that she had lived when her brother-son had died. (It should have been the other way around.)

Every moment was a reminder, but regrets were not a thing Sujanha had time to dwell on. There was too much work to be done, always too much to be done, first in the wake of the Great War with all the necessary rebuilding, and then in this new war against the Goa’uld. There was work to be done so that the most people could return home. There was no time for self, no time for weakness or self-pity, no time for lingering on the past. The past was the past. What had happened had happened. There was nothing that could be done to change things. There was almost certainly another reality where her brother-son had survived, another reality where things with the Dovahkiin had ended differently (or not ended at all, if the fates were kind), but here what was, was. Life had to move on, whether one liked it or not. Too many families had lost loved-ones, hers not alone. What was, was.

Sujanha’s life had changed for the better in the almost year-and-a-half since Daniel Jackson, the exiled Midgardian from Avalon, had entered her life. He had shaken up the repetitive structure of her days with his kindness, inquisitiveness, and interest in everything as well as with his ability to sometimes make her work less or, as Ragnar, Ruarc, and Kaja claimed, take better care of herself. Daniel reminded her of Odin, her long-dead brother-son, in many ways, and she had grown quite fond of him, though for his own sake, not as a replacement for her nephew. In all ways but legally, she saw him as the son she would never have.

Daniel was grown by the standards of his people—by the standards of every human race she knew—but he always seemed so young to her in his outlook on life and enthusiasm for learning, though the war was forcing a burden of its own onto his shoulder. Sujanha often struggled with the weight of so much responsibility and so many duties resting on her aching shoulders, and his presence in her life made for a welcome respite. His endless questions and curiosity about Asteria were cheering, amusing, and distracting, in turn. She had also greatly enjoyed hearing his stories of Abydos and Midgard and liked even his quiet, stalwart presence.

Daniel had so easily carved out his own place at her side, and his presence had become so much of a fixture in her life that, like when he had been so sick months before, it seemed too quiet as Sujanha rode the lift up to her office one morning. About a week had passed since Sujanha’s return to Uslisgas with her retinue in the wake of the final defeat of the combined Goa’uld coalition of Cronus, Nirrti, and Selket.

Her responsibilities to Asteria, to the Empire, to their allies in Ida did not end because of the war currently raging in Avalon. High Commander Bjorn was a very capable adjutant, but there was still work that only Sujanha could do, and there was an upcoming High Council meeting to endure. Some matters, some meetings could not as easily be dealt with long-distance, and while she had attended council meetings before that way, doing so too often would only invite opposition.

Asik rose from his desk and greeted her as Sujanha entered her office. “I was growing concerned, my lady,” he said. “You usually arrive some hours earlier.”

It is that late?

Sujanha flicked her gaze up to the timepiece that hung on the walk behind Asik’s desk. Jaax’s desk was empty at the moment; like Daniel, he was taking a chance to go off-world to check on his family. Half-past the 10^th hour. I hadn’t realized. She usually rose at half-past the 6th hour and was at work within forty-five minutes to an hour unless she was waiting for Daniel. “I was waylaid several times on my journey here, or I would have arrived as normal.”

A slight frown crossed Asik’s face at her choice of words. “No problems, I hope?” He asked, following her into her inner office, his steps light and almost noiseless in his soft shoes.

“No, the High King had need of me first. I received his summons as soon as I arose. He had questions regarding recent campaigns in Avalon. On my return from the palace, I met my brother, who has also returned for tomorrow’s High Council meeting, and he had questions for me, as well. Thus, the late hour.” Sujanha summarized her morning in brief words. She took her seat with a sigh and a groan and flicked open the holographic screens that were waiting for her attention.

“Will Dr. Jackson be joining us today?” asked Asik, moving to pour a cup of spiced tea from a full pot that he must have brought up earlier, anticipating her arrival, which was usually on a clockwork like schedule.

“After the midday meal,” Sujanha replied. “He went to Ardea to visit Sha’re.” She paused, swiped through a few more screens. Reports, reports, requisition lists, more reports, updated casualty lists. (She almost flinched at seeing the last one waiting for her review. It was the cost of power to know better than many the life-and-death price of her choices.) “Are there any messages for me since I left last night?”

“Yes, several.” Asik stepped out into the outer office. There was a sound of objects being shifted, and a moment later, he returned, tablet in hand. “Do you wish to hear them in chronological order or in order of relative importance?” (He had an entire system for prioritizing messages if they did not come with some tag of their own.)

“Is anything critical?” Sujanha almost desperately hoped not. Though she had retired to bed earlier the previous night than she usually did, she still felt exhausted, and the unexpected meetings that morning had not helped. About a week had passed since her temporary return from Avalon, but the strain of the campaign had not yet relented. (Her body was going to pay the price if she did not take care.)

Duty before self, she reminded herself mentally, despite a nagging voice in her head that sounded too much like Ruarc, saying that she would be no help to the fleet if she collapsed again, which to be fair had not happened since the end of the Great War. The day after going to Gaia did not count. There had been no collapsing … just a great difficulty in getting out of bed … for hours.

“No,” Asik replied with a shake of his head.

“Chronologically then,” Sujanha replied, leaning her head against the back of her chair and letting her eyes slip closed for a moment. This was going to be one of those days, she felt, when, as illogical as it was, the hours between morning and night seemed twice as long as they normally did.

“Last night, after you departed for home, an intelligence report arrived from Supreme Commander Thor. It was not marked critical, so I deemed it could wait until the morning.”

“I see it,” Sujanha said, flicking open the report as Asik sent it over. “You acted correctly.”

Asik continued. “A personal message from Thor arrived in the same data burst, as well as a message from the Crown Prince, stating that he would be on Uslisgas in five days from yesterday to meet with his father, the High King, and hoped to speak with you on the same trip.”

On what, I wonder!?

It was not often that Sujanha and the Crown Prince had many interactions on a personal level, and if this were a question of military matters, she would have thought he would have just appeared at Headquarters during her audience hours and spoken with her directly.

Ah, who knows? I’ll know in a few days.

And a personal message from Thor? Interesting.

Adair, the Crown Prince of the Furlings, was around the same age as Anarr and Sujanha, just slightly older than them both, which was why he was Crown Prince and not Anarr. During the Great War, he had been sent to serve in the Asgard Fleet, instead of the Furling Fleet, to lessen the chances that all the heirs to the throne could perish during the war. Sujanha was not sure that she had ever interacted enough with her only living cousin to say that she liked him, but she certainly did not dislike him. Given how few family members were left to her, she wished to keep on good terms with them all, a hope that had failed miserably in regards to her … broken … relationship with her brother, but that was another matter. Their respective military ranks, compared to their positions at the Imperial Court, made their relationship, made interacting often complicated and awkward. Their last encounter in the Milky-Way—and my display of temper—caused by faulty intelligence, granted, had not helped matters either.

“Send an acknowledgement to Thor with thanks for the intelligence. Have word sent to the Crown Prince that, if I am still in Asteria when he returns, I will gladly speak with him,” replied Sujanha. “Is there anything else?”

If there is nothing else, I can go read this news on the Replicating Ones and see what personal news Thor has sent. While Sujanha was not sure whether she could or would count Thor as a friend, the two commanders had long been on good terms.

And then I can go on to all my other reports. Supervising wars in two galaxies and galactic security in a third meant many reports, many, many, many reports and updates and lists and requisition forms. And more reports. Paperwork was the bane of a commander’s existence in most any, if not every, military.

“Yes, actually,” Asik replied, his gaze returning to his tablet. “The last message came in just an hour ago from the Tok’ra on Vorash. They have requested your presence there for an unspecified reason. The matter is, they say, important but not critical.”

Important but not critical? How very vague and unhelpful.

And why do they need me to come to Vorash?

“An unusual request!” mused Sujanha. A cramp raced up her right arm, and she tried to massage it away with her other paw, gritting her teeth to hold back a low noise of pain. “Intelligence reports have always been brought to me so far. This is quite strange.”

“Do you wish to go or delegate?” Asik asked, eyes flicking between her and his tablet.

Delegating, one of the most valuable skills a commander can learn.

“Did they ask for me specifically? Or just a commander within the High Command?”

There was a slight pause. “You, Commander.”

Odd.

“And you’re sure the report came from the Tok’ra?”

Asik frowned slightly at the question but nodded immediately. “All security procedures were in place, and there was nothing of concern in the transmission.”

And none of our early warning sensors near Vorash have gone off, or I would have been notified immediately.

Something unusual must have happened for the Tok’ra to need me there.

Sujanha considered the matter for a long minute and finally said, “I will go. My work can wait for a few hours with little consequence.” She rose from her chair carefully, leaning her weight heavily on her arms, her paws clamped around the sturdily built arms of her chair. Only when she felt her right knee straighten and actually hold did she carefully release her grip. Given her bone-deep exhaustion and the usual aches and pains, Sujanha did not wish to be careless and end up on the floor if her leg gave out.

Asik bowed deeply and began to withdraw. “Of course. I will send for your guards and then send the necessary replies.”

“No need.” A deeper voice broke into the conversation, and Ruarc appeared in the doorway of her office, with his brother a silent shadow at his shoulder. “We are here. What do you need, Commander?”

Asik bowed and withdrew, and Sujanha’s penetrating black gaze focused on her two bodyguards. They had been by her side for almost two-hundred-and-fifty years since before the end of the Great War. Their loyalty was eternal and unquestionable, but they were not just silent sentinels. They were both experienced soldiers and were as ready with advice or wisdom or critiques as they were with defensive force. “A message came from the Tok’ra,” she replied. “They wish for me to come to Vorash on an important, though not critical, matter.”

Whatever that means, exactly!

Ruarc’s ears flattened against his skull, a sign of his unease. “Unusual. You’re going?” In private, the two guards were free, at Sujanha’s insistence, to speak freely and less formally.

Ragnar growled, a low rumble in his chest. Among the Furlings, such a request verged on insulting. In matters of business or military matters, those of lesser rank went to those of higher rank, not vice versa.

“Yes.” Sujanha was not one to mince words. The Tok’ra did not know their ways, and in war … sometimes customs had to be loosened to account for reality.

Sujanha was not one to waste time either, not when there was work to be done. (Granted, there was always work of some sort to be done, but lollygagging—a very interesting English word Daniel had taught her—did no one any good.) Before leaving Headquarters, she left messages for Daniel and Jaax with Asik, who also took word of her departure upstairs to Elder Brother. It took only minutes to beam across to the Hall of the Stargate and make their way through the security measures to reach the Stargate itself.

Sujanha had sent a message across ahead of her arrival, and as they entered the main hall, the statues of the heroes of the past sending long shadows across the stone floor, the Stargate was already connected. With Ruarc and Ragnar at step ahead, Sujanha took a deep breath and then stepped into the Stargate on Uslisgas and, one pace later, out onto the sands of Vorash.

No smoke.

No fires.

No signs of conflict or of ships.

The Stargate closed behind them, and for a few moments, the three Furlings stood alone upon the sands. Prickling instincts made Sujanha suspect that there were Tok’ra guards, watching the Stargate, nearby, but they were well hidden among the sand dunes, and she could neither hear, see, or smell anyone.

Then guards started to appear straight out of the sand dunes, or so it seemed, one by one. There were four humans, three men and one woman. One man, whose host seemed very young, approached the group.

All Zukish seem young to me. Their lives pass so quickly.

And yet, Daniel might outlive me. That was the cost of her path in life.

The Tok’ra was tall with short brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and a friendly, open expression. He bowed to Sujanha, saluting her in the Furling fashion, a gesture which impressed the Supreme Commander. When he spoke, it was the host in control. “Thank you for coming, Supreme Commander. If you would follow me, please, I will show you to the tunnels.”

It would be the first time Sujanha had ever set foot in a Tok’ra base. She had heard of their tunnels, which they grew from crystals—a technology that they had shared to the rapturous delight of engineers and geologists across Asteria—from scouts and those of her people who had joined the Tok’ra. Sujanha was interested to finally see these constructions for herself.

Growing crystal tunnels … a very ingenious solution to a difficult problem.

Sujanha acknowledged the young host’s words with a nod, and the three Furlings followed him across the sands, deeper into the sand dunes that stretched away from the Stargate as far as the eye could see. It was a desert world, hot and dry, with barely a living plant to be seen all around.

Like Ushuotis … a good place to hide.

Walking across sand was, surprisingly, more difficult than Sujanha would have expected. (She always beamed on and off base on Ushuotis or from the Stargate to her flagship.) Her wide paws distributed her weight more widely across the sands, making her sink less, but she could still feel the hot sands, almost sucking at her paws, weighing her done. By the time their guide started to slow as they reached the place where the rings must have been located, Sujanha almost felt a touch breathless. It was enough that Ruarc unobtrusively slowed his pace to draw alongside her, shooting her a concerned glance. She shook her head in a wordless response to his wordless question.

I’m alright.

Don’t draw attention.

Within Asteria and the peoples of the Empire, Sujanha’s condition was an open-secret. Anyone who had lived through the latter centuries of the Great War, was related to someone who had, had studied the war, or simply listened to what was spoken abroad, knew that she had been poisoned, knew that her health was not strong. Outside of Asteria, her condition was kept a closely guarded secret. Weakness made her a target. Even the most steadfast soldiers could break under torture. Having word reach unfriendly ears could be very dangerous.

The four gathered around in a circle, Ragnar and Ruarc flanking Sujanha. The rings appeared with a noise and flash of light, and moments later, they stood in the cool, dimly lit interior of the Tok’ra tunnels. Another Tok’ra—a man, whose robes were not the utilitarian ones of operatives and whose square face bore an expression that fell somewhere between severe and haughty—was waiting at the edge of the ring room. His greeting was brief and contained no details about why exactly Sujanha had been asked to come. “I am High Councilor Delek,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”

Sujanha nodded, inclining her head. “The alliance between our peoples is highly valued, High Councilor. I was surprised that whatever intelligence you have to share required my coming and was not sent to me in Asteria.” Her reply was a subtle prompt for an explanation with an undertone of warning not to waste her time.

“The usual messengers are all off-world,” replied Delek. He looked at their escort, saying somewhat brusquely, “You are dismissed, Aldwin."

Send one who has not come before?

Send one of my people?

Do not make it more complicated than it is.

Aldwin nodded and began to withdraw, but Sujanha reached out and brushed a paw across his sleeve, murmuring a quiet word of thanks.

“If you would come with me, Commander,” Delek prompted almost before she could finish speaking to Aldwin. Sujanha fought back the urge to correct him, Supreme Commander. Perhaps he was just usually blunt of speech or stressed and having a bad day, but there was something about the Tok’ra High Councilor that Sujanha did not like. His brusque dismissal of Aldwin rankled her. Sujanha made a point of always trying to be kind and polite to her subordinates.

They have loyally followed us into a new war.

We must do right by them, replay that loyalty and always be worthy of it.

Delek led Sujanha and her bodyguards down tunnel after tunnel, which followed one after another in a long and twisted path that led gradually further underground. After some minutes of walking, Sujanha began to grow exasperated. The long walk made her bad leg ache fiercely; she was already tired, had been before they had come to Vorash; and still no one had said why she had been asked to come in the first place. As much as she valued the alliance between her people and the Tok’ra—their intelligence has been invaluable—Sujanha did not appreciate being dragged around, proverbially, like an underling or simple messenger.

“Enough!” Sujanha finally growled when Delek led them into yet another empty tunnel with no sign of stopping. “I tire of this. Why have you brought me here?”

Delek paused and turned back, face inscrutable. “Through our subspace network, we have recently received new information from our operatives regarding the positions and distribution of a number of Goa’uld motherships and troop transports. Our analysts deemed it vital for you to see the information quickly. We thought it best for you to come, instead of sending a less-experienced messenger with whom you are less familiar to convey more complex intelligence.”

Reasonable.

“Very well,” replied Sujanha after a very long pause. “Let us continue.”

But you could not have said any of this before?

The path Delek had led them on was enough to confuse a scout, tunnel after descending tunnel until they had reached a level well below the sand dunes on the surface. The route had been so twisty that Sujanha was struggling to keep the entire path back to the ring room with all the twists and turns fixed in her mind.

An endless series of lefts, rights, and straights and ups and down.

As the group slowed, hopefully approaching their final destination at last, Sujanha glanced back over her shoulder at Ruarc. He was just behind her and off her right shoulder, with Ragnar just behind Delek in front of them both. Seeing the glance and interpreting the look correctly, Ruarc increased his stride until he was walking beside her, matching pace, and leaned in so that their heads were close.

“Do you remember the route?” Sujanha asked softly in Furling. It was not that she did not trust the Tok’ra, but even the Tok’ra were infiltrated occasionally. The Great War, moreover, had taught the Furlings about painful betrayal by those thought allies.

Always have a plan of retreat.

Always know how to escape.

“Yes,” Ruarc replied, and in front of them, Ragnar gave a small, silent nod of agreement.

“Good,” said Sujanha. Ruarc dropped back.

After making one last turn, Delek led Sujanha into a large and deep chamber. In the middle of the room, several display screens were laid out along with a piece of Goa’uld technology, a large red and silver stone set upon a very impractical and fragile-looking thin gold stand. Two Tok’ra, one man and one woman, were present at the back of the room, one at each of two separate tables. They appeared to be scientists, if a quick glance at their equipment was any indication. The man was tall with curly, brown hair; a long, sharp nose; and a severe expression on his face that made him look like not the most genial of men. The woman was slightly shorter with curly, golden hair that hung to her shoulders, gray eyes, and a friendly, through somewhat guarded, look on her face.

Delek spoke to them both briskly in Goa’uld, rattling off the words entirely too fast for Sujanha, whose skill at Goa’uld was basic, to have a hope of understanding even a little. The other man—it was the symbiote speaking—snapped back a reply.

I think we must be intruding upon their work.

I don’t expect subspace transmitter receivers are kept in scientific laboratories.

“The data is set up, awaiting your appraisal.” Delek explained without further reply to the other Tok’ra, gesturing towards the strange device set up on the nearer table. He turned back to Sujanha, who had paused in the doorway, surveying the room and its occupants. “Two of our agents who were instrumental in discovering the data are on world at the moment if you have questions.”

With that, Delek departed. And how am I supposed to find them if I need them? Sujanha decided that, if she were human, she might want to bang her head against a wall, as she had seen Daniel mime doing in moments of extreme exasperation or annoyance.

Clamping down on her annoyance, Sujanha turned to her bodyguards. “Ruarc, please see if any of our people are on-world at present, and if so, check on them. Ragnar, you do not need to stay with me. Wander if you choose, but not too far.”

“Of course, Commander,” they both said and, after saluting, departed, their footsteps fading away. The crystal tunnels made sounds echo strangely, making it harder for her to pinpoint who was where and how close.

Sujanha was now alone in the crystal room save for the two Tok’ra. She surveyed the room again before slowly moving towards the center table. Her leg was aching fiercely by that point, and the more careful and considered her movements, the less of a limp she had. The male Tok’ra had returned to his work, but his back was tense, and he seemed either annoyed, ill-at-ease, or both. The female Tok’ra had returned to her seat but was watching Sujanha with her head slightly cocked to one side, curiosity in her gaze.

“I surmise,” Sujanha asked the other woman in English, gesturing to the subspace receiver and the multiple viewing screens, “that this room is not the usual place for this equipment.”

“No, it is not.” The other woman replied in the same language, her dual-toned voice indicating the symbiote was in control. “This is a science lab. That receiver is the spare. The main one is located elsewhere, up multiple levels. Its room was probably judged to be too crowded and noisy for your use, Supreme Commander. Our lab is one of the few that has space for a table large enough for the equipment.”

I am Supreme Commander of a very large fleet with many moving parts.

I am quite used to noise and bustle and crowds. The other room would have been workable.

And we could have avoided this inconvenience.

Sujanha bowed in the Furling fashion. “I apologize for interrupting your work, then. I will endeavor to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb you both further.”

“This was not your decision,” the male Tok’ra finally turned, the symbiote still speaking. “We do not hold you at fault, even though we dislike the consequences.”

Who do you hold at fault, I wonder?

Delek? He does not seem well liked.

“Nonetheless, it is because of me that your work has been disturbed, and for that, I am sorry.” Sujanha let her voice trail off in a vocal tone that prompted him for a name.

“Malek,” the symbiote replied with a nod of his head. “My host is named Loknu, and he greets you.”

Sujanha glanced across at the other woman. “I am Kelmaa,” the symbiote said. “My host is Gwynyth, and she also greets you.”

“I am Sujanha,” the Commander replied with a twist of her muzzle that would have indicated amusement to one of her own people, “but I am sure you already knew that.”

With introductions concluded and apologies complete, Sujanha set to work. Her two temporary companions returned to their tasks, whatever those were. Their equipment was scientific in appearance, but entirely unfamiliar. The data from the Tok’ra subspace receiver was, as the message had said, important but not critical, and Sujanha deemed that it likely could have waited until an operative had returned to bring her the news. I had the time to come. Complaining about coming does no good. The distribution and grouping of the motherships indicated a marshaling of the Goa’uld forces. Whether that was for an attack against each other or against the Furlings was not clear.

Given the recent alliance against us, either is a distinct possibility.

A couple of hours passed as Sujanha studied the information and planned, making mental notes as she worked. Ragnar appeared in the doorway several times just long enough to see that she was well before disappearing again, off to patrol or speak with his brother or something. Kelmaa left once to retrieve some supplies before returning. Malek never moved from his chair.

The first tremors that shook the room happened without Sujanha realizing it, too minor to do anything except make the smallest of rattles, not enough to pierce her concentration.

Soon, more tremors shook the room more severely. Now Sujanha started and looked up, watching, listening, feeling.

By the stars?!

What?

Sujanha had been on a planet under bombardment from ships multiple times in her life, and these tremors did not feel like that. This was the earth itself moving. Earthshakes were uncommon around Uslisgas (the city) but not unheard of on other continents on the planet. She recognized the signs now.

Sujanha rose carefully from her table and moved around it to the other side, keeping one paw on the table for balance, so she could hear better what was going on outside in the adjoining tunnels. “Is this planet prone to earthshakes?” She asked.

What are the Tok’ra’s procedures for such events?

Furling bases were constructed to withstand severe earthshakes, but could grown crystal tunnels withstand the force of the earth’s fury if the tremors grew severe enough?

I have no idea. Evacuating could hold its own risks.

“No, not so as we had thought,” Malek replied, evidently puzzled. He had risen but had stayed by his worktable. Kelmaa, on the other hand, had moved to stand by Sujanha’s side.

With every second that passed, the shaking grew worse.

There was a low roaring and a rumble that was growing louder.

Dust began to fall from the crystal ceiling.

The rattling of the equipment grew ominous.

This is not a minor earthshake.

It was a struggle for Sujanha to even keep on her feet, her balance hampered by the weakness of her right leg. Kelmaa and Malek were struggling, as well. Sujanha wondered, a passing thought, where her bodyguards were, hoped to the Maker that they were safe.

“We must go. We are not safe here.” It was Kelmaa who spoke.

Kelmaa and Sujanha moved towards the door, and Malek moved to follow. Just as they did so, the shaking increased many-fold. Crystals joined the cascades of dust falling from the ceiling. Then, with a roar like an oncoming storm, the very room began to collapse around them.

The instinct to protect a defenseless ally overpowered the instinct to automatically bring up her personal shield. Sujanha divided for Kelmaa, wrapping herself around the other woman, using her larger form to protect her. (Malek was too far away to help.) Then, a whisper of thought had her shield activating around her, an impenetrable blue, bubble-shield …

But not before one large falling crystal struck Sujanha hard in the small of her back.

Darkness fell.

The tremors continued as if the earth itself was about to shake apart at its seams.

All Sujanha … all they … could do and hope to not be utterly buried by debris.

It was a long time before stillness and silence returned.

Wary of further aftershocks, Sujanha counted off several minutes slowly in her head before cautiously deactivating her personal shield. Slowly and carefully, Sujanha uncurled her back and forced herself to straighten. Her back throbbed where the stone had impacted her body, and every breath was also painful. Broken ribs, probably. It was painful, but this was nothing compared to the past. Slowly, when no more large debris fell and there were no especially worrying sounds that could precede a further collapse, Sujanha finally moved back to allow Kelmaa to sit up.

The movement made the throbbing of her back worse, but there was no time to be weak.

Their lives could depend on what they did next.

The room—or, much more likely, what was left of it—was pitch black. The faint glow of the crystals was dimmed almost to nothing. Even Sujanha struggled to make out anything in the darkness, even the barest outline of ‘structures,’ and most Maskilim were known for their night vision. (The Gaetir, not so much.)

“Are you injured?” Sujanha asked Kelmaa, slowly reaching out one paw to touch her arm. Only having her position cataloged with the aftermath of her desperate lunge and then staying close once she moved back enabled Sujanha to actually find her and touch her.

Even her outline is hidden.

She’s less than an arm’s length away from me.

The answer was a long-time coming. “No,” Kelmaa finally replied. “I don’t think so. We are shaken but unhurt."

“Good,” Sujanha replied.

At least, one of us is. That could be vital later.

Warm, sticky blood was slowly trickling down the small of Sujanha’s back, making her tunic pull on her fur as she shifted. She could breathe. She could move her limbs, which meant that for now she could function, even with her entire right side (arm and leg both) adding muscle cramps, the shakes, and that pin-prick tingling to the pain her body was already in. Endure. Others may need my help. For now, she had to function. There was no other choice, not here, not now.

If the tunnel was not closed off, they needed to find a way to escape. Further aftershocks could bring what was left of the ceiling down on top of them, and as deep as they were, Sujanha had no faith that her gauntlet’s shield, stretched over the three of them—we need to find Malek—could hold back the weight of the earth until help arrived.

“Where’s Malek?” Kelmaa suddenly exclaimed. “Malek! MALEK!!”

There was no reply. The only sounds were their voices and their breaths, now eerily loud in the quiet room.

Sujanha rose to her feet, wary of any fallen debris that might be close (or right above my head) but invisible in the inky, heavy darkness. Kelmaa rose a few seconds later. By now, Sujanha’s eyes had had some minutes to adjust to the darkness. Even so, she could see nothing. It was as dark as pitch. There was simply not enough light to see anything by.

This will complicate things.

Sujanha was unfamiliar at navigating without her eyesight, and being veritably blind would make any attempts at escape to the surface much more difficult, dangerous, and time-consuming, especially in tunnels and even more so in tunnels made treacherous by fallen debris.

This gives me new respect for those who lost their sight during the Great War.

(For all their skills, neither the Ipyrsh nor the Dovahkiin, both of whom were known for their advanced prosthetic limbs, had ever been able to make working prosthetic eyes. Eyes that could fill a gaping socket and return a more normal appearance, yes. Eyes that would actually return sight to the blind, no. Prosthetic limbs were one thing, but the utter complexity of the eye was so far beyond them.)

“Stay behind me,” ordered Sujanha. When Kelmaa protested that she could not see to have a hope of doing so, Sujanha gently reached back, grabbed one of her arms, and put it on her own shoulder. “Hook your fingers into my jacket.”

Given where they were in the room and where Malek had been last she had seen before the room had started collapsing, Sujanha began to slowly, painfully slowly, make her way towards the back of the room and a little off to the left compared to the table she had been sitting at. Unable to see where to place her feet, she was forced to drag one foot back and forth across the floor in front of her until she could find a safe path forward for them both.

If I fall, I’ll probably take Kelmaa with me, and who knows what we’ll fall into?!

I have never been impaled, and that is an experience I can do without.

Moving in that manner was slow and exhausting. It also proved the disadvantage of being part of a race that never wore shoes. From the stabs of pain in her feet, Sujanha was sure that more and more shards of crystal debris were becoming lodged in the sensitive pads of her feet with every step.

Keep breathing, and keep moving.

Finally, Sujanha felt her foot impact something soft, not hard like debris.

Malek!

“I found him! My right foot is touching him, maybe his leg. Move around me slowly, Kelmaa. Be careful. I do not know what debris is nearby.”

Murmuring an acknowledgement, Kelmaa slowly began to move, her hand dragging down Sujanha’s arm—she almost flinched at the pressure of her grip, reasonable at any other time, but painful for her here and now—using her as a positioning system to guide her movements in the darkness. When her hand disappeared, Sujanha knelt. The body part her foot had met was, indeed, a leg, and Sujanha settled a warm paw on the man’s ankle.

Do we try to see how badly he is injured? The darkness was so heavy that neither could see if Malek was even trapped by debris or just unconscious. Or dead.

No. We could dislodge something and make a dangerous situation worse.

Wait to see what he says.

In a situation like this, leaving penetrating debris in its place could keep a bleeder contained until help and healers arrived. It was undesirable, but battlefield medicine was rarely pretty. There was usually no time to stop and use healing devices in the heat of battle. You had to do what had to be done to keep wounded soldiers alive until you could get them back behind friendly lines and to shelter where healing devices could be used.

Kelmaa called her companion’s name again, and finally, this time, Malek began to stir, a series of moans falling from his lips. When pained noises turned into actual muttered words, Kelmaa asked. “How badly are you hurt?” It was clear from his groans that he was hurt.

It was some time before a reply came, and when it did, it was Loknu, the host, who spoke. His voice was soft and terribly weak, and every word was a struggle for him to force out. “We are dying. Debris … crushed my chest. … Damage is … fatal. Malek”—his tone was still fond—“trying to heal … me. Not enough.”

Sujanha felt a rush of sadness at those words, grief for a life soon to be cut short, grief for a pair that she did not even know, save by name.

It is the Maker’s will that appoints the day of our death.

It still felt unfair sometimes that the young perished, while the old endured.

Attempting to give Kelmaa and Loknu a semblance of privacy to speak, Sujanha moved away a pace until she felt the backs of her knees hit some debris, and then she eased herself down to the ground, leaning back against something that was flat enough to function as a backrest. It was not comfortable by any means, but it was functional. The pressure against her lower back hurt—enough that she carefully adjusted her weight—but hopefully would help stop the bleeding. Just don’t lean hard enough to shift any broken ribs. Puncturing a rib because of her own carelessness and drowning in her own blood would be a ridiculous way to meet her end after surviving the Enemy’s poison.

The pain in her body had faded somewhat after the first onslaught. Most people would have been in agony, but between nerve damage and a generally high pain tolerance, the pain signals her body was sending her were lessened, which was helpful for continued functioning in situations like there. There was nothing that could be done for her injuries at the moment, no medical supplies or healing device at hand. Help would come.

(Compartmentalizing it away helped, too.)

We cannot leave with Malek trapped. Loknu is sure he’s dying, but if there’s the slightest chance Malek may be able to save them, we cannot leave him.

Using her left paw to rub at the cramps crawling up and down her bad leg, Sujanha leaned her head back against the stone and tried to think. Enough time had passed since the earthshake that, assuming that either Ragnar or Ruarc were alive and mobile—please, Maker, let them both be alive—they would have sent or be sending news back through the Stargate to Uslisgas and summoning help. Assuming they can ever reach the surface? Otherwise, our distress beacons will have to do. (She had already activated hers.) Once they were dispatched, her ships could arrive quickly with extra hands and medical supplies, but it would take longer to get the engineers and equipment from the army bases to start extracting Tok’ra from the tunnels.

Would the tremors have disabled the rings?

Some minutes later, Kelmaa rose and, imitating Sujanha, slowly made her way towards where the entrance to the room had once stood and then returned with the news that they were trapped. Debris had blocked their only way out.

One danger of living entirely underground.

Limited ways of escape if your Stargate is not underground like it is on Drehond. Multiple tunnel systems had access to the gate, and there were safeguards in place to keep the gate accessible even if the worst happened.

Feeling in the dark, Sujanha tried to activate communications on her gauntlets. The early holographic screens did not give out enough light to see what she was doing, so she abandoned that plan and pressed down three fingers on three specific places on her gauntlet, activating the emergency comm function. In this mode, the comm would automatically try to connect with the closest comm. If that failed, it would attempt to connect with the next closest and then the next closest after that until a connection was made or all connections near enough for it to have power to possibly reach failed.

Several heart-stopping moments passed where nothing happened.

Only silence.

Please, Maker, no.

Ruarc and Ragnar had been by her side for hundreds of years. If she had led them to their deaths, after they had survived the Great War … please, Maker, no, no, no. Finally, finally, after an eternity … that was probably seconds long … there was a small chime. A connection! A moment later, the small, blue holographic outline of Ragnar appeared over her left gauntlet. It gave out just enough light for Sujanha to make out the barest, indistinct outlines of Kelmaa and Loknu’s forms nearby.

(It was also enough for her to barely make out the outline of the debris crushing Loknu. How is he even still alive? What hope she had that Malek might be able to heal his host vanished in an instant.)

“Commander, thank the Maker that you’re alive.” Ragnar’s voice was filled with relief.

“I am … very relieved to see you,” Sujanha replied in Furling. “Does your brother live?”

“Yes,” Ragnar answered immediately. “He was on the surface when the earthshake hit. I told him all I knew about conditions in the tunnels, and he has gone home to summon aid. I am trapped maybe … one or two levels up from you, or I would have tried to reach you by now. Those with me are relatively unhurt, but there are major collapses across all levels throughout the tunnel system. There are trapped and injured all over.”

As Daniel says, this is so not good.

“We are where you left me,” said Sujanha. “Kelmaa is uninjured, but Malek’s host is dying. The entrance to this chamber has collapsed, and we are trapped, but the room is large enough that the air should last for some time.”

(In the chaos of the moment, she forgot that both of her bodyguards had left before introductions had been made and would have not heard the names of the two Tok’ra with her.)

“We will move as quickly as we can. Do you have instructions?” If Ragnar noticed that she had not reported on her own condition, he chose not to comment.

“Continue what you are doing, but have word sent to Algar. The fleet is his to command until I am freed.”

I don’t know enough to issue orders.

“Of course, Commander. It will be done. Maker preserve you!”

“And you!”

With that farewell, the blue hologram disappeared, and the room again was bathed in inky darkness. (She was glad that, for all her struggles, the war had not left her with a terror of small, enclosed spaces like it had some.) Sujanha quickly recapped the news for her two companions.

“Your ships, when they arrive,” Kelmaa asked after Sujanha had finished, “can they beam us out?” Her voice contained a note of burgeoning hope. Being beamed out would get Malek medical attention much sooner, perhaps even quickly enough to preserve his life.

I fear there will be no miracle today, not for him.

“No, at least not for now.” Sujanha replied regretfully. “It is too dangerous with the tunnels in these conditions to attempt to beam anyone out of the collapsed sections.”

“How is beaming them out any more dangerous than leaving them trapped when the earthshakes might return?” Kelmaa’s voice was almost incredulous.

Fair enough.

“It is a calculated risk,” Sujanha admitted. “If all the trapped were in one or even a handful of locations, the situation would be different. However, from what Ragnar has said, there are trapped across your very expansive tunnel system in many scattered locations. Our beaming technology cannot beam everyone out at the same exact instance. Except with groups in extremely close proximity, beamings happen sequentially over time. It is also incredibly difficult and time-consuming to coordinate beamings between ships. Without a better knowledge of the debris field and where a person is, beaming a person out from the wrong place can destabilize debris, causing further collapses, which can make further rescue more difficult and only increase the loss of life.”

A very calculated risk.

Sujanha paused for a minute and then added. “That is not to say that none can be beamed out. It will just not happen quickly and not before engineers have had time to study the tunnels and the pattern of the debris field.”

With the hope of a speedy rescue gone, silence fell over the crystal chamber, which still had a possibility of being their tomb.

Time passed with interminable slowness. It could have been hours, or perhaps not. Time had less meaning down in that dark void.

Ragnar, who was getting his information from those on the surface, commed Sujanha a handful of times to update her on the progress of the rescue work. And probably to check on me, too. Soldiers, engineers, diggers, and healers with supplies had arrived from Uslisgas and several bases within the Milky-Way. Several Furling motherships, escorting a mercy ship,[1] had also entered orbit about Vorash to receive the wounded as they were extracted from the upper tunnels, some of which were open to the air, and to help in other matters as needed.

Progress was being made but slowly. The earthshakes had been severe, and everything had to be done cautiously, wary of hidden dangers.

Loknu continued to fade as time passed. His pained moans and stuttered breaths testified to his decline. Malek was still trying to heal him, spending his strength in a probably futile attempt to keep his host alive. Yet, from what Loknu was saying, it would all be for naught. All Malek could do was keep Loknu from suffering and, perhaps, postpone the end slightly.

As long as it’s been, I don’t think the healers could do anything for him now, even if they might have been able to in the beginning. I doubt they could have, though.

Loknu’s end was coming soon, and without another host or a quick rescue (and a stasis container), Malek would die with his host.

The sound of his ragged, labored breaths was all too familiar to Sujanha. She had sat by many death beds during the Great War, and the sounds of death approaching were like this. Loknu, she knew, already had one foot made wet by the Seas of Night on which his spirit would set sail away. Death was coming soon, very soon.

(For him … he and his host both, if nothing changed. Perhaps for them all.)

Sujanha closed her eyes, tipped her head back to rest against the stones, and tried to think. Malek faced a choice: die with his host if he was unwilling or too injured (or exhausted) to leave or take a different host. Only one host was available in that dark chamber: Sujanha herself, a fact that left her in a … dilemma.

She was not unwilling to be a host by any means. She had spoken with Jacob Carter at times, curious about his experiences and with those of her people who had become hosts. The idea of a constant companion, friend, advisor, always with one, sounded … pleasant.

And yet, she knew nothing about Malek beyond a few brief conversations these last hours.

And yet, would it not be dishonorable not to make the offer, not to give Malek a choice and a chance at life? Who was to say that he even might not be able to switch hosts later?

And yet, would becoming a host call her status in the fleet into question? Sujanha feared it might. Her loyalty was supposed to be to Ivar, to the Empire, to her people first, perhaps even alone. If she was host, it would open the door for the impartiality of her decisions in the War, especially where the Goa’uld or the Tok’ra were concerned, to be questioned and, perhaps, even her loyalty itself.

Algar is prepared to replace me if that course of action would be determined to be best by King and Council.

I have devoted my life to the Empire, but I must not sacrifice my honor to do my duty.

If my duty requires my health, my life, I am willing to sacrifice it, but never my honor.

(And yet, what would she do, what would she be without the Fleet?)

“Loknu,” Sujanha finally spoke, her voice steady despite a sudden flare of pain that raced up, down, and across her back and right leg.

In the darkness, Sujanha could hear him stir at the sound of her voice, but it was some moments before he could summon the strength to respond. “Yes?” His voice was a mere thready whisper.

“If one were to be found, would Malek be willing to switch hosts?”

“Not until … all hope … is … lost … He is … determined to … save me,” Loknu replied, each word a struggle to force out. “But what host … could … be found … here?”

“I offer myself,” answered Sujanha, “if Malek is willing.”

Kelmaa gave a gasp that echoed in the stillness of the quiet room.

It was another long moment before Loknu replied, but when he spoke, it was actually the duel-toned voice of the symbiote who forced out a single question. “Why?”

‘Why’ was a vague question that could have many possible answers. Sujanha deliberated for a moment before starting with the most obvious answer, “Because, Malek, you will die without a new host, and I am the only potential host in this room, unless help comes soon, and if I am not mistaken, there is little time left.”

“Why now?” Loknu was back, every word a struggle. “Never … offered … before.”

“There was never a need such as this.”

Loknu tried to speak again—there was a moan of pain and then some vague, indeterminate sound—but couldn’t get his voice loud enough for Sujanha to hear him. Kelmaa moved closer and began to speak for him. “Are you truly willing? Or do you feel forced by circumstances?”

“In a way, the answer to both your questions is yes,” Sujanha answered slowly. Her own strength was fading, and she was beginning to feel so very tired. “I have no great desire to become a host, but I am not unwilling to become one by any means. I feel it would be wrong to not at least offer you a chance to survive.”

“We know nothing of each other. I am weak.” Malek was back. His words in Kelmaa’s mouth had a different intonation, a different feel. “I would not be able to leave you for some time.”

“My offer is not a temporary one. Once we become acquainted, I am sure we are old enough to, at least, as the Mid … as the Tauri say, ‘get along.’”

“Some say I am hard to ‘get along’ with.”

You cannot be any worse than some of my fellow High Councilors.

“And I command thousands upon thousands. I am quite skilled at bridging divides and dealing with difficult personalities.”

Loknu gave a quiet laugh that turned into a cry of pain as his injuries were jarred.

Sujanha took a deep breath. “Before you make your decision, Malek, there is one thing you should know, and please, Kelmaa, never repeat this.”

(It would be wrong to not offer him a chance at life. It would be just as wrong to not warn him of what exactly her condition was. A healthy person in the prime of life, she was not. Well, in the standards of her people, she was the latter in terms of statistics and averages, but most certainly not the former.)

“Of course,” Kelmaa assured her.

“I am dying. I was poisoned centuries ago. My health is fragile, and I am usually in some degree of pain. I doubt that I will live another hundred years, though I do not expect to die soon. You would likely outlive me, and not I you.” Hundreds of years of suffering condensed into a few sentences.

“It matters not,” Kelmaa replied for Malek. “If the need comes, I accept your offer.” She fell silent and then added another phrase that must have been from Loknu, not Malek, “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Silence fell across the crystal chamber once again.

Sujanha felt relieved to have the decision made, whatever the resulting outcome ended up being. Loknu’s every breath—raspy and weakening with every passing minute—seemed to almost get louder and louder in her ears. She was relieved for his sake that, down in this dark void with no medical care, Malek could, at least, ease his passing and ensure that his host did not die alone.

(Dying alone and in pain was not a fate that she would wish on any.)

When Loknu’s breaths became so weak that even Sujanha could barely hear them, she slowly and painfully climbed to her feet. The movements sent a bolt of pain running through her chest and back and down her right side. For a moment, she feared that she might fall as her knee started to buckle, but her leg brace locked into place, stabilizing her side, and her leg held. Slowly, wary of falling, Sujanha slowly shuffled to Loknu’s side and sat down beside him in the darkness. Finding his arm, she slid her paw down until she could rest it on his hand. His arm twisted, and a hand slipped into her paw and squeezed weakly.

“Are you sure of your choice?” Kelmaa asked.

“I am,” Sujanha replied without hesitation.

A few more minutes passed and Loknu’s breaths finally stuttered to a stop. Sujanha could hear Kelmaa moving on his other side, and she offered up a brief prayer. Maker, grant him swift passage across the Sea of Night and receive him into your halls. May he find the peace that the Tok’ra have not known in life.

“You need to lie down, Commander,” said Kelmaa.

Sujanha did so, awkwardly, painfully. Slight fear curled in her belly, not of Malek, but of the unknown. She knew her life was about to change permanently, but her conviction that she was doing the right thing steadied her. She heard Kelmaa say a few words in Goa’uld. Then there was a rather unpleasant noise she could not identify—I might not want to know—and then came a squeaking noise that must have been from Malek as he emerged from his fallen host.

I hope he can see better in this darkness than I can.

Kelmaa moved as swiftly to Sujanha’s side as she could in the darkness and knelt beside her. Their arms met, and Sujanha felt a cool, almost slimy touch curling around her arm as Malek was transferred across.

“Open your jaw.”

Sujanha would never be able to put her thoughts on the joining into coherent words. For her, it was a mixture of a sense of pain and strangeness, though even that did not adequately express her thoughts. She could feel the symbiote’s touch upon her face, and she opened her jaw to its widest extent so that he did not cut his fragile body upon her razor-sharp fangs. His passage across her tongue made her want to gag, but that feeling was quickly surpassed by the pain in her throat. It felt like being stabbed in the throat with a knife. The movement in the back of her throat and around her spine as Malek adjusted himself made Sujanha’s skin crawl and her stomach roll, a feeling which the blood in her mouth and throat did not help. Only her formidable self-control kept back the urge to panic.

After a few more moments, Sujanha felt a mental touch at the back of her mind—their mind, she corrected herself—and then a few soft words. The voice was firm, that of one used to command and being obeyed, but was tinged with overwhelming sadness and utter exhaustion.

*I am sorry for hurting you. Thank you. I must rest a moment, and then I will heal your throat.*

It took a moment before Sujanha could determine how to reply. We are connected, but are we blended? How much of her thoughts could he see for now? Hear?

*The pain is a small thing.* She whispered back mentally. *I have borne much worse.* Which was the truth. The taste of blood was worse than the pain now that the first shock, first stab had faded. *I grieve with thee at Loknu’s death,* she said formally.

Malek did not reply verbally, mentally verbally, but Sujanha could feel his gratefulness, an odd feeling for one used to being alone in her own mind. A few minutes passed, and then she felt a tingling begin in her throat, and soon the taste of blood faded somewhat.

*I fear you are badly injured.* Malek finally spoke again after a long silence. *And I am very weary.*

Sujanha wondered for a moment if her injury where the rock had struck her back might be more severe than she had first thought. As her bodyguards often reminded her, she was not the best judge of her own health given her high pain tolerance, necessary for her to function semi-normally on a day-to-day basis. *I was struck by a falling chunk of rock … crystal, which broke multiple ribs. I have suffered worse. Rest.*

*It is more severe than only a broken rib.* Malek replied. Sujanha felt a sudden surge of protectiveness from him. *When we have blended, I will do what my strength allows.*

Blending was a strange thing, and when it was finished, they were one, and yet separate. They knew the memories of the other, but Sujanha was still Sujanha, and Malek was still Malek. She felt very tired. The air in the cavern seemed to be getting thin.

(Or was it her?)

*Sleep!* Her symbiote told her. She could feel his deep concern for her. *If I take control while I try to heal you, your pain will be dulled.*

*Not yet.* Sujanha replied. She forced her eyes open, staring into the darkness. She reached out a paw and touched Kelmaa, who sat beside them.

“You’re awake,” Kelmaa exclaimed, switching her grip to allow her to squeeze Sujanha’s paw.

“How long has it been?” Sujanha asked.

“The blending always takes time,” she replied. “But how long? In this darkness, it is hard to judge.”

“Will you pass a message for me to my people when they arrive?” Sujanha asked. “To one of my bodyguards, Ruarc or Ragnar, would be best, or someone from my flagship. I am weary and injured. Malek will take control soon.”

“Of course,” Kelmaa replied, a note of concern in her voice. “Anything.”

Sujanha gave her a message in Furling—“Algar rules the fleet until the High King and the High Council approve my return”—and made Kelmaa repeat it three times until she had the pronunciation close enough. Not perfect, but close enough for comprehension. Then Sujanha let her eyes drift shut. She was so tired.

*What must I do to give you control?*

This was all so new.

*Nothing.* Malek replied. *Just do not fight me.* Sujanha felt his presence move forward from the back of their mind, encircling her. Then her limbs were out of her control. Earlier, she might have been frightened, but now she knew him, trusted him. *Sleep.*

Sujanha let herself drift away into the blackness.

[1] The inter-galactic version of a US hospital ship.

Chapter Text

35^th of Ihom, 6546 A.S.
(October 24, 1999)
Uslisgas, Asteria

Shortly after Ruarc had returned to Uslisgas from Vorash, bringing word of the earthshakes that had severely damaged the Tok’ra base, and called for aid, Daniel stepped into the Stargate on Ardea and emerged on the citadel of Uslisgas. For a few moments, his mind caught up with Sha’re and their son Abydos, Daniel did not realize the full import of the situation into which he had just stepped.

A few paces out from the Stargate, Daniel finally looked up and around and realized something was wrong—terribly wrong. It was mid-afternoon, and at that time of day, even mid-week, the large defensive hall which enclosed the Stargate usually rather quiet, occasionally even deserted, save for maintenance workers or cleaners, with only the usual patrolling guards in the outer hallways. Sometimes there were a few other people waiting to return through the Stargate or having arrived before him, but Daniel usually seemed to find all the quiet hours to travel at.

Today, the opposite was true.

The great hall was bustling, full of people—soldiers, healers, engineers, more healers, more engineers—moving hither and thither and full of pallet upon pallet piled high with supplies, some of which looked much like construction or bracing equipment. Organized chaos were the words that first entered Daniel’s mind, as he looked out upon all the people and all the anti-gravity pallets. Nothing normal that he knew of should account for all this.

Something, somewhere, he feared, had gone terribly wrong. This had all the hallmarks of a rescue mission or disaster relief.

A harried looking Dovahkiin engineer, his wings pulled tight to his back, waved Daniel out of the comparatively clear path straight in front of the Stargate. Once he was clear, the Stargate began dialing out. Now thoroughly confused at what could have happened in his absence—I’ve not even been gone half a day!!—Daniel threaded his way through the crowd of people and supplies until he could exit the main hall into the outer ‘labyrinth.’ Out there were yet more people and yet more pallets of supplies, some marked as water or Asgardian emergency rations. Okay, this is really bad. There were so many soldiers present among the other workers. Could one of the Furling bases in Avalon have been attacked?

Get back to Headquarters and find Sujanha.

She’ll know what’s going on!

It took Daniel much longer than usual to reach Headquarters from the Stargate. The area of the citadel between the Hall of the Stargate and Headquarters was unusually full. The transporters, he was told, were reserved for those involved in whatever was going on, so Daniel was forced to jog across to Headquarters, instead of beaming across instantly. Strangely, Headquarters was unnervingly silent. How busy the building was usually was determined by how many members of the High Command were on-world at any particular time, but things had not been this quiet when he dropped something off in Sujanha’s office early that morning before leaving for his circuit of trips to Abydos and Ardea.

What the h**l happened?

Finally, as Daniel stepped off the lift onto Sujanha’s floor, he finally saw signs of life. Asik, Jaax, and Ruarc were all standing in the doorway to the Commander’s outer office. Ruarc, leaning heavily against the doorjamb, looked exhausted, and there were dirt streaks all over his tunic and trousers. His black fur was … no longer black in places, and some sections even almost … sparkled. What? The three were speaking so quickly that Daniel had trouble understanding them, hampered by arriving in the middle of the conversation.

Hearing Daniel’s footsteps, Ruarc broke off from the conversation and spun towards Daniel, his ears pinned back in great agitation. “Good!” His voice was just as stressed as his posture indicated. “You’re here!”

“Uh, yeah. I just got back. What happened?” Asked Daniel, his own unease and confusion heightened by Ruarc’s clear agitation. “I’ve never seen the citadel so on edge and crowded. Was there an attack … somewhere?”

Ruarc shook his head sharply. “No. The Commander was called away to Vorash this morning, and not long ago, the planet was wracked by severe earthshakes, though the continent the base is on is not believed to be prone to such tremors. The Tok’ra tunnel system … there are widespread collapses. People are trapped all over. It’s a disaster. We are mobilizing assistance.”

That explained the sparkling fur … crystal dust.

(Assistance after natural disasters or attacks was one hallmark of Furling treaties both within and without the empire.)

Not prone to earthquakes?

But it happened when Sujanha is there?

Is this an assassination attempt? If so, it would be the second during her career, the first being the one that had almost killed her during the Great War.

Or coincidence? He could only hope so.

Daniel gulped. He was not prone to claustrophobia, having been in many tight spaces during his digs in Egypt—some of the tunnels beneath the Step Pyramid were particularly … confined—and his explorations in Abydos’ pyramids. Yet, the thought of being trapped in those tunnels was … ugh. “Talk about suspicious coincidence,” he muttered. “Ragnar and the Commander, are they alright?”

I’m assuming they both survived, or you’d be acting a lot differently!

“My brother is trapped but uninjured. The Commander is trapped in a chamber, at least one level below him.” Ruarc replied. “She has not said so specifically, but my brother does fear that she is injured. Potentially how severely, we do not know. She is … not a good judge, in any case.”

Not a good judge?

Because of the aftermath of the poison and all that?

Daniel nodded, filing away Ruarc’s last comment for future thought, and then asked, “So, all the people, we’re sending aid?” That was clear from Ruarc’s earlier comment, but this would pull the conversation back around and hopefully provide some more information of what exactly they were doing and how I am or might need to be involved.

“As quickly as possible,” Ruarc replied. He paused and turned back to the two other aids. “I’ll keep you updated. You have your orders for now.”

Asik and Jaax made dual tones of assent, and then Ruarc made for the lift, motioning for Daniel to follow. “We are sending troops, engineers, and healers as well as ships to Vorash in all haste,” he said, as they rode back down to the main floor, “in case those tremors were not caused by natural means, which could precede an attack.”

Not by natural means.

Daniel made an incredulous face. “That’s a thing, causing tremors artificially?”

I should probably not be surprised by now.

“Yes,” Ruarc replied, as they stepped outside onto the citadel. “We have such technology, though it was created to counter tremors, not cause them. Tremors can also be induced with sufficient explosive force in the right locations.”

But either would require that there’s a traitor among the Tok’ra or a Goa’uld-operative made it through the Stargate past the gate guards OR snuck past the Furling sensors in orbit around Vorash.

Can any ships sneak past the Furling sensors? I’d bet my next pay-check Goa’uld ships couldn’t. Asgard, maybe? But Goa’uld, I doubt it.

The Tok’ra have had spies before. This wouldn’t be the first time. And there would be no shortage of Goa’uld, angry at lost territory or afraid of meeting the same fate of the System Lords who had already fallen before the Furlings, who would be happy to see Sujanha die.

Daniel shuddered at the thought that possibly someone had intentionally set off the tremors that had wrecked the Tok’ra tunnels. “Why can’t our ships just beam the injured and trapped out?” He asked, slightly out of breath as he power-walked to keep up with Ruarc, who was probably only making tracks for the Stargate, not flat out running, because of the crowds.

“The short, simple answer: beamings happen sequentially overtime and cannot easily be coordinated between ships. There are probably not even enough ships to do so anyway. Without studying the tunnels and the collapses first for weak points, beaming out people could shift debris enough to cause further collapses and just compound this disaster.”

“Uh, bad idea then. What am I supposed to be doing, exactly?”

“For the moment, nothing,” Ruarc replied. “High Commander Algar is in command until Sujanha is freed, and he has his own aids. As soon as she’s freed, she’ll need you by her side again.”

Assuming she’s not injured and doesn’t land herself in the hospital …, uh, healing halls?

Well, knowing her, she’d try to work anyway if she wasn’t unconscious or something. (Sometimes Sujanha’s work ethic was rather … excessive.)

The crowd in the Stargate facility had lessened upon their return but was still larger than usual, several groups apparently having already left. Ruarc and Daniel went through the Stargate with the next group leaving for Vorash.

The sight was staggering.

The entire landscape of Vorash had changed, not just because of the influx of men, machines, and supplies. The dunes had shifted. Gaping holes had appeared where tunnels beneath had collapsed or broken open, exposing them to the sky above and letting sand pour in.

Daniel stared out at the scene, aghast, too shocked for words.

Daniel spent hours on the surface of Vorash, helping where he could. Sometimes that was helping move debris or being an extra pair of hands for the healers. Other times that involved translating between the Furlings and the Tok’ra who did not speak English until more translators could be brought in from Uslisgas. By evening, Daniel was exhausted, and Ruarc sent him up to the Oshrocco to get some food and a few hours’ rest.

The Oshrocco was one of the Furling fleet’s 10 mercy ships, equivalent in function to the United States Navy’s hospital ships. As the name implied, those ships were massive, floating hospitals, over a mile-and-a-half in length. With a massive complement of healers from all the races of Asteria, each ship could hold about 5000 patients at a time, even containing stasis pods for transporting severely wounded people back to Asteria for more advanced treatment. The Oshrocco was flanked by five noticeably smaller warships, including Sujanha’s flagship, guarding the planet in case of attack.

Daniel ate a quick sandwich and then found a free bed in a room set aside for resting workers. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, and it seemed like only seconds had passed when a hand shook his shoulder and jolted him from sleep. He opened his eyes to see Ruarc standing like a shadow beside the bed. “The cavern where the Commander is trapped has almost been reached,” his friend said.

Suddenly wide-awake, Daniel bolted upright and swung his feet over the side of the bed. “Thanks for waking me. How long was I asleep?”

“Several hours,” Ruarc replied. “You were exhausted.” He looked little better than he had hours earlier. Had he rested at all? Or had he been on the surface all this time, waiting for news about his brother and Sujanha?

Unwilling to wait longer for news or to remain on the Oshrocco until Sujanha was freed and beamed up, Daniel and Ruarc beamed back down to the surface of Vorash. Much had changed since Daniel had arrived hours earlier. Some parts of the planet’s surface now bore a striking resemblance to the archeological sites in which Daniel had participated on earth a lifetime ago. In some locations, it looked like the Furling engineers had simply dug straight down through the sand dunes in order to reach trapped survivors, instead of taking the time to clear out and shore up the damaged tunnels and make their way through the tunnels, clearing debris away as they went.

In those intervening hours, Jacob-Selmak had also appeared. He explained to Daniel that he had been recalled early because of the emergency and the suspicious circumstances of the event. The three men stood together near the hole which led down to the region near where Sujanha and several Tok’ra were still trapped.

A corridor near the main chamber where Sujanha was trapped was breached first. (That area had less overlapping tunnels above it, enabling easier access.) Two Tok’ra with minor injuries were pulled out as well as, surprisingly, a snarling and impatient, though thankfully unhurt, Ragnar, who must have not been as far from Sujanha’s position as he had thought. The two brothers embraced heartily, but soon their delight soured, as Ragnar began to speak to his brother in a hushed voice, his eyes filled with unease and concern.

Hard to identify your position when it’s pitch black, and you can’t see squat.

Same general hallway or not, multiple tunnel collapses meant he couldn’t have gotten to her, anyway.

Jacob-Selmak was the first to pick up on the change in mood between the two brothers. “What’s wrong?” Jacob asked, leaning towards Daniel.

Daniel had turned away back toward the hole, allowing the two, usually restrained, brothers a little privacy. At Jacob’s concerned question, he turned back quickly, his face filled with puzzlement, having missed the contents of the hushed conversation.

“Su … the Commander hasn’t answered her comm for hours,” Ragnar was saying, and now he turned away from his brother towards the others, “though I spoke to her multiple times earlier.”

“How was she then?” Daniel asked.

“All business, as you say. She asked after us, was concerned for her companions. She spoke of no injuries to herself.”

“Not that that means much…” Ruarc muttered under his breath … in English.

Jacob, who was currently in control, looked puzzled at Ruarc’s comment but chose not to comment. Ruarc’s comment was similar to the one he had made earlier about the Commander being a poor judge of the severity of her own injuries. Daniel again wondered exactly what he meant. Yes, she had a high pain tolerance—she had to in order to function some days—and nerve damage, which could make sensing some things an issue, but tactically speaking, shouldn’t she need to be able to judge her own issues to know when she needed to relinquish command temporary to get treatment? Overlooking injuries or misjudging their severity because of adrenaline overload was a thing—they’d seen it plenty at the SGC—but adrenaline only lasted so long. Were there other reasons Sujanha might not want to say things with an audience, reasons the brothers might not be mentioning or factoring in? But yet, Ruarc was focusing on Sujanha’s judgment of her own injuries.

The brothers returned to their hissed discussion, switching back into Furling.

More time passed. Daniel wished for his old watch or his chronometer. Finally, a shout echoed up from the work zone. The four carefully approached closer to the hole, wary of getting in the way or dislodging loose debris at the edge. Within minutes, three floating pallets were carefully extracted from the tunnel depths, one covered respectfully by a cloth. On the other two were Sujanha and a blond-haired woman in the brown uniform of the Tok’ra.

The three pallets, along with Ragnar and Ruarc, Jacob-Selmak, and Daniel, were immediately beamed up to one of the med bays aboard Oshrocco. The body was taken away to the morgue, and the nameless Tok’ra woman and Sujanha were immediately transferred to two high-tech beds, which had holographic screens projected on the wall behind, displaying the vital signs of the injured occupants. A Lapith healer immediately began to treat the Tok’ra, while Kaja, Sujanha’s personal healer—Daniel had not seen her since Sha’re had been brought back from Abydos—appeared from the hallway.

“The air was growing thin in the tunnels,” Ragnar rumbled to the Lapith healer, “even for me.”

As Kaja ran a Furling healing device over Sujanha’s body, the Tok’ra seemed to begin to stir slightly, as if starting to regain consciousness, and Jacob stepped towards her. When he came within a pace of her bed, which was just a few feet away from Sujanha’s own bed, Jacob suddenly jerked backwards, a look of consternation and surprise filling his face.

What just happened?

A split second later, Kaja made an exclamation of surprise, her face a textbook picture of shock.

Ragnar and Ruarc exchanged uneasy glances and tensed. “What’s wrong?” Ruarc growled.

Jacob seemed too shocked for words, but Kaja replied wordlessly, bringing up a 3D holographic screen above Sujanha’s prone form. Her injuries and other abnormal readings were highlighted in red, which stood out harshly against the blue of the hologram. Daniel’s gaze first was drawn by the torrent of red on her back and within the right side of her chest, barely even noticing the red coating her feet and already tracing up her legs. A split-second later, he caught sight of a red form, unmistakably that of a Goa’uld symbiote, curled around her spinal cord.

For a moment, Ragnar and Ruarc both froze, their eyes full of bewildered surprise. Daniel was flabbergasted. His brain seemed to hit the pause button.

What?!

How did that happen?

“Would someone like to explain this to me?” Sujanha’s very protective, very no-nonsense healer asked, her tone turned biting with shock, stress, or surprise—or a combination of all three—stabbing one finger toward the holographic screen. “To treat her, I have to know …

“Kelmaa is uninjured, but Malek’s host is dying,” Ragnar broke in, muttering half to himself, half to the others in the room.

Ruarc whirled towards his brother. “What!?”

“Kelmaa is uninjured, but Malek’s host is dying,” Ragnar repeated, rubbing his face with one paw. “That was one of the first things the Commander told me when I raised her on comms the first time.”

“Which would make that Kelmaa,” continued Ruarc, gesturing toward the woman, who had settled down without ever regaining consciousness, “and the fallen one …”

“Loknu,” Jacob finished. “Loknu was the body we recovered. He and Kelmaa frequently worked together. They were both … bio-chemists.” He seemed tense. (If this were earth, there probably would have already been drawn guns and a lot of yelling.)

Daniel was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Sujanha suddenly had a symbiote. What on earth happened down there? She got along well with all the usual Tok’ra operatives—Martouf-Lantash and Jacob-Selmak, especially—and there was a deep level of trust between the Furlings and the Tok’ra, but this was … new. She had never spoken of considering becoming a host.

“We are sure this was consensual?” Kaja asked. “The Commander never spoke of considering becoming a host.”

“The Tok’ra do not take unwilling hosts,” Selmak snapped.

Except when they do, Jolinar being case in point, even if those circumstances were … complicated. Daniel corrected mentally, remembering those nerve-wracking days. That’s the party line, Selmak. He doubted that this was non-consensual—any symbiote would know the cost to the alliance of such an attack on the Furling Supreme Commander—but he was reassured to remember that Furlings hosts were advanced enough to fight for control of the body.

“There is no reason to assume in haste that this was not a consensual blending without evidence of what went on in that room,” Ruarc said, stepping forward to calm everyone. “Kaja, care for the Commander’s injuries as best you can, factoring in the symbiote’s presence. As soon as either of them awakens, have us sent for."

Kaja nodded and turned back toward the unconscious commander, muttering something under her breath. Jacob-Selmak, Daniel, and Ragnar all stepped out or, rather, were shooed out of the room by Ruarc, who followed them into the hallway outside the private treatment bay, letting the door slide shut behind them, sealing in the noises and smells common to hospitals.

“Brother,” said Ruarc quietly, “Please find somewhere private for us all to speak. I will join you shortly. Until I return, Jacob-Selmak, please do not speak of this development to anyone.”

This would be easier if we were on the Valhalla.

It took less than ten minutes for Ragnar to find an unused meeting room one floor up. The room was small but workable. A large round table with six chairs took up almost the entire floor space. The lights were … clinical, but there were holographic ‘windows’ that could piggy-back on the bridge sensors to show views of space and the planet below.

Agitated, Ragnar began to pace the circuit of the room as soon as everyone was inside and the door slid shut behind them. “I never should have left her side,” he raged in English.

“There was no sign before this that Vorash was prone to earthquakes,” Jacob began, taking a seat at the table, “and our base was not built near any fault lines. You could not have known.”

That makes this even more suspicious. Daniel considered the timing of the earthquake a little more, before the image of that hologram with all that red superimposed itself across his eyes. “How badly is the Commander injured?” He asked, deciding to speak in English after a moment’s hesitation.

Ragnar paced the circuit of the room for another minute or two before finally he stopped and stared at Daniel. “Severely. Quite severely for her,” he replied.

Daniel understood what was not being said, what Sujanha’s bodyguard might not want to say even in front of Jacob-Selmak, who was probably the most trusted of the Tok’ra. Though she rarely got sick, Sujanha’s health was more fragile—her body was weaker—because of the repercussions of being poisoned during the Great War and never fully recovering. Those symptoms were usually manageable during everyday life, but they meant that with serious injuries, she was already working from the disadvantage of a weakened body.

“Even with your technology?” Jacob questioned. “And Malek?”

Ragnar nodded.

Jacob hesitated momentarily, his eyes distant, before asking cautiously, “Are her injuries fatal?”

Ragnar shook his head vehemently. “No, but she will probably be down for multiple weeks. Our scanners showed multiple broken ribs and internal damage, though how severe I do not know. She also has debris lodged in her feet. Those wounds are infected, and the infection has entered her bloodstream. It will take time for her to heal. High Commander Algar will rule the fleet in her place until she is recovered and can return to duty.”

That could kill a human without proper treatment and even with, sometimes.

Jacob bowed his head, and Selmak came forward. “Algar will rule?”

“Unless a situation occurs, which makes it seem wiser for Supreme Commander Thor of the Asgard to rule, instead.” Ragnar confirmed, a comment which puzzled Daniel. How could the Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet also rule as the Supreme Commander of the Furling Fleet? Politics and history that I don’t know about. The alliance between the two races was ancient and strong, and yet … how would that even work? How is that even a thing? Why is it?

The conference room door slid open silently, and Ruarc entered. “I have sent messages to Supreme Commander Anarr and High Commander Algar to come with all possible speed.” He spoke as a greeting. “This situation is going to be a political nightmare when word gets out.” He sank into a chair and then looked across at Jacob-Selmak. “Tell me about Malek.” There was an aura of command about him, an ease with ordering happenings and people. Daniel wondered, for the first time, what Ruarc’s rank had been with the Imperial Guard.

“In what respect?” Jacob asked. “His personality? His position among the Tok’ra? What he is like as a partner?”

“Anything and everything that you deem relevant,” Ruarc replied. “Whatever prompted the lady to make this choice, the repercussions are potentially immense, and the politics more complicated than you can imagine. I need to be able to give Supreme Commander Anarr a report when he arrives.

Imagine the fallout if one of the Joint Chiefs took a Tok’ra symbiote?

It would be a disaster.

“As for their blending and Malek’s personality,” Jacob began, “I think this will either be a match made in heaven, or they’ll want to kill each other within a week. Malek’s a good kid, but he's young. He's smart, cunning, dedicated, loyal, detail oriented, and extremely protective of his hosts, but he is also stubborn as a mule, blunt to the point of rudeness, and arrogant with the manner of a bull in a china shop.” He paused, thinking for a moment. None of the others spoke. “Malek is a high-ranking member among the Tok’ra. Occasionally, he works as an operative, but his main positions are as a biochemist and data analyst.”

Match made in heaven … might need to explain that idiom later.

Okay. A lot of idioms I may need to explain later. Ruarc, Ragnar, and Sujanha all spoke fluent English, but most idioms were culture specific, and unless Daniel used such phrases, their knowledge of idioms was quite limited. And we usually speak Furling, and I don’t carry over those phrases. Furling has its own.

“For the good of our alliance, would your High Council be willing to let him go?” Ruarc asked. From the look on his face, he seemed to have the basic idea of what Jacob was saying, even though Daniel guessed that most of the English idioms would have gone straight over his head.

Jacob frowned. “It depends on what you mean by let him go. He would be greatly missed, but I believe we could do without him on a daily basis, as long as we still had access to him occasionally.” The last part was emphasized.

“There would be no thought of restricting your access to one of your own people,” Ragnar assured him, breaking into the conversation. “Our king will not allow her to join your people as others of us have done.”

What Jacob-Selmak did not know was that Sujanha was not just Supreme Commander of the Furling Fleet and a High Councilor of state. That alone would require her staying in more protected territory and would prevent her joining the Tok’ra, aside from her health issues. Sujanha was also the third in line to one of the most powerful empires in the known universe. With only children following her in the line of succession, there was risk involved anytime she strayed beyond her own flagship or Furling-controlled worlds.

“When you speak of political ramifications, to what do you refer?” Selmak asked, taking back control smoothly.

“Nothing that will impact the alliance,” Ruarc replied, scrubbing his paws across his muzzle, “but …” Here, he hesitated. “It is almost certain that the Commander will be asked to step down.”

Why? Is this another political mess that can be chalked up to Janth causing trouble? Sujanha and Ruarc were always circumspect, very circumspect, in what they said about the other High Councilor, but it was clear that there was bad blood between the two. It seemed sometimes that Janth straight up had a bone to pick with her or something, given the way he repeatedly went after her or the measures she supported.

“Or be forced to step down.” Ragnar muttered angrily under his breath in Furling, words so low that only Daniel sitting next to him heard.

The door chimed a warning and then slid open a moment later, silhouetting Kaja in the doorway. Her arrival prevented Selmak from asking any questions that Ruarc’s revelation almost certainly had prompted. “Kelmaa has awoken,” the healer said to Ruarc. “She is asking for you or your brother. The Commander is still unconscious.”

Ruarc gave a nod of acknowledgment—Kaja then departed—and rose from his chair, motioning for Selmak to follow. Another gesture was directed at Ragnar, who stayed in his seat. Once the door had slid shut behind the two men, Daniel turned to his friend. “Could the Commander really be forced to step down? I thought High Councilors held their posts for life?” asked Daniel in a torrent of words. “Ruarc told me.”

“Except in rare cases, they do,” Ragnar confirmed, rising from his chair and returning to his restless pacing. “And yet, in those rare cases, it is possible to unseat a serving High Councilor with a united vote of the remainder of the High Council and the approval of the reigning monarch.”

“Has that ever happened before?” Daniel asked cautiously, realizing that he was wading into a complex and controversial issue.

“Twice in recorded history,” Ragnar replied immediately, “although on eight occasions it has been put to a vote of the Council. It is a measure only used in severe circumstances. Such a measure is generally viewed as a disgrace upon the one against whom a vote is called.”

And they’d do that against Sujanha, seriously? She’s …

“Could they get enough votes to force her out? Would Commander Anarr really vote against his own sister?” I know their relationship is weird, but …

“I think it would rain water on Drehond before the Council actually received a unanimous vote, but if the vote were close or if the King requested that she step down, she might actually step down without forcing the issue to not cause division,” Ragnar replied. Considering Drehond, the homeworld of the Dovahkiin, was a fire world covered in volcanoes and lava runs in extremes even of Netu, it was not going to be raining water there like ever.

“When was the last time a vote was called?”

Is this an antiquated custom, or has it been used recently?

“In 6483 A.S., fifteen years after the Great War,” Ragnar replied, his voice trailing off into a growl at the end, “when the Commander was still on medical leave.”

They tried to unseat her while she was on medical leave? Seriously?

Why try to unseat her, anyway? She’s said to be one of the best fleet commanders that the Furlings have had in generations. Everyone loves her. The soldiers would follow her to hell and back.

“Hold up! Hold up! I think I missed that history lesson when I arrived. And why would they want to unseat her, anyway?”

“Politics, Daniel!” Ragnar replied with a heavy sigh. “You already heard some about her feud with High Councilor Janth. Politics is always complicated no matter the race or system of government.” True. “As you know, Sujanha was poisoned during the war and barely survived. She returned to the front lines too soon, and her health has never been the same. By the end of the war, her health was shattered, and she collapsed. The healers gave her a year to live. My brother and I had watched her health steadily decline for decades. By the end of the war, she already could hear the Sea of Night lapping in her ears. We gave her months, at best, but she proved herself too stubborn to die and lived for two months, six months, and then a year. A year stretched into several, which stretched into a decade.”

“A decade of medical leave from the military would be unheard of on earth,” Daniel noted. “But when you live as long as you do, I guess it’s not as surprising.”

Ten years is a good chunk of my lifespan, a huge chunk of someone’s career. You just couldn’t do that on earth.

“Medical leave as extensive as that is unusual among us, but we were dealing with injuries, illnesses, poisons entirely news to us during and after the Great War. That summer, after the commander had spent fifteen years with Dovahkiin with limited contact with Uslisgas—any stressors, anything but rest could have sent her straight onto the pyre—one of the High Councilors”—Janth, let me guess?—“put forward a motion to have Sujanha retired—removed, really—from her duties as Supreme Commander, citing her long absence; poor health, which had no guarantee of ever fully recovered even if she survived; and the ongoing disruption of the chain of command.”

“Those points sound … reasonable.” Daniel had a sense Ragnar was omitting some details, though. He thought through those points again, and something seemed off.

“For one who knew much less than he thought he did about the operations of the fleet, perhaps that would be true,” replied Ragnar pointedly, finally retaking his seat after pacing several more circuits of the room. “Supreme Commanders and High Commanders have taken long absences from the fleet before when necessary, and no war was ongoing at that time, and when there is no war, there is, in theory, less for a Supreme Commander to do on a day-to-day basis, unless you are Sujanha with an eye for fine details and a tendency to look over matters with, what was that strange saying of yours, a fine-tooth comb.”

You do remember some English idioms!

“As to the second point, the Commander’s health was a concern, true, but the fact that she had even survived for fifteen years was a miracle and an excellent sign in her favor. And anyone who knew her well knew that if her health remained shattered, she would have stepped down on her own. She cares for her men too much to risk them. As to the last point, the chain of command was no more disrupted by her absence than it was by the numerous other absent slots further down the chain. By the time Sujanha took command, becoming Supreme Commander or High Commander was essentially a death sentence, and many commanders of lower ranks were also lost … frequently.”

A death sentence?!

Daniel was quiet for several long minutes after Ragnar finished, trying to digest it all. “So why,” he finally asked, “do they still want to unseat the Commander?” That’s the key point.

“Several reasons that largely tie back to politics,” Ragnar replied with a half-sneer and flash of teeth. He was often the most expressively protective of Sujanha and the least fond of politics. “Her health is still a major issue to some. Transferring power from a retiring commander to their chosen successor is less complicated than when a commander unexpectedly dies, not that she is likely to. With Malek’s presence, some will also likely deem her judgment and loyalty to the Empire compromised, and her choice to become a host will only confirm her, in the minds of some, as a maverick and a risk-taker.”

“Sujanha?” Daniel exclaimed, forgetting to even call her by her title. “She goes over every plan with a fine-tooth comb, as you already noted. She can take days to approve simple plans. She is about as far from a maverick and a risk-taker as one can get.”

“Compared to many on the High Council, she is quite young, so is her brother, for that matter, and she was the youngest Supreme Commander in history when she rose to power. It took many risks and much … creativity … to win the war against the Great Enemy, risks that would have greatly hastened our end if they failed but were our salvation against the long defeat.[1] Her methods were effective but not always popular, though she has no need of them against the Goa’uld.”

“Necessity is the mother of invention,” Daniel muttered.

“True,” Ragnar replied. “Some on the High Council also feel that the presence of her and her brother gives the king too much influence over the council.”

Daniel looked at Ragnar askance. “Isn’t the whole point of the High Council to assist the king after the empire grew too large for one man to rule alone?”

“Yes, but the High Council is supposed to be able to stand against the king and overrule him if the worst happens, Maker forbid, but it requires a unanimous vote of the council.”

“Which, at the moment, would require both the second and third in line to vote against the king …” Daniel winced.

Though I can’t see her going against her principles for the sake of family alone.

“Yes, and thus you see why Furling politics are quite complicated.”

Within twenty minutes, Ruarc and Selmak returned alone. Daniel and Ragnar broke off their conversation, leaving the young man with much to contemplate. Life will never be the same again. That much was certain.

“Kelmaa confirmed that the blending was consensual. Loknu was dying, and the Commander thought it would be dishonorable not to offer him a chance to live.” Sounds like her. “Kelmaa was quite concerned for the Commander and had not realized she had been hurt. She also had a message from her for me to give to the High Command,” said Ruarc. “The bad news is a rumor is already spreading.”

As Selmak started to speak, Daniel leaned over toward Ragnar and quietly asked in Furling. “How could she not have known she was injured that badly?”

“Easily,” Ragnar replied, “Between her high pain tolerance, her talent for compartmentalizing, and nerve damage, she just does not always recognize the extent of her own injuries. More than once I’ve seen her push through and keep working, even when she should be on bed rest or in the Healers’ Halls. There is a reason Commander Anarr assigned us to her, and it is not just because of external dangers.”

Ragnar’s judgment proved correct, and Sujanha was on bed rest for about a week-and-a-half (Furling time). Daniel found that week to be one of the longest and most complicated of his recent life. On the second day after the rescue on Vorash began, the expected High Council meeting took place, and the expected vote was called. Before she could even testify in her own defense?? The resulting attempt to force Sujanha to step down failed 7-4. Even so, the political controversy still raged. Algar would remain as Acting High Commander until the king passed judgment on his own. It was not like she would be returning to the front while bedridden, anyway.

During that week-and-a-half, Sujanha and Malek met with several members of the Tok’ra High Council, regarding Malek’s new position and Sujanha’s status as host. Whatever went on left both Sujanha and Malek extremely frustrated. The result was that the Tok’ra would have free access to Malek whenever possible, but Malek would be available for no missions, and most, if not all, work that he did would be done in Asteria or Furling-controlled territory.

Around the same time, Daniel had his first meeting with Malek. Sujanha seemed the same as ever, if perhaps somewhat quieter and more introspective after the blending. Malek seemed to be fitting in well with her, despite the abrupt transition. The exact cause of the earthquake on Vorash was still undetermined, though after much work and many interviews, most were inclined to believe that its suspicious timing was coincidental, not indicative of sabotage. Still, the Furlings and the Tok’ra were on high alert for the time being.

On the fourteenth day after the Vorash earthquake, Sujanha with Daniel, Ragnar, and Ruarc returned to Uslisgas, leaving Algar and Anarr in charge of the war against the Goa’uld. Daniel watched Sujanha closely as the four of them walked to the Stargate on Ushuotis. She seemed to be moving reasonably well, though not quickly and still cautiously. Her last lingering look at Ushuotis before they stepped through the Stargate was almost wistful.

This very well might be the end of an era for her.

The Stargate building was nearly deserted when they all stepped through the Stargate onto Uslisgas. The main hall was quiet. It was late in the evening, and the lights were low. The great statues of long-dead heroes cast long shadows across the floor. Sujanha was looking around more than she had ever had before while coming through the main hall, and Daniel suddenly noticed … she’s looking at this room like she’s never seen it before. Wait. He studied her closely again and noticed that she was carrying herself differently than she usually did.

Malek must be in control.

A couple of minutes later, Daniel stepped up beside Sujanha-Malek as they exited and looked out over the sprawling city from the top of the staircase. Malek glanced at him and bowed his head, and then it was Sujanha, looking at him instead.

“I am not sure,” Daniel began, looking up to the stars, “that we ever fully value all that we have until we either lose it, almost lose it, or see it through someone else’s eyes.”

“I think you are right,” Sujanha replied softly. Usually standing for extended periods was hard on her, but she seemed content to just stand there for the moment looking out over the city. “Malek is amazed. Uslisgas, it is so large. There are so many people, and it is all above ground, no more hiding. Even during the Great War, we never had to hide like the Tok’ra do.”

Daniel could only nod. She was quiet for a few long minutes and then turned to Ragnar and Ruarc, waiting a few paces away. “Let us all return home,” she said. “I will determine tomorrow’s activities tomorrow.”

“Of course, commander,” Ruarc replied.

Ragnar and Ruarc left for their own apartment, and Daniel and Sujanha beamed out to the countryside to their home. Though it was fall on earth, spring was in full bloom, literally, on Uslisgas, and the flowers in Sujanha’s small garden were blossoming, scenting the air with their fragrance. The house ‘autopilot’ greeted them as they stepped inside.

After Sujanha replied, asking for any messages that had come for her since last she was there, Daniel asked, “Do you need anything from me tonight, Commander?”

“Sujanha,” she murmured. She seemed somewhat distracted. Daniel wondered if she was talking to Malek.

“Pardon?”

“You may call me by name in private, if you wish, Daniel,” Sujanha said, giving him a small smile. She was mimicking human body language again. It didn’t really work on her: too many teeth. “You have lived with me for quite some time and proven yourself quite invaluable to me. You need not call me by any title in private unless you are more comfortable doing so.”

“Sujanha, then,” Daniel replied. The arrangement would be similar to hers for him. Sujanha had started calling him Daniel in private but usually still referred to him as Doctor Jackson in public, except when speaking to those with whom they were both quite familiar, like her bodyguards, other aids, or Jacob-Selmak. “Do you need anything from me tonight?” He asked again.

Sujanha shook her head. “No, I will show Malek where everything is and then retire to rest. Rest well. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Sleep well.”

Daniel expected Sujanha to quickly become stir-crazy or start climbing the walls, metaphorically speaking, being on medical leave, but to his great surprise, she did not. For the next four days, she happily spent her time puttering around the house or reading through an extensive selection of the books in her library, probably for Malek’s sake. She was a quick reader. Except for going out to walk in the garden once or twice a day, she rarely stirred from the library except to eat. Ragnar and Ruarc were frequent visitors. Their orders, Ragnar told Daniel once with a toothy grin, were to guard Sujanha, not the Supreme Commander, so her current leave did not change their assignment. The benefits of carefully phrased orders!

Daniel used the downtime to catch up on some research at the Great Library, mainly on ascension, which the Furlings called the ‘living death.’ Though much ink had been spilled by the Furlings on the issue, Daniel also found actual Ancient texts on the subject among the massive collection of documents in the library. He found himself fascinated and intrigued by the concept, though also somewhat confused. More reading is in order. He also used the downtime to visit Sha’re and Skaara at length and spend most of a day on Abydos, visiting Kasuf and playing with Shifu, who was growing like a weed. Watching his son grow, seeing him pass those baby milestones, reminded Daniel of how much Sha’re was missing of her son’s life. It made him sad.

By the morning of the fifth day, Sujanha was finally becoming stir-crazy. After centuries of war, sitting still and doing little except reading was no longer familiar. Her seeming boredom was solved when, after breakfast, the door chime sounded as Sujanha and Daniel were finishing their tea.

Malek, who had been the one in control, pulled back, and Sujanha retook control. “Who is it?” She posed the question to the ‘autopilot.’

“Ruarc,” was the reply.

Is there a camera out on the porch? How does it recognize faces?

“Let him in,” Sujanha replied. “I need to change the settings,” she added, half to herself, “to let them in automatically.”

“I bring a message,” declared Ruarc, as he entered the kitchen, “or, rather, a summons.”

Sujanha did the Furling equivalent of raising an eyebrow. “Speak,” she said, waving her bodyguard to a seat at the table.

“The High King wishes to speak with you after Judgment today, now that you have had time to rest and regain your strength. It is time, he says, to put this political controversy to rest.”

Judgment, another politics lesson I missed?

“One way or the other, it is time it ends,” Sujanha agreed, glancing across at the chrono hanging on the wall. Both of them were on different schedules, since Sujanha was on medical leave and no longer rising almost at the crack of dawn, and it was currently about half past the 8th hour. From the way she was tapping her claws on the table, she seemed to be deliberating something.

“Do you want to attend Judgment?” Ruarc asked.

“My seat is Algar’s at the moment.”

“True,” replied Ruarc, “but with the Crown Prince absent…” He let his voice trail off, insinuating a point that Daniel did not get.

Daniel was glancing back and forth between his two friends, struggling to keep up with the conversation. They were speaking too cryptically for him to follow with his non-existent knowledge of what ‘Judgment’ was in the Furling context or what the Crown Prince’s absence had to do with anything.

“Yes,” Sujanha acknowledged, “but the High Council has been in enough turmoil over me these past weeks. The High King would probably prefer if I did not appear and risk making things worse.” Her voice was almost hesitant.

Politics again?

“It is your choice.” Ruarc noted. “However, with the Crown Prince and your brother off-world, the seat at the king’s right hand is yours by right of birth, not simply by appointment as the High Councilors and the High Chancellor hold their chairs.”

“True.” Sujanha was silent for several minutes. “Very well. I have not been in quite some time. Do you wish to come with me, Daniel?”

“Uh, explain to me what I’d be going to, and then I’ll decide.” His voice went up at the end as if Daniel himself wasn’t sure whether he was making a question or a statement.

“Your pardon, Daniel. My duties have prevented me from attending Judgment since soon after you arrived, and the issue never came up otherwise.” Sujanha paused, thinking, “You told me once of Midgard and its past empires. You spoke of the Romans and of Caesar.” Her pronunciation on the less familiar words was lacking, but Daniel understood what she meant. “Judgment is like ‘Appeal to Caesar.’ Anyone from across the empire, no matter their race or status, can bring a matter before the King for judgment, not just court cases. These cases can vary from the political to the mundane. Usually, some members of the High Council are available to give advice to the king, if warranted, and there are also seats for the monarch’s spouse and for the highest ranked member of the royal family present.”

“Sure! I’ll come!” Daniel would happily jump at the chance to learn more about the Furlings. There was always more to learn about them and probably would be, no matter how long he lived with them. “When does it start, and how long does it last?”

“Judgment happens on the third and seventh of every week. It starts at the 10th hour and lasts until the 14th hour usually. Visitors are not required to stay the whole time. Portions of the palace are open to the public, and Ruarc could show you around, if you would prefer.”

The Imperial Palace was located on the acropolis, some distance from headquarters and the other buildings that Daniel usually frequented. Daniel and Sujanha beamed to the Acropolis at half-past the 9th hour and were met by Ruarc, who had gone ahead to find his brother, and Ragnar, and the four walked together the short distance across a small garden toward the palace walls. We’re not beaming straight to the palace. Interesting. Unless … there’re jammers that prevent that. Like with the Stargate. That they were walking a longer distance was an encouragement. Sujanha had not said anything to such an effect, but Daniel thought that she seemed to be feeling better, stronger. Malek was still figuring out how she could help, but sometimes her just being able to take control and spare Sujanha her constant pain for a time seemed to help.

The Imperial Palace was as striking up close as it had seemed on that first trip to headquarters with Sujanha when he had seen the sprawling complex from afar. The palace was built up to the edge of the cliff with some buildings overhanging the cliff face or even being built down the cliff face itself. The garden they were crossing abutted one small entrance in the tall defensive wall that encircled the three sides of the palace complex which were not protected by the cliff face. Beyond the wall, high towers and multi-level buildings peaked up over the top.

With Sujanha present, the group passed the guards and went through the gate into the palace complex unimpeded. The entire setting reminded Daniel of old European palaces and of some artists’ illustrations of Troy, especially given how blindingly white the stones of the buildings were. The building style, however, reminded Daniel more of his time in the Middle East.

“It’s huge,” he murmured in awe.

Daniel had not even realized he had spoken until Sujanha replied, a rare catch in her voice, “Our family was much larger before the Great War. There are only seven of the blood left.”

After another minute of walking under the long shadow of the walls and then threading their way between several outbuildings and past more grassy courtyards and well-organized gardens, they came to the largest of the buildings at the center of the complex: the Imperial Palace itself. Sujanha led them through a richly decorated gate, carved with motifs that Daniel did not recognize. It again seemed to be a secondary entrance.

Is she trying to slip inside unseen?

The passages inside were narrow and lit with blue lamps with beautifully engraved globes that cast strange shadows across the floor. There were no decorations on the walls, making Daniel guess that these were service passageways or the servants’ areas. Though trying to judge by earth standards when it comes to palaces and the treatment of servants is likely to get you into trouble. A handful of people passed them, greeting Sujanha with kind words and scrupulously polite bows. Their dress, almost identical to Sujanha and her bodyguards except for no military insignia, gave Daniel no clue as to their status. They seem totally unsurprised to see Sujanha down here, wherever here is, so she’s probably done this before.

Once they rode a lift up several levels, they emerged into an area that was more obviously royal. This was the palace proper. The architecture inside was somehow straightforward and elaborate at the same time. Somewhat Gothic in style, the ceilings of the floor they were on were towering, supported by massive rib vaults. Archways could be seen down several hallways, leading off into other chambers. Some sunlight filtered in from the outside through small, colored windows high on the walls, but most of the lighting came from those blue-flame lamps.

Why blue?

While the architecture was very Furling, adapted to the function and importance of the building but still similar to the other buildings on the Acropolis, the artwork and decoration that Daniel could see was more eclectic but not gaudy.

“Gifts from other races,” Ruarc whispered to him.

Sujanha split off from them, hulking Ragnar at her heels. Ruarc led Daniel in the opposite direction. “We need to go find a place to stand,” he said as a warning. “There are no seats, but no one is expected to stay the entire four hours.”

The throne room was massive, at least 30 feet across and 90 feet long, with a towering ceiling, maybe three stories high, with massive rib-vaults supporting the ceiling. Narrow vaulted colonnades, above which were the balconies, stood on either side of the main hall. These two large balconies, on the second story, ran the length of the throne room. It was to one of these balconies that Ruarc led Daniel. There was already a crowd there, but Ruarc was quickly recognized, and people made way for the two to make their way to a place along the rail.

The pillars ran up the walls until they merged into the rib-vaults that supported the high ceiling. At the far end of the room was a wide dais that ran the width of the room. On the first level of the dais stood eleven chairs, five on one side and six on the other. Between these sets of chairs was another taller dais with only three chairs: the monarch’s throne (the most elaborate); another seat on his left land, which was draped in green cloth—the queen’s throne. Is green the coloring of mourning?—and another seat on the king’s right hand. The room was lit by large windows set high above the balconies.

A crowd was already assembling in the hall, and there was a soft drone of voices. Sujanha was sitting, poised, on the upper dais, though the king’s chair was empty. Several of the High Councilors were also present. Chief Scholar Inga, the only one of the High Councilors who looked human, had taken a seat on the far left of the lower dais. I’ve seen her at the library a lot. Iarum Disoze, the Iprysh Chief Engineer, was speaking to someone who Daniel thought was Chief Minister Janth, who was a source of frequent frustration to Sujanha. Vaazrodiiv, the Dovahkiin Chief Armorer, was crouched on the steps by Sujanha’s side.

At the 10^th hour precisely, the High King of the Furling Empire entered the throne room. Ivar was a Maskilim like his son and cousins. And I thought Sujanha was tall!! Daniel was 6 feet tall; Sujanha was, at least, a head taller than he was; and Ivar seemed taller still, though it was hard to judge precisely given the sharp angle from which Daniel was observing everything going on. His fur was a desert tan and patterned with a variety of darker spots. He moved with a loping feline stride. I wouldn’t want to meet him on the battlefield just from the look of him!

Ivar took his seat and brought the meeting to order. Cases were judged slowly and carefully, one by one. There was no hurry or rush to judgment, just methodical testimony and detailed questions. From time-to-time Sujanha or one of the other High Councilors were consulted for their opinion. Over the next two hours, the cases ranged from theft to property rights to inheritance struggles.

After two hours, however, Ruarc and Daniel slipped away from the balcony, and Ruarc gave Daniel a tour of the palace rooms that were open to the public. One fascinating room was a great hall, whose walls were covered with elaborate paintings of historical scenes. It was used to entertain large crowds during major events. A nearby smaller hall was just as striking for more personal reasons. This other hall … its walls were covered with paintings of people … deceased members of the royal family. Ruarc pointed out the figures of Sunniva, the king’s late wife, as well as Atar and Ioldis, the parents of Sujanha who, her bodyguard revealed, had died within a year of each other during the Great War … while Sujanha was still a child being raised off-world at an allied court.

She never got to see them before they died?

Does she even remember them?

After finishing the tour of those rooms, Ruarc and Daniel went down to the Great Square to buy lunch and pass the time, looking at the shops. Just before the 16th hour, they were recalled by Ragnar and returned to find Ragnar and Sujanha waiting for them in the shadow of the wall around the palace complex. Sujanha looked exhausted but reasonably pleased.

“How did your meeting go?” Daniel asked.

“Well enough,” she replied. “The High King and I spoke for some time. He asked many questions and was pleased with my answers, I think. He has not yet made his decision, but I deem he will rule in my favor.”

“When will you hear?” Ruarc asked.

“Tomorrow. One way or the other, this will be over by tomorrow. What time is it?” She changed the subject abruptly.

It’s usually the waiting and the uncertainty that’s always the worst.

“The 16th hour, almost exactly,” Ragnar rumbled, double-checking the time on a chrono he pulled from a pocket.

“I want to stop at Headquarters before going home. I am missing my pocket chrono and a book. I think I must have left them in my office when I left for Vorash.”

What was supposed to be a brief trip to Headquarters quickly became an extended affair. Despite her political conflicts with the High Council, Sujanha was extremely popular with both the Fleet and Army. As soon as news spread that she had arrived, what seemed like half the building congregated to greet her, ask after her health, and inquire as to when she was going to return. Algar was not unpopular by any means and was an extremely competent and reliable lieutenant, but Sujanha was … Sujanha. By the time the four were able to escape Headquarters, almost two hours had passed.

“Will you need us tomorrow?” Ruarc asked.

“Likely not,” Sujanha replied. “But if something unexpected occurs, I will send word for you, and as soon as I hear word from the High King, I will let you know, one way or the other.”

“Then we will bid you goodnight, Commander, Daniel. We will return to our quarters.”

At home, Daniel and Sujanha ate a quiet dinner of leftovers and then parted ways, Sujanha off to her library, Daniel back to his room to work on his journals. About an hour later, a shout pulled his mind away from writing his description of the day’s events.

“Daniel, come down, please!” It was Sujanha’s voice calling him. Why she had not used the ‘autopilot’ to give him the message, he wasn’t sure. There was a strange tone to her voice, also, which concerned him. It was strange enough that she was shouting through the house.

Have I ever heard Sujanha do that?

Daniel quickly stuffed his feet back into his boots and hurried downstairs. Sujanha was standing in the entrance hall next to Ruarc, who was supposed to be at home with his brother and off-duty. Not here. Not now.

“What’s wrong?” Daniel asked.

“Nothing is wrong,” Sujanha replied. There was almost a gleam of tears in her black eyes.

 “I have news, Daniel, very good news,” said Ruarc. “The procedure to free Goa’uld hosts has been declared ready for use. As soon as the High King passes judgment upon the Goa’uld for their crimes, their hosts, including your wife, can be freed.”

Daniel physically staggered, as at last he finally saw his dream of being reunited with Sha’re and with Skaara about to become a reality. He put a hand out to steady himself against the wall, and Sujanha stepped towards him, concern in her eyes.

“The darkness is almost over for them, your wife and brother both,” said Sujanha, slipping one paw under his elbow, since he was looking (and feeling) rather shaky. “Healing can soon begin.”

[1] LOTR reference.

Chapter Text

Injured much more severely than she had realized by the falling stones, which unknown to her had broken several ribs and caused internal damage, as well as by the crystal shards, lodged in her feet, now infected wounds, Sujanha was deeply unconscious by the time she and Kelmaa were rescued and brought aboard the Oshrocco. She had no knowledge of the surprise the revelation of her blending with Malek had caused among her senior staff, healers, and others; of being attended to by healers; or of being moved to a private room off a private, secured hallway away from the larger wards.

Sleep had progressed to unconsciousness in the depths of Vorash as her condition had worsened, the unrecognized severity of her wounds sapping her strength and her life's blood, but hours later on the Oshrocco, once the combined efforts of Malek and Kaja had done much to healing her injuries, unconsciousness had progressed back to sleep, one this time full of dreams. Furling dreams were not unconscious and uncontrollable like human ones. Rather, those dreams usually involved some memory of the past as it had happened, in which the dreamer was a conscious participant even while asleep.

There was something so terribly ironic about the dream Sujanha found herself within that day, night, afternoon. (She had no idea exactly what time of day or even what day it was by now. Time had a different meaning in that void of sleep and dreams.) Somehow, she knew she was safe, and she already knew that she could not be truly alone again (not any time soon, at least) with Malek with her now. And yet, within this dream, she was totally alone, and the place that her mind associated with safety and peace, healing and home, with rest … was Drehond.

Drehond, the home of her childhood, a fortress against attack, a respite from the maneuverings at the capital, the place from which she was banished never to return as long as she lived and not even after she died and crossed the Seas of Night.

It was horribly, heart-wrenchingly, and cruelly ironic.

The dreamscape was a circular stone chamber with thick sealed windows that looked out upon a hellish, fiery landscape and a single door on the opposite side of the room from the windows, which led down a step staircase that was only lit by the light of a row of lamps set into the wall, smoothly carven from the very rock. It was not a large room, and there was only one piece of furniture, a comfortable bed piled high with blankets and pillows, everything that would make an invalid more comfortable. The room was quite warm, almost soporifically so, as if Sujanha could almost fall asleep within the dream.

Sujanha found herself sitting upon the bed, a blanket tucked around her shoulders and her knees pulled up to her chest, her physical capacities undiminished in this dreamland. Resting against the head of the bed, she looked out upon the fires of Drehond, a mountainous world with towering peaks that disappeared into noxious clouds and valleys through which ran rivers of fiery lava. Down some valley walls spilled lava-falls, terrible in their beauty. Far in the distance, a volcano had recently exploded, and plumes of smoke, dust, and ash were spilling into the atmosphere, further poisoning the air for any who were not the Dovahkiin.

"What is this place?" A male voice—the multi-toned voice of a symbiote—suddenly asked. "And how am I here?"

It seemed to Sujanha like she had been alone for a long time in that familiar room where she had spent so much time of her convalescence on Drehond—though I was rarely alone. Zin … Malek's voice and his appearance in Loknu's form, which was a surprise of its own, gave the dreaming woman a start within her own dream.

Though if he were to appear separately, how else would he appear?

A symbiote cannot survive on its own outside of the water or a host.

Sujanha turned her head and gave a nod of greeting. "This is Drehond, the homeworld of the Dovahkiin, a race allied with my people. Furlings dream differently than Zukish … humans … do, a more conscious dream, a reechoing of the past in some ways. This is my dream, and somehow you have joined me." She corrected herself from using the Furling term for humans before remembering that Malek would understand Furling now.

Malek seemed interested and puzzled. (His face was more expressive here than it had ever seemed in those hours before the earthshakes had hit.) If we're dreaming, we both survived. It would be too cruel to have passed beyond the Seas of Night and to find myself here of all places once more. He paced the edge of the room, touched a stone wall with one hand, pinched the corner of a blanket at the foot of the bed. "This is a dream? It feels real."

"Trust me. This is a dream. My people have very precise memories, and I spent enough years in this room in the past to remember it in exquisite detail." Sujanha had not been on Drehond in … 46 years and was confident that she could still find her way around the palace, the main city, and the surrounding tunnels proverbially blindfolded. This is a dream, a very cruel one, but a dream.

(Where did the boundary lie between her mind and Malek's? How much of her inward thoughts would he perceive? How much of the thoughts and emotions that this dream of Drehond provoked would he pick up on? That whole awful story was not one that she wanted to explain yet, or would he know those memories, now that they were blended? Did he know everything that she knew because of the blending, or could he just access it if he searched?)

That comment got her a somewhat puzzled and somewhat intrigued look. Malek paced around the room again, and then he finally sat down at the far end of the bed, stretching out long legs alongside hers and leaning against the footboard. "Interesting," he mused and then paused, frowning thoughtfully. "The pain is gone. I have spent my strength healing, and someone else was aiding us, and yet we suffered, but here the pain is gone."

That is how it always is.

Dreaming was a brief respite from the day by day, hour by hour pain that was a fixture of her life. Sujanha understood now that she had been much more severely injured by those falling stones than she had first thought. Those injuries combined with the general shock to her system and the stress her body had been put through, well, needless to say, waking would be less than pleasant. She expected an attack worse than she had had in years.

"It will return with a vengeance when we awaken," Sujanha warned. "Dreaming is only a brief respite. Are our injuries healed?"

"The worst of the damage—anything that posed a risk to our lives—is healed," he replied. Sujanha finally noticed how tired he looked. Malek's hair was mussed, and there were heavy dark circles under his eyes. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked young and exhausted as he spoke. "I have some fine work left to do, mostly from the crystal shards that tore up your … our feet, but I needed to rest first lest I heal something wrong."

The memory of the host reflects the current condition of the symbiote?

"Thank you for saving me … us," said Sujanha. Deciding how best to talk to and interact with her new symbiote was still a work in progress. They were blended, but they were separate and still learning about each other.

"Thank you for becoming my host," Malek replied. "I was willing to die with … Loknu"—his voice wavered on the name of his previous host—"but … I am glad not to be dead. I know this will be an adjustment for us both." He paused and then asked quietly, seriously, "How do you live like this?"

Sujanha knew what he was asking. ("I have spent my strength healing, and someone else was aiding us, and yet we suffered," he had said.) She knew the pain that he would have felt before sleep mercifully took him. Exhaustion was sometimes a gift. "What choice do I have?" She asked with a shrug. "If I do not live, I only linger in darkness and despair until death comes. For some reason, I lived when so many others poisoned like I was perished in utter agony. I dishonor their memories and the chance I have been given if I do not live. My people believe in a life beyond death, and one day I will find peace."

There was another long silence as Malek absorbed those words. "My people will wish to speak to me as soon as possible," he finally said. "My work is valuable. They will not wish to lose me."

"Even if I were not Supreme Commander, I would not be allowed to stay on your homeworld as others of my people have done," Sujanha warned. My health would make things difficult even if my parentage and position did not.

"I understand. Your … parentage makes that impossible. Am I allowed to use that as an explanation for the High Council … the Tok'ra High Council?" That Malek understood what she was not saying showed that he could access her memories, but that beat of hesitation made her think it was not an automatic knowledge.

I will have to specify now, too.

Sujanha thought for a moment and then shook her head. "My parentage is known but to a few outside our Empire or our other allies, and I would not wish it otherwise. I am third in line to the throne of a vast empire, and behind me are only children, far too young to rule. My rank becoming known could make me even more of a target than a ranking military commander is. The Tok'ra have had spies in their ranks before and might have one again."

Spies. That and the question of how the earthshake had occurred hung between them.

"The earthquake," Malek scowled, picking up on her thought, apparently. "I think we would all like an explanation for that."

"There could be a natural explanation, but the timing is suspicious."

For the dreamer, much time or only a little could seem to pass within those dreams, but the dreamer usually had little sense of how much time had passed in the real world once they awoke, unless a chronometer was nearby. Many hours or, perhaps, even some days after closing her eyes on Vorash in that inky, oppressive darkness, Sujanha awoke to find herself in a private room onboard a Furling mercy ship. (What ship, she did not know. That it was Furling was evident to her experienced eye. Ship-classes and their distinguishing features and capabilities, she knew in minute detail.) Her brother, his attention fixed upon a tablet in his lap, sat beside her bed.

Anarr looked up as soon as he sensed her gaze. "It is good to see you awake." There was a deep well of relief and sincerity in his voice. Despite the issues that lay between them, they did not wish the other ill.

Sujanha stared back at him from dull, half-lidded eyes. The lingering pain and shock from her injuries made her feel foggy, dull, and slow of mind. "Elder Brother," she blinked several times, trying to rouse herself from her stupor. "What day is it?"

"Early on the 37th. You were gravely injured. Even with the help of your symbiote, it has taken much time for you to heal enough to wake."

*It was the 35th when I came to Vorash,* Sujanha told Malek to give him a sense of how much time had passed. She gritted her teeth together until her jaw ached to silently ride out a painful tremor that coursed through her body.

"Forgive me for having to deal with this now of all times," Anarr continued with barely a pause, "but we must speak and quickly."

What? Why?

It had to be personal for him to be needing to speak to her directly, especially with her in such a state. Fleet business was Algar's concern for the time being.

"The High Council?" Sujanha guessed.

What else?

Anarr nodded. "An emergency meeting has been called for later today. I think that you can guess by whom." His lip curled in a silent snarl. Despite their rift, Anarr would instantly unite with her against unmerited outward opposition or attack against her, and Sujanha would do likewise.

"And the king, has he spoken?" She asked weakly.

"Beyond prayers for your recovery, no. He has concerns, as I do, but he will render no judgment until he actually speaks with you and your symbiote." Anarr's voice was scathing by the end, rendering judgment against the High Council for not doing what the king was choosing to do. There was no justice in hasty judgment without all the facts.

"Good," Sujanha shifted again, trying vainly to get more comfortable. Dull though she felt, she had thought enough about her situation in the tunnels to be able to reply, after she dredged up the right words to convey what she thought. "I knew what the outcome of my choice could be when I made it. I have devoted my life to the Empire, but I refuse to sacrifice my honor, and I am not so conceited as to think that the Fleet cannot survive without me at its head. Algar is my greatest lieutenant. He is ready to lead if that is deemed best."

"Do you intend to step down?" Anarr asked bluntly.

"I do not know," she whispered. "I must rest first before I think of such things. I know the likely reasons why the Council will want me out, and I think I can counter them all."

Though am I just trying to justify staying in my own mind?

It is so hard to remember a life without war.

What would I be outside the Fleet? (Some sense told her that Malek had heard that thought and was troubled by it.)

Anarr's golden eyes sharpened, a hunter's look. "Explain … please. I know that you are weary, but this meeting is unexpected and coming quickly. I must have more information since you cannot be there yourself."

"The main points I expect them to raise are the risks of having a High Councilor whose impartial judgment was threatened and whose loyalty to the Empire could be impaired by the presence of a symbiote. I expect the issue of my health will also be raised, but that would be an old argument."

"Such concerns are legitimate," Anarr acknowledged.

"And I have never argued that they were not," Sujanha replied without heat, "just questioned … how they raised such concerns: when I am not present to speak for myself."

Anarr gave a snarl of agreement.

*I do not understand yet fully how your system of government works, but I think I must agree, as well.*

"My health has largely been stable for some years, notwithstanding periodic flare-ups. Even our people get sick. Anyone not an Iprysh who was injured like I was in the tunnels would have been severely injured and needed time to heal … not just me."

Anarr nodded. "Agreed."

Daniel's presence has done much to help me and lighten my load somewhat. He is a good boy. She found his presence and assistance almost indispensable. He had a different viewpoint on some issues, a different way of approaching matters that she found helpful. He was also just good company.

"About the other issues, further time to reflect might make me change my opinion, but for the moment I do not deem that Malek's presence threatens my loyalty to the Empire or my impartial judgment as Supreme Commander and High Councilor."

"Because…" Anarr prompted, surprisingly gently.

"The way the blending is … Malek and I can speak together. We can know what the other knows; but I cannot make him think in a certain way, or he me. Granted, he has better access to me to speak and try to persuade, but his role is one of influence, not direct change. I am not forbidden from having advisors."

Malek stirred from just listening silently and asked for control. Consciously switching control was a very strange feeling, similar to taking a large step back and to one side and allowing Malek forward. Feeling her head move and her voice sound independent of her control was even stranger, even though she trusted Malek. Anarr seemed to instantly realize when his sister's symbiote took control, straightening and shifting from his formal mien with his sister back into the Supreme Commander.

"I am grateful to your sister, Supreme Commander Anarr, for this chance to live," Malek began. Exhaustion was weighing upon both host and symbiote. They had little energy and had expended much just in the conversation with Anarr. "I thought I would die with Loknu in those tunnels. I have no wish to influence your sister towards positions that she has no wish to hold. Any knowledge that I possess that can be used to speed the downfall of the Goa'uld is hers gladly. Any advice, any council that I can give her will be gladly shared. What she does with that knowledge and council is her own decision, not mine."

As soon as he had spoken, Malek pulled back, and Sujanha retook control. "Does that give you what you need for now?"

"It does." Anarr rose and bowed respectfully to his sister. "Rest now."

Sujanha's eyes slipped shut as soon as the door slid shut behind Anarr. Within moments, she was asleep.

Few updates from Uslisgas reached Sujanha in her sick-bed. She judged that the healers were probably limiting her visitors and what they could talk about in order to limit her stress levels while she healed. That being said, there was a brief update through Ruarc later on the 37th that the High Council had indeed called a vote to remove her from office, and that the vote had failed 7 to 4. Her bodyguards were incensed about the whole situation. Daniel was also displeased, they said. Someone, it seemed, had explained the whole complex political situation to him. Sujanha herself was angry but too exhausted to get too worked up about the vote … for now.

I still might end up retiring, and they might get their way in a manner of speaking after all.

And the High King has not yet ruled. Whatever her decision, Ivar's ruling would determine all. She would not circumvent his will, even if only a suggestion.

On the 39th, Daniel was allowed to see her for the first time, now that her healers had stopped limiting visitors. (Now they only limited the amount of time one could visit, as if Sujanha couldn't dismiss people herself when she grew tired.) He seemed accepting of Malek's presence and not concerned or afraid, at least visibly so. Given the atrocities that had happened to his wife and brother-in-law and what his teammates had gone through on Midgard, the normal interactions with the Tok'ra operatives who had brought intelligence to Sujanha since before the war begun had been good for him … normalizing a symbiote's presence.

The exact cause of the earthquake on Vorash was still undetermined. That being said, after much work and many interviews, most were inclined to believe that its suspicious timing was coincidental, not indicative of sabotage or of a yet undiscovered spy within the Tok'ra ranks. Still, both the Furlings and Tok'ra were on high alert and would be for some time.

Several days after her rescue, once Sujanha was strong enough to stay awake for several hours at a stretch without dozing off unintentionally in mid-conversation, the expected meeting between Sujanha and Malek and the Tok'ra took place. As much as she liked most of the operatives who had ever been sent to her with intelligence (a few notwithstanding), dealing with the High Council was much more frustrating. The discussion centered on Sujanha's status as a host, considering her position within the Furling Empire, and how Malek's position within the Tok'ra ranks would need to be adjusted.

That meeting went on for several frustratingly and exasperatingly long hours that taxed the patience of all. Sometimes Sujanha wondered if it was a universal principle that governing bodies like High Councils could never do anything quickly. It was sometimes all that Sujanha could do to hold on to the threads of her fraying temper. Being sick never improved her control, and some of the questions, ridiculous, pointed, or other, did nothing to help. Even having Jacob-Selmak on her side did little to help. (There was only so much one person could do.) Malek was just as displeased by the questioning, which he thought could have at least waited a few more days, and occasionally made muttered mental comments about some councilors. The result of the meeting was that the Tok'ra would have free access to their operative whenever possible for consultations, but Malek would be available for no missions, and most, if not all, work that he did would be done in Furling or Furling-controlled territory.

Fourteen days after the earthquake on Vorash that had changed her life forever, Sujanha was released from the care of the healers onboard the Oshrocco and given leave to return to Uslisgas. In her most dismal thoughts, Sujanha wondered to what she was returning. The High Council had already attempted to unseat her without ever hearing more than second-hand testimony from Anarr, and she might face more political opposition than ever before. High King Ivar's judgment would determine whether she would ever return to the front lines. The military was her life's work, the only life by and large that she had known since her childhood. If she was forced into retirement, she had no idea yet what she would do, instead. And now she had Malek to think of, too, to do right by.

Ragnar and Ruarc, her faithful bodyguards, her companions at her brother's command for centuries, met Sujanha and Daniel by the Stargate on Ushuotis, over which the Oshrocco had been in orbit for some days. It was time to leave Avalon, perhaps never to return. Sujanha turned to look back at the sand dunes one last time before stepping through the Stargate. Only time would tell if she would ever return.

It was late in the evening on Uslisgas, and the great hall in which the Stargate was housed was deserted. The room was eerily quiet, and their footsteps seemed all the louder for its silence. The lights were low, and the great statues of long-dead heroes cast lengthy shadows across the floor. The figures represented here were an inspiration to Sujanha and a burden both, a reminder of all that had been lost during the Great War, a reminder of the cost that her decisions could have, a reminder of the weight that rested upon her shoulders as Supreme Commander. Perhaps, it is "had rested" that I should say now. Sujanha had built herself a reputation for brilliance … unorthodox brilliance, one might say … during the Great War, but now she had that reputation to live up to.

There was a flicker of a mental request from Malek, and Sujanha stepped backwards, mentally not physically, and let her symbiote take control. All that was familiar to her, all these sites that she had seen thousands of times in her life, they were all new and wondrous and completely, utterly foreign to Malek. As they made their way outside, she saw her city with fresh eyes, as she had not looked upon Uslisgas in a very long time.

Malek's wonderment increased as they stepped outside under the canopy of twinkling stars and looked out upon the Acropolis and the lights of the city far below. He was utterly amazed, and his thoughts were spilling across to her even while he was not deliberately trying to speak to her. His wonder was largely centered on the sheer size of Uslisgas and its above ground nature.

Daniel stepped up beside them. Malek had stopped dead at the head of the steps that led down the broad plain that stretched across the Acropolis. Malek glanced at him and then, bowing his head, slipped back to give Sujanha control.

"I am not sure," Daniel began slowly, looking up toward the sky, "that we ever fully value all that we have until we either lose it, almost lose it, or see it through someone else's eyes."

Very true.

"I think you are right," Sujanha replied softly. "Malek is amazed. Uslisgas, it is so large, so many people, and it is all above ground, no more hiding. Even during the Great War, we never had to hide like the Tok'ra do."

Daniel nodded, and there was silence for several long minutes. Finally, Sujanha turned around, looking at Ragnar and Ruarc, who were waiting quietly a few paces away. "Let us all return home," she said. "I will determine tomorrow's activities tomorrow."

"Of course, commander," Ruarc replied.

The two departed for their own quarters, and Daniel and Sujanha beamed out into the countryside to her house. Spring was in full swing on Uslisgas, and the flowers in Sujanha's small garden were in full bloom, scenting the air with their fragrance. She intentionally had them beamed to the walk that led up toward the house to give Malek a look at the garden. The door slid open as they walked up the path, and the automated caretaker's voice greeted them as they stepped inside.

*What was that?* Malek asked, radiating mental surprise.

*An automated caretaker—an advanced program, though not to the level of an artificial intelligence—that runs some systems within my house. Daniel compares it to an 'auto-pilot' in earth terms.* Not that the comparison would necessarily mean anything to Malek, unless Jacob had mentioned something somehow.

Sujanha returned the greeting and then asked for any messages that had come in for her since she was last in her home … almost two weeks earlier. There were only a handful of messages. Most people who contacted her needed the Supreme Commander of the Furling Fleet. Those messages went to Headquarters and were now Algar's problem for the moment, not hers.

I'll deal with all this tomorrow.

"Do you need anything from me tonight, Commander?" Daniel asked.

*Is the programming accessible?* Malek seemed quite interested. Some of her memories, answering his question in part, were floating up, drawn by her mental attention to the subject.

*Just a moment.*

"Sujanha," she replied out-loud.

"Pardon?" Daniel's brow furrowed.

"You may call me by name in private, if you wish, Daniel," Sujanha said, giving him a small smile. It was a body language gesture she rarely used, considering her teeth. "You have lived with me for quite some time and proven yourself quite invaluable to me. You need not call me by any title in private unless you are more comfortable doing so."

"Sujanha, then," Daniel replied. "Do you need anything from me tonight?" He asked again.

Sujanha shook her head. "I will show Malek where everything is and then retire to rest. Rest well. I will see you tomorrow."

"Sleep well." With that final farewell, Daniel headed upstairs.

*As to your question, the answer is both yes and no.*

There was a flicker of amusement from Malek. *That sounds like some political matters with the High Council some days.*

Sujanha gave a rumbling laugh at those words. *And on ours some days, as well. To explain, I can access the main programming to view but not to edit, not that I could anyway. I can make minor edits to my caretaker's programming alone, like to give certain people automatic access or update language packets, so, in the beginning, it could speak in English for Daniel's sake.*

That got an interested mental hum. *Would I be allowed to see the programming?* Malek asked.

Sujanha blinked. *Probably. The programming, or rather a variant, is used onboard our ships, so access to the source codes is somewhat limited. My credentials may have been temporarily suspended, I don't know. Is programing another of your talents?*

Malek gave a mental laugh. *An off-duty hobby more so, though it occasionally has its uses.*

*Tomorrow then. Let me show you where everything is, and then we may rest,* Sujanha answered. *Tomorrow is a new day, but tonight, it is growing late, and I am weary.*

Quickly but thoroughly, Sujanha gave Malek a tour of the house, pointing out the kitchen with the cold box that hopefully actually has food in it as well as the sitting room that looked out upon the garden. Towards the back of the house were her private office and study space as well as her library which contained a modest collection of books, maps, star charts, and a handful of her favorite pieces of art and sculpture gifted to her by friends, family, and allies alike. The sight of all the books drew appreciative comments from her symbiote, and she promised that they could return at leisure the next day so that he could read and browse to his heart's content.

Sujanha slowly took the stairs up to the second floor. Malek's presence and healing abilities were helping, sometimes more than others, but these steps would probably be always painful to climb. Her room was off to the left of the staircase, while Daniel's room and the unoccupied third room that she still needed to clean out—perhaps now I will have the chance—was off to the right of the staircase.

Her room was simply laid-out and simply furnished. Her bed stood near the window, and under the window that looked over the garden was the chair where she draped her clothes and against which she propped her leg braces. A wardrobe and small desk completed the furniture. There was also a door that led off to her private bathing chamber.

*Simple, but it suits my purposes.* Sujanha noted, activating the lights and shutting the door behind herself.

A picture flashed across their shared mind, an image of a small crystal chamber with no door, furnished only with a bed and a chest. *These were the quarters Loknu and I had on Vorash,* said Malek, a note of grief touching his mental voice at the mention of his previous host's name. *Your home, this room, is elaborate compared to it.*

It was quick work to ready herself for bed. The awkwardness of doing so with a 'male' symbiote has long-since passed, though since symbiotes had no sex and usually took on the gender of the host, they were going to need to sort some things out soon, perhaps even tomorrow. Laid-up in bed on the Oshrocco or dealing with international politics while in considerable pain had not been the time to attempt the culturally complex discussion of sex, gender, and pronouns.

*I usually wake early,* Sujanha said once she had climbed into bed and finished shifting around until she found a position that was reasonably comfortable for the moment. *The pain rarely lets me sleep past dawn.*

The emotion that seemed to leach across from Malek—they were getting better at keeping surface thoughts and emotions to themselves so that not every idle thought leaked across to the other—was almost affront. Not being able to fully heal her was a source of great frustration for him. Some things, especially an 'injury' so old, could not be healed.

*Do you object if I get up if I wake before you?*

*No,* Sujanha replied, shifting again to ease a slight ache in her hip, *As long as our body seems rested. There might be tea and food for the morning meal in the cold box, or there might not. If he rises before us, Daniel might see to that. We might have to order food from the city or just go into the city to eat.* She hoped that wouldn't be necessary.

*Rest well then.*

When Sujanha woke the next morning, she was not in bed, but downstairs in the kitchen, and Malek was eating breakfast—a bowl of porridge topped with nuts and a mug of tea. Daniel was a few paces away, leaning against one of the cabinets. His hands were clutching his own mug of tea. His hair was mussed as if he had forgotten to comb it after getting out of bed. His glasses were crooked, and he was talking enthusiastically and quickly about … something.

Malek paused abruptly as Sujanha suddenly awoke, somewhat startled, before she could even figure out what he was talking about. It was strange, waking up in another place from which she had gone to sleep. Sleepwalking was never something she had been prone to, for no other reason was that she probably couldn't manage the staircase without her leg braces on.

Are my braces on?

Yes, Sujanha realized a moment later that she could feel them wrapped around her legs. She was wearing day clothes, and her fur felt brushed out. All her normal morning routines felt finished. That was one advantage of blending, Malek explained. She didn't have to be awake for him to know what to do. (But she knew him well enough now to trust that he would not go rummaging around in her memories at will.)

*When do you get up?* She asked.

*About the sixth hour.* Malek answered. *And there was food and tea in the cold box. Your bodyguards' work?*

*Or my housekeeper. May I have control?*

Malek pulled back and gave her control. It was still an odd feeling, switching control back and forth between host and symbiote. Everything seemed muted with Malek in control, everything from the tart taste of the tea to the pain in her limbs, and then everything flooded back in with a rush as she retook control.

Daniel titled his head. "Good morning, Sujanha." There was a slight upward lilt on her name, as if he was pretty sure (but not totally sure) about who was in control. Without the head tilt or glowy eyes and multi-toned voice, the latter two of which she considered rather ridiculous, body language was a much bigger key in distinguishing who was in control.

"Good morning, Daniel," Sujanha replied. "Did you sleep well?" The form of address would confirm Daniel's guess if nothing else did. Malek still called him Doctor Jackson.

He shrugged. "Well enough. My brain was running too much. It took me a long time to go to sleep. Too much to think about these days."

"What are your plans for the day, now that we are back in Asteria for a time?" Sujanha asked. I have a feeling I know in large measure.

"Abydos and Ardea today," he replied. "If I have any time left, I have a list of subjects to research at the Great Library. If not, I'll go to the library tomorrow." He always had one thing or the other he wanted to research in his spare time.

Daniel departed shortly after. Sujanha leisurely finished their breakfast. For once, there were no demands on her time, no reports to read, no forms to sign, no battles to plan. Malek's presence gave her some good first steps for how to fill that much free time. When she had set her dishes in the sink to soak next to Daniel's—whose turn is it to do the dishes? They generally took turns, but she couldn't remember whose turn it had been last before the Vorash earthquake had occurred—Sujanha went to her study. There were a handful of things to do, and then the library, or however Malek might prefer to pass the time!

*Let me deal with those messages that have come in for me quickly first. Then we need to speak on one matter that there has never been a good moment to discuss, and then we may find more enjoyable matters to pass the time.*

Malek readily agreed.

There were only a handful of messages for Sujanha to send replies to. Three were personal. The fourth was simply a message from her housekeeper, summarizing the work that she had done on her last visit several days earlier.

*What do we need to discuss?* Malek asked once Sujanha had finished her work, closed the holographic screens, and settled back in her desk chair.

*How you prefer to be addressed.* Sujanha answered. *We know that symbiotes have no sex, and your last host was male…*

Malek picked up the train of her thought before she could even finish speaking. (Speaking mentally? Thought-speech?) *Oh, I see. And my last two hosts before Loknu were female. I have no preferences as to the gender of my hosts, and I simply assume the gender of my host for as long as our blending lasts. It is simpler that way. Whatever words you use to refer to yourself in your own language are perfectly acceptable for me, as well.*

*'She' then,* said Sujanha, *In some situations, this discussion can be tricky … culturally, and there was not a good opportunity to speak of this before. I wanted to have the matter dealt with so that I may inform the others when the time comes.* She paused and rose from her chair. *But now, books.*

Leisure time had not been easy to come by among the Tok'ra or, really, for Sujanha either, though some of that for the Commander was more from choice than necessity. Malek's taste in book was far different than hers, primarily falling towards scientific and technological fields—bio-chemistry, data analysis, and programming—while hers were mainly historical and strategic. Though more than a few books on random subjects have crept into my library over the years. Granted, many were gifts. Sujanha put in a request for such books from the Great Library and then returned Malek control so that he … she … could explore the library at her leisure.

Telling Malek about her collection of books and relating stories about the trinkets that she had collected or been given, stories which sometimes prompted a return story from Malek, was a good way of continuing to get familiar with each other and their habits. The two would be in this for the long haul, as the Midgardians said, and forming a partnership was going to be critical, especially if Sujanha could return to the Fleet in the future.

Over the next several days, Sujanha and Malek spent a considerable amount of time in the library, rarely emerging except to walk around, eat, or sleep. Malek's skill set, which her taste in books was largely centered around, had proved vital as an operative and as an analyst before, and she took advantage of the time to read up on Furling studies and advancements in those fields.

Despite her symbiote's interest, Sujanha found little enjoyment in those books but was glad for Malek's interest and passed the time playing mental games of Zareth, a Furling strategy game that was, according to Daniel, "a mutant combination of chess and Stratego on a 3D board," against herself. Sometimes Malek grew distracted from her reading by those matches, and they ended up playing mental matches against each other, which was a test of how well they could keep their minds separate to avoid giving away their moves and strategies.

Ragnar and Ruarc were frequent visitors, stopping by to see how Sujanha was and whether she needed anything or had orders. That she was on medical leave and not currently in command of anything and, therefore, not in a position to give them orders was taken more as a suggestion than a rule. They reminded her that their original orders from Anarr were to guard her, not the Supreme Commander of the Fleet, so her medical leave and the current transferral of power to Algar did not change their assignment in the slightest.

*Your brother was careful in how he phrased their orders,* Malek noted with interest once.

*He usually is,* Sujanha replied, *He has learned to navigate the tides at court and council better than I have since he was raised here, while I was not. I learned those skills for another court and council*—there was a flicker of deep-seated grief tinged with bitterness—*to which I may never return.*

Malek considered those things. There were flickers of memory floating through their mind, drawn up by Sujanha's mention of the topic (memories which she tried to reign in) and her emotions that always pulled back preferably buried memories to mind. *One day I will ask, but not now.*

Sujanha sent her a well of gratitude, forcing her mind back to the original topic before she had sent it off-track. *We are not immune to political controversies, especially, and sometimes learning how to phrase things … carefully is wise.*

That Ragnar and Ruarc, with frequent success (that got more frequent as the days passed), were able to correctly guess which of them was in control based purely on body language and word choice was also a benefit of their visit. Granted, they knew her habits better than most from long acquaintance, but even Daniel could figure it out well, as well. And that meant that they could, at least for now, use less noticeable ways of distinguishing who was in control.

By the morning of the fifth day, Sujanha was starting to become restless. Counting her bed-rest on the Oshrocco, she had never spent this much time sitting around and not working since her medical leave after the Great War. Malek had already read through a good chunk of the stack of the books sent from the Great Library and had studied the house caretaker's programming. Over breakfast, Sujanha had been wondering what else could be invented for them to do, but the door chime going off as Malek and Daniel were finishing their tea saved her from having to continue that endeavor.

Malek gave Sujanha back control, and she asked, "Who is it?" addressing the caretaker.

"Ruarc." was the reply.

"Let him in!" Sujanha ordered, adding half to herself. "I need to change the settings to let them in automatically."

*Or you could let me do it…* Malek answered.

*As you wish.* Sujanha had no doubts about Malek's ability to do that. The settings for updating automatically approved visitors were simple, and Malek was absorbing knowledge about the system like a sponge and could probably now do much more complicated updates that Sujanha would have usually needed a technician to do. *Maybe later today, once we know what Ruarc needs.*

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and then Ruarc appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. "I bring a message or, rather, a summons."

A summons?

Has the Council decided to try to unseat me for a third time now that I am actually able to speak before them?

Sujanha gave him a look, waving him to a seat at the table. "Speak!"

"The High King wishes to speak with you after Judgment today, now that you have had time to rest and regain your strength. It is time, he says, to put this political controversy to rest."

Oh. Much better.

"One way or the other, it is time it ends," Sujanha agreed. She glanced across at the chrono hanging on the wall. With both Daniel and her at somewhat loose ends, they were on a somewhat different schedule. It was currently about half past the 8th hour. Judgment began at the 10th hour and lasted, generally, for four hours. Mindlessly, she tapped her claws on the table, thinking.

*What is Judgment exactly?

*High King Ivar deciding legal matters brought before him.*

"Do you want to attend Judgment?" Ruarc probed.

It would be good to go again.

I always enjoyed hearing the discussions.

"My seat is Algar's at the moment," replied Sujanha automatically.

"True," noted Ruarc, "but with the Crown Prince absent…" He let his voice trail off, making the insinuation clear. In her current circumstances, the seat that would usually have been open for Sujanha as Supreme Commander of the Furling Fleet belonged to Algar, but the seat reserved for the highest-ranking member of the Imperial Family present at Judgment could be hers.

"Yes," Sujanha acknowledged the point readily enough, "but the High Council has been in enough turmoil over me these past weeks. The High King would probably prefer if I did not appear and risk making things worse."

*Chief Minister Janth's issues with me seem to have progressed beyond our originally political disagreements straight into a personal vendetta,* she noted silently to Malek.

*Only knowing him through your memories and other words, I could not say for sure,* Malek replied, mental tone clearly communicating the distaste for Janth, which her more measured words did not.

"It is your choice." Ruarc noted. "However, with the Crown Prince and your brother off-world, the seat at the king's right hand is yours by right of birth, not simply by appointment as the High Councilors and the High Chancellor hold their chairs."

*Did you used to go?* Malek asked.

*Quite frequently when my duties allowed, though I have not been since soon after Daniel arrived.*

"True," Sujanha replied.

*Given what you both have said, I think that, since you have the right to go by birth and since you are only on medical leave, not in disgrace, none of the other High Councilors have reason to complain about your presence.*

*In politics, you do not always need a reason,* Sujanha countered grimly.

There was almost the feeling of Malek rolling her eyes. *Very well, no legitimate reason. You also have popular support. Are you in favor with the king?*

*I would not say that we are close, but yes,* Sujanha replied.

*Thinking from a purely political perspective, then, anyone who had the temerity to risk speaking against your legitimate presence in public would risk damaging their names before the public and the king.*

*Their names?* Sujanha asked, confused, wondering what cultural reference she had missed.

*Their reputation, the two concepts are equated in the Goa'uld language,* Malek clarified.

*Ah.*

*Making a point could also be useful.*

Sujanha gave a mental snort. *I would certainly enjoy making the point, especially if Janth is present, but I don't want to give myself momentary pleasure now and a mess to deal with later, but … if I will serve no more with the Fleet, it would not matter.*

"Very well," Sujanha continued aloud after several minutes of discussion with Malek. "I have not been in quite some time. Do you wish to come with me, Daniel?"

Daniel had been glancing back and forth between Ruarc and Sujanha as they spoke, evidently confused. "Uh, explain to me what I'd be going to, and then I'll decide." His voice lilted up at the end as if he himself wasn't sure whether he was making a question or a statement.

"Your pardon, Daniel. My duties have prevented me from attending Judgment since soon after you arrived, and the issue never came up otherwise." Sujanha paused, thinking of how best to explain. "Once some time ago, you told me of Midgard and its past empires. You spoke of the Romans and of Caesar. Judgment is like 'Appeal to Caesar.' Anyone from across the empire, no matter their race or status, can bring a matter before the King for judgment, not just court cases. These cases can vary from the political to the mundane. Usually, some members of the High Council are available to give advice to the king, if warranted, and there are also seats for the monarch's spouse and for the highest ranked member of the royal family present."

Daniel gave an excited grin. "Sure! I'll come! When does it start, and how long does it last?"

"Judgment happens on the third and seventh of every week. It starts at the 10th hour and lasts until the 14th hour usually. Visitors are not required to stay the whole time. Portions of the palace are open to the public, and Ruarc could show you around, if you would prefer."

At half-past the 9th hour, Sujanha and Daniel beamed to the Acropolis and were met by Ruarc and Ragnar, and together the four made their way into the sprawling complex that was the Furling Imperial Palace with all its associated buildings. Like with the Hall of the Stargate, one could not beam directly into the palace complex for security reasons, though one could beam out or from one place within it to another. Out of long habit, Sujanha led them towards a less-used path that would lead them to the same destination as the gathering officials and plaintiffs were heading: the Throne Room. Throughout her life Sujanha had never been fully comfortable with the attention she had drawn at the Furling court, especially within the last one hundred years, and typically used caretakers' entrances and caretakers' halls to traverse the palace more privately when she had to do so on foot.

"It's huge!" Daniel murmured in awe, eyes wide and head on a swivel, once the group had passed within the outer defensive wall and had passed the gate-guards.

It needed to be once upon a time. Her family—the Imperial Family—had once been much larger before most had been wiped out during the Great War by battle-wounds, grief, disease, or poison. The palace complex had once housed offices aside from the family's living quarters before the empire had expanded. The High Council had once met here in a building within the complex, not so now. Now there are only seven of the blood left.

*I grieve with you,* her symbiote murmured.

Sujanha led them onward past outbuildings and gardens, through another gate, and into the lower levels of the palace itself. She felt herself relax once they were inside. The stone passageways were narrow and lamp-lit, reminding her of Drehond, which she remembered fondly and sadly. A handful of caretakers passed them, giving way to let them pass with kind words and respectful bows. Whatever the political nests Sujanha managed to rouse, her support among the people had never wavered.

From the caretakers' levels, the four rode up a lift several levels until they emerged into the palace proper. The architecture was somehow straightforward and elaborate simultaneously. Somehow the architects and designers had managed to keep the evolving collection of artwork and decorations styles from across the galaxy from turning gaudy and simply ridiculous. The long shadows and towering ceilings gave the space (in Sujanha's opinion) a weighty air.

Sujanha, with Ragnar at her heels, took a different corridor at that point, heading toward the main floor of the throne room, leaving Ruarc and Daniel to take one of the staircases up to the balconies that ran the length of the massive room. A large crowd had already assembled in the hall below the multi-level dais that ran the width of the room as Sujanha entered through a side-door. News concerning the events at Vorash and the resulting High Council meeting had spread across the city, and there was a beat of dead silence at Sujanha's entrance, which put her teeth on edge at the weight of eyes upon her back, and then conversation returned, and her name was murmured on many lips.

*Keep your head up. Let them talk.* Malek encouraged her.

The dais had two levels. On the first and larger levels stood the eleven chairs for the High Council members, five on one side and six on the other of the central dais. There on the central dais stood three chairs: the monarch's elaborate throne; Sunniva's former seat, draped in mourning colors, on his left hand; and another seat on the king's right hand, the seat which Sujanha would take.

(Sunniva had been the highest ranked member of the Furlings to die from the Enemy's poison. No one had ever conclusively figured out how the poison had been brought onto Uslisgas itself, since Ivar's mate had never left their homeworld during the war.)

Several High Councilors were already present. *Chief Scholar Inga, Chief Engineer Iarum Disoze.* Vaazrodiiv was also present to Sujanha's pleasure. Janth was there, which was less pleasing and also pleasing simultaneously. He had been speaking to Disoze but had turned at the new pitch of conversation. He was almost bristling, and his dark eyes were flashing.

I am going to enjoy this too much, I think.

Sujanha met Janth's eyes as she took the stairs up to the first level of the dais at a deliberately slow pace and gave him a smile that was also deliberately full of teeth. I respected you once, though we disagreed, but that was before your attacks turned personal. Trust me, I will not forget. Janth bristled further and then deliberately turned back to his conversation, neglecting to render even the most perfunctory of greetings to Sujanha, who could only be present as a member of the Imperial Family. *Nor will I forget,* added Malek.

I am certainly enjoying this too much.

Malek scoffed at that. He felt Janth deserved it and more.

(The pitch of conversation picked back up behind them. However angry, what Janth had done was very shortsighted and foolish, a deliberate snub that would win him no favors among the people.)

Vaazrodiiv rose deliberately at that point, her own eyes flashing with anger. And just as deliberately as Janth had turned his back, Vaazrodiiv, in full view of the entire room, bowed low, lower than she would have to any of her fellow High Councilors, lower even than she would have to a member of the Furling Imperial Family. Her bow was, in fact, proper for greeting a highly respected member of the Dovahkiin Royal Family, an acknowledgment of the position Sujanha had once held on Drehond. Would have held. Her actions were a deliberate sign to the crowds and a pointed thrust against the Chief Minister Janth.

*I like her!* cackled Malek.

Sujanha stopped on the first dais and bowed back deeply, acknowledging respect with respect. She then turned and bowed toward the empty queen's throne and then took the stairs up to the upper dais and took the seat at what would be High King Ivar's right hand once he arrived. Vaazrodiiv had not retaken her seat. With some minutes left before Ivar would arrive and Judgment would begin, she stepped up towards the center dais, stopping on the middle step and crouching down deliberately so that she was below Sujanha's level and looking up at her.

"Your Imperial Highness," she began with a deep nod of respect. Her translator was off, and she spoke in her own tongue.

Sujanha smirked, her black eyes flashing with repressed amusement. "Chief Armorer, I think your point has been strongly made, but be careful that you do not anger the Great Queen in the doing."

*She is distantly related to the ruling family on Drehond, the homeworld of the Dovahkiin. I do not wish her to face political censure for siding with me even in a case such as this.*

*That is a risk?*

*I hope not, but I don't want to risk it. I am about as far out of favor with Sariiz as it is possible to be.*

There was a flash of surprise from Malek. *What did you do?* That was not one story Sujanha had told her symbiote yet, and Malek had not gone looking through her … their … memories for the answer.

*That disaster is a very long story for another day.*

Vaazrodiiv flashed Sujanha a toothy grin and then studied the points of her claws with deliberate nonchalance. "I hide nothing from her if asked, but I hope that even the Great Queen would be horrified by the events of these past weeks." She made a flick with her left paw, a Dovahkiin gesture for warding off evil. "If anyone deserves to be unseated from the Council, it is not you," she said with a hiss and a spat. "Your brother and I burned everyone's ears for even allowing that vote."

"I was rather … surprised in some ways and not in others," Sujanha lowered her voice so that it would not risk carrying. This was one of those times where it would have been quite convenient for it to be physiologically possible for her to actually speak Dovahkiin. "I think Janth and I have progressed beyond our original respectful political disagreements."

Vaazrodiiv gave Sujanha a look. "You are only now realizing this?"

No more could be said, as the noise of the guards coming to attention meant Ivar was about to enter. It was the 10th hour. The Chief Armorer returned to her seat just before Ivar entered from a side door. Like Sujanha and Anarr, he was one of the Maskilim, though of desert descent, instead, and stood much taller than Sujanha would if she had been standing, though she was shorter than average because of her Asgardian blood.

Sujanha shifted her weight, preparing to rise, but Ivar, who from the look on his face seemed pleased to see her (she thought), made a motion as he came up the dais stairs for her to stay seated. With a word of greeting and a nod from senior to junior, the High King took his seat and then brought the meeting to order.

Over the next four hours, cases were judged slowly and carefully, one by one. The cases ranged from theft to property rights to inheritance struggles. There was no hurry or rush to judgment, just methodical testimony and detailed questions, sometimes from Ivar and sometimes from one of the High Councilors. Sujanha gave her opinion freely if Ivar leaned over to ask a question in her ear but asked no questions herself. To her, he seemed to seek her opinion rather often, and she wondered idly if the king was trying to quietly make a point of his own.

A show of support?

Of trust in my council?

When Judgment had finished and the crowds had been dismissed, Ivar rose and, turning to his cousin, extended his hand. "May we speak in private, my lady?" It was a courteous reiteration of his previous command.

Sujanha nodded and rose, accepting the outstretched hand. Spotting Ragnar in the deep shadows by a nearby exit, she met his eyes, and he nodded. Once her audience was concluded, Ragnar would find her.

Once they exited the throne room, Ivar, cognizant of Sujanha's physical condition, beamed them upstairs to his private sitting room, where he set something down quickly on a table, and then led them through an inner door into his study, in which he sometimes held small meetings or private audiences. It was a small room with simple furnishings: a desk, several chairs, and a small table piled with stuff in a manner that would have seemed haphazard to almost anyone looking at it but somehow had some organization scheme in the king's mind alone. Although it was essentially summer, a blast of heat, spilling out from a running furnace in one corner of the room, rolled out as Sujanha and Ivar entered. The king was of desert stock and liked it hot in his personal quarters, and Sujanha, who still often missed the heat of Drehond's tunnels, found it pleasant.

"You provoked quite a controversy," Ivar began once they had both taken a seat on opposite sides of his desk. The way he was addressing her made it clear that this was not a formal audience. Full sets of formal versus informal pronouns were a definite linguistic advantage of Furling over some other languages.

With that knowledge, Sujanha raised her chin and met her cousin's eyes levelly. "What good is honor if you are not willing to sacrifice to do the right thing to maintain it?"

"I am not criticizing you," Ivar replied. "Far from it, merely noting the end result nonetheless." He frowned. "I was quite displeased by the vote called against you, in fact. There are good reasons that the High Council is now a separate body, though I do not always agree with the decisions that it makes."

(The separation of powers was not complete, but his point stood regardless.)

That separation was more for curbing the powers of corrupt kings in worst case events, but it does make it more complicated for you to just expel one of us.

(Malek was listening with interest but staying quiet.)

Sujanha's ears flicked back momentarily, and she made a face that revealed a hint of teeth. "Once Janth and I were able to constrain our issues to respectful disagreements on politics or other matters, but that is true no longer."

"Much was said in your defense when the vote was called," Ivar noted.

Sujanha gave a smile full of teeth. "Vaazrodiiv told me."

Her cousin gave a rumbling chuckle. "I am sure the recordings will be available if you wish to see what exactly happened at a later date." (*This I want to see,* Malek inserted.) His tone turned serious. "You were unable to speak on your own behalf, which was unconscionable on its own, though your brother and the Chief Armorer spoke admirably in your stead. That being said, the issues that were raised, which were said to be serious enough to unseat you, were largely reiterations of the reasons from the previous vote with extra evidence and some extra issues raised."

Sujanha had not heard exactly what had gone on at that High Council Meeting, but Ivar had barely said anything, and she was already feeling the urge to cringe on behalf of those who had called the vote against her.

Ivar continued, "Their concerns are with not without merit, but since you are still on medical leave, they were not worth calling such a disgraceful vote before you could testify."

Sujanha stared back at him seriously. "Leading the fleet has been my life's honor, my king. You know that. But I value the welfare of the empire highest of all. The vote against me was not weighted enough that I feel it necessary to retire on that basis alone, but if you think it wisest that I do, I am, as always, yours to command."

*And some who voted against you may have been swayed by the Chief Minister's rhetoric without your first-hand testimony at hand,* Malek mused, *Assuming he has such skill.*

*He does. He is not the most skilled that I have heard, but he can speak circles around many if he so tries.*

"I know you would be willing, and I respect you for that. Maker willing, however, we won't have to get to that point," Ivar replied. He opened a screen on a tablet on his desk. The angle was wrong for Sujanha to see what it said. "There was no opportunity for you to speak at the High Council meeting, but I want to hear what you have to say on these matters, and whether you feel capable of continuing at your post given your new circumstances."

"I would need to know what was said to give rise to the vote being called, first," Sujanha noted, voice wry.

Aside from it largely rehashing the past.

Ivar made a choked noise that was half a laugh and half a groan. "There is that. Now," he paused and looked back again at his tablet, "Let's see …"

Not long before the 16th hour, the audience concluded, and Sujanha was dismissed. With the aid of her comms, it took little work to track down Ragnar, who was wandering the palace halls, puttering away the time until she was finished. After Sujanha had updated him on the meeting, which she had thought had gone well, and after he had sent a summons to his brother, the two went down to the side-gate under the defensive wall around the palace complex to wait for Daniel and Ruarc to rejoin them. They had not been waiting long at all when the two appeared nearby in a flash of light.

"How did your meeting go?" Daniel asked once he got within polite speaking distance.

"Well enough," she replied. "The High King and I spoke for some time. He asked many questions and was pleased with my answers, I think. He has not yet decided, but I deem he will rule in my favor."

"When will you hear?" Ruarc asked.

"Tomorrow. One way or the other, this will be over by tomorrow. What time is it?" She changed subject abruptly at the end.

"The 16th hour, almost exactly," Ragnar rumbled, double-checking the time on a chrono he pulled from a pocket.

"I want to stop at Headquarters before I return home. I am missing my pocket chrono and a book. I think I must have left them in my office when I left for Vorash."

What was supposed to be a brief trip to Headquarters quickly became an extended affair. Despite her political conflicts with the High Council, Sujanha was extremely popular with both the Fleet and Army. As soon as news spread that she had arrived, what seemed like half the building congregated to greet her, ask after her health, and inquire when she was going to return. Algar was not unpopular by any means and was an extremely competent and reliable lieutenant, but Sujanha was … Sujanha. By the time the four were able to escape Headquarters, almost two hours had passed.

"Will you have need of us tomorrow, do you expect?" Ruarc asked once they were back outside in the courtyard.

"Likely not," Sujanha replied. "But if something unexpected occurs, I will send word for you, and as soon as I hear word from the High King, I will let you know, one way or the other."

"Then we will bid you goodnight, Commander, Daniel. We will return to our quarters," said Ruarc, and after bowing, the two brothers departed.

The sun was starting to set, staining the sky in brilliant colors of red and gold, by the time Daniel and Sujanha returned home after a long day of business on the Acropolis. It had been a profitable day, though, and she thought her meeting with the High King had gone well, and she thought it likely that she would be soon allowed to return to the fleet, no matter the opinions of some on the High Council. There were leftovers still in the cold box, which made pulling dinner together easier. Daniel and Sujanha ate quietly together and then parted ways. Daniel, with a mug of tea in one hand, headed upstairs to his room to work on his journals, and Sujanha returned to her library.

Slipping backwards—it was still somewhat of a strange feeling—Sujanha gave Malek back control. If she was to return to the fleet, they would need to figure out a system that would work long-term for them both, but for now the goal was to share control equally while Malek was still getting used to her new host's culture. Not everything could be learned by blending, learned from her memories.

*Since you, for one, never took up the fascinating study of biochemistry,* Malek teased her host as she took a seat in a comfortable chair and retrieved a book on that subject from a nearby table.

*I never had the opportunity for studying any other skills but war,* Sujanha replied seriously before adding in a lighter tone. *Not that if I had, bio-chemistry would not have been it.*

*What would you have studied if you had had the opportunity?* Malek probed gently. This was fast becoming a serious conversation.

The question gave Sujanha pause. *I honestly have no idea.* The Great War had robbed her of a normal childhood and a normal life, or as normal a life as a member of the Imperial Family could have. It was an issue that Malek could understand and sympathize with, though biochemistry, data analysis, and programing had been useful for the Tok'ra war effort as well as being her own personal hobbies. (Though, which had come first, the necessity or the hobby?)

*And for that, I am sorry.*

*It is what it is,* Sujanha replied. It was one of her typical answers to the problems of her life. *I do enjoy the strategic planning aspect of my position as well as mentally matching wits with my opponents, though.*

Malek let the conversation drop at that point. She had strong opinions, but every host was different, and she was learning when to push and when not to push when it came to talking about Sujanha's past. She focused his attention on the book she was reading, various stray thoughts and mental notes floating through their shared consciousness as she read. Sujanha settled down to rest.

About an hour passed in that manner. Then, unexpectedly, the house's caretaker (what Daniel called the "auto-pilot") suddenly announced that Ruarc, who had long ago returned to his own home with his brother, was coming up the walk. Their mental closeness served Sujanha-Malek well, as Malek was setting her book aside and rising, instructing that Ruarc be allowed in, before Sujanha could even fully verbalize the request.

He's supposed to be off-duty! They were going home for the night.

If it had been anytime but now when Sujanha was on medical leave, Ruarc's unexpected appearance late in the evening would probably have preceded disastrous news. But now? Sujanha had no idea what could have happened to prompt his visit.

*Here,* Malek said as she stepped out into the hallway outside the library and pulled back, giving Sujanha back control. *I'm assuming this is something you need control for.*

*Likely,* Sujanha replied, her mental confusion about what was happening easily noticeable.

Ruarc's countenance as he stepped through the door instantly removed any concerns in Sujanha's mind that something had gone wrong. "Is Daniel awake?" he asked, giving a hasty bow of greeting. "The Commander just forwarded me the best of news from Risa's group and requested that I bring it out immediately."

Risa? Sujanha's black eyes went wide. Oh! Risa was the half-Furling, half-Lapith Chief Healer of the 'Goa'uld Removal' Project. If there was good news from her group, that meant … they must have finished the procedure! A new procedure had long been in development with healers and scientists from across Asteria and from the Asgard and Tok'ra in order to create a safer and more reliable method of extracting Goa'uld symbiotes from unwilling hosts. That means Sha're may soon be free if this news is what I think it is.

Sujanha stepped away toward stairs that led upstairs. "Daniel, come down, please!" She shouted, pitching her voice to carry the greater distance.

There was a brief silence and then the clatter of footsteps from the upstairs hallway. A few seconds later, Daniel hurried downstairs, boots unlaced and glasses slightly askew. His face was puzzled and worried both. "What's wrong?" He blurted out.

"Nothing is wrong," Sujanha replied. There is very good news for your family, I think. (Malek was radiating quiet pleasure and relief. Something about her past with a previous host—a detail that she had never shared—had given her much sympathy with Daniel's situation.)

"I have news, Daniel, very good news," said Ruarc. "The procedure to free Goa'uld hosts has been declared ready for use. As soon as the High King passes judgment upon the Goa'uld for their crimes, their hosts, including your wife, can be freed."

*Watch him!* Malek snapped urgently.

Hearing Ruarc's news, Daniel had physically staggered, throwing out a hand to steady himself against the wall. Sujanha stepped towards him, concern in her eyes, slipping one paw under his elbow. The boy was looking quite shaky.

"The darkness is almost over for them, your wife and brother both," she said quietly. "Healing can soon begin."

For you all. The capture of his wife and brother-in-law and their imprisonment had left scars on Daniel, as well.

Chapter Text

20^th of Duumm, 6546 A.S.
(November 18, 1999)
Asteria Galaxy

Events moved quickly after Ruarc brought news to Daniel of the completion of the medical procedure to free the hosts of captured Goa’uld. The next day, Sujanha was given approval by High King Ivar to return to her position as Supreme Commander of the Furling Fleet, pending approval from her healers that she was healthy enough to return from medical leave. After an exam the day after, Sujanha was given that approval and retook her seat, with Algar returning to his former position as High Commander. After considering the issue in great detail, Sujanha told them one evening, the High King had felt that, while some of the High Council’s stated concerns were not without merit, she was still fit to command and that her new ties to the Tok’ra would not be an undue influence on her and especially not more so than any of her close contacts among the Furlings’ other allies.

Like Thor … or Drogvussik, Vaazrodiiv’s brother. They both have her ear.

There was still behind-the-scenes work left to do to prepare for Judgment Day, and plenty of work for Sujanha to do at Headquarters: paperwork to sign, reports to read, reacquisition lists to approve, battle-plans to approve or critique. The list went on. Paperwork of whatever form was a universal constant in any military and reinforced the adage about war being short periods of terror and long periods of boredom. Sujanha seemed happy to be back at work, and Headquarters seemed pleased, as well, given the number of smiling faces and the amount of people stopping by to pay their respects, which did not help the paperwork get finished any faster.

One strange incident happened during those first days after Sujanha returned to work, when Algar’s office sent across a couple of recent unread reports from the Asgard High Command covering events that had happened late during her absence. One report from Thor had Sujanha so furious that Daniel could almost have sworn the temperature in her office dropped 10 degrees. Whatever had happened—she flat out refused to explain—had her muttering something under her breath about unconscionably foolish planning and the Asgard being too smart for their own good before she drifted out of Furling, and the rest of her … rant ... was lost on Daniel.[1]

Finally, on the morning of the fifth day after Daniel got the news—the days had seemed to drag on and on—he accompanied Sujanha and her bodyguards to Idroth, a high-security prison world used by the Furlings for holding captured Goa’uld and Jaffa. The Goa’uld who were first to be judged and had been held on Ardea or other prison worlds had all been moved to Idroth in the intervening days to simplify the process of getting them all to Uslisgas for Judgment Day. One trip to make instead of several. Sujanha had decided to personally oversee the transfer of the prisoners from Idroth to Uslisgas, for some reason. It was a very her of her thing to do regardless of the reason. Maybe she just wants a change of scenery for herself or is letting Malek see more of Asteria after being sort of cooped up and out of work for a while.

Idroth was a snow-covered world that looked to Daniel like what the depths of Siberia must look like in the middle of an extremely harsh winter. The Stargate was located in the midst of a large clearing surrounded by barren trees as far as the eye could see, with no discernable paths. I’ve never seen this much snow in my entire life … put together, probably. Dusk had already fallen when they arrived, with four extra Iprysh bodyguards accompanying them. The sky was overcast, and a light snow was falling. There was already heavy snow-cover on the ground … with no visible tracks anywhere. The entire landscape was almost pristine, like out of a National Geographic picture. It was almost a little eerie.

And all the snow … that would explain the need for my high-tech snow-shoes. The Iprysh guards seemed ready to just power their way—or bodily plow their way—through the snow. Unless there is a surprisingly thick ice crust, they’re going to sink like stones in that armor of theirs … unless it’s much lighter than it looks, which isn’t impossible. Ragnar and Ruarc had large enough foot paws, being rather lupine in appearance overall, that their paws would probably function as well as, or better than, Daniel’s snow-shoes. Sujanha, however, wore a pair like his.

It was very cold.

Much, much too cold.

Living in Colorado Springs had given Daniel a crash course in cold and winter weather after many years with the sand, blazing sun, and burning heart of Egypt and Abydos. Uslisgas’ winters had given him yet more experience with cold and snow. He still was not a fan of cold or snow, and this was cold on another level. Daniel was bundled up warmly in cold-weather gear, but the cold still nipped at his nose, finding the gaps in his scarf, and stung his fingers beneath his gloves. Ruarc and Ragnar seemed unbothered by the cold, though they had the advantage of naturally thick fur coats, and were not dressed that much more warmly than normal. Given what he knew of Skeshan, a planet that made Antarctica on a bad day seem warm, this type of cold was probably a veritable heat-wave for the Iprysh guards. Aside from Daniel, only Sujanha seemed to be actually cold. She was bundled up almost as warmly as he was, and her shoulders were hunched. Her hood was down, and the falling snow that settled lightly on her black fur before melting only accentuated the white hairs on her muzzle that were growing thicker as the years passed.

Leopards aren’t exactly cold-weather animals … if you can draw that comparison.

How are we going to find our way through this? Bad light. Cold. No visible path.

“Just wait,” Sujanha said softly from her position next to him, seemingly reading his mind. She knows me well by now.

Daniel waited. The others seemed to expect the wait. Ragnar and Ruarc fell into their usual formation just behind Daniel and Sujanha, and the Iprysh guards settled into a square-shaped formation around them.

The noise was the first clue of their arrival, the slightest crunch of freshly fallen snow and then the snap of a branch carried on the still air. Then Daniel felt the hairs on the back of his neck go up, as a sense of an incoming weighty presence fell upon them.

Then they arrived.

Four great animals, not much shorter than Daniel himself … or so it seemed, at least, in the first split-second of hind-brain fear … emerged from the deep shadows of the forests. Like white sentinels, they paced toward the travelers, moving in utterly perfect unison, lock-step that would have made a parade-ground drill sergeant weep with envy. Their dinner-plate sized paws carried them easily over the deep snow, and if not for their movement, their pure-white coats would have allowed them to easily blend into the environment. Their eyes, a vivid blue, were piercing, full of sharp intelligence, but with a promise of danger if crossed that could freeze a man’s blood cold.

Daniel gulped and restrained himself from taking an instinctive step backwards. Oversized polar-bear sized tigers. What’s next? Dinosaurs? After a moment, he recognized their similarity in appearance to Supreme Commander Anarr’s terrifying bodyguard Long-Claw, whom Daniel had never managed to get comfortable around.

The only question was whether these … creatures? … beings … were as sentient as Long-Claw and his people were.

The ‘tigers’—Daniel didn’t know the name of their species and didn’t remember the name of Long-Claw’s species … assuming the two were even the same—stopped less than 10 feet away. Sujanha stepped forward and was met in the middle by the largest of the four. She bowed her head in greeting and touched his … or her, for all I know … massive head with one paw.

“Sharp-Claw and Long-Fang, but where’s their father?” Ragnar hissed to his brother.

Ruarc made an indeterminate sound that could have meant anything from an acknowledgment of his brother’s statement to a verbal shrug.

After a few moments, Sujanha stepped back and motioned for the others to follow single file. Two of the tigers, for lack of a better name, led them deep into the forest along a twisting route. The other two came behind, obscuring their tracks. The group probably only walked for about five minutes, but by the end, Daniel was completely lost.

All the trees look like all the other trees.

The walk was almost a security precaution. Human footprints just up and disappearing feet from the gate would be very noticeable in the snow. It was better to get a little way from the gate before beaming to the base.

The group stopped before a stone pillar that bore a striking resemblance to the Asgard transporter on Cimmeria. Extra security measure not needed on Ardea? Sujanha reached forward to touch it, and immediately all twelve of them were scanned. A white light engulfed them, and all but the ‘tigers’ were beamed away.

Like on Ardea, prisoners were confined within an elaborate, sprawling tunnel system deep below the surface of Idroth, possibly within the bedrock itself. The tunnels were broad, with sweeping lines and expertly carved walls that put even the sprawling complexes of the Serapeum at Saqqara or the Roman catacombs to shame. Periodically, the tunnels narrowed to choke points useful for defense in case of a breach.

As soon as they beamed in, an Iprysh commander, his rank marked by the comparative elaborateness of his armor, met them. He drew Sujanha away after formally greeting her, and they began to speak in hushed tones, while several aids arrived to take away their coats and snowshoes, which we won’t exactly need on whatever ship’s taking us back to Uslisgas. It seemed to be a serious conversation from the slight frown that quickly settled on her face.

Rubbing his icy hands together briskly, Daniel retreated to stand beside Ruarc and asked him quietly, “Who were they? The ones that met us. They remind me of Commander Anarr’s bodyguard.”

“The guardians?” Confirmed Ruarc. (Daniel nodded.) “They are the Azhuth, a native species to this planet. They serve as guards for us, and in return, we provide them with meat when the winters are especially harsh or hunting is bad in any season. Long-Claw is one of the Vos-Mell, a long-separated off-shoot of the Azhuth, who live in Ida.” He paused, made a face, and then corrected himself. “Or perhaps the Azhuth are an off-shoot of the Vos-Mell. I’m not sure anyone actually knows. Regardless, they are essentially the same species.”

Interesting.

After a few minutes, the conversation finished. Sujanha gave a curt nod and pivoted back toward her men, while the Iprysh commander departed. “There will be a brief delay. One of the prisoners, not Amaunet or Klorel, is being uncooperative and is resisting preparation for transport.” Thank you for clarifying.

Neither the Furlings nor their allies in Asteria had any fond feelings for the Goa’uld, but that dislike never translated into the mistreatment of prisoners, even when they were being uncooperative. No beat downs. No drugs. No withholding of food, water, medical care, clothes, or beds. No reprisals. As long as the prisoner was confined and not a danger to themself or others, all the guards were allowed to do, for at least a short time, was wait the prisoner out. Most would eventually cooperate. Sometimes, a prisoner could forcibly be transported (e.g., marched or beamed) as long as it would cause them no harm.

An Iprysh guard from the base escorted Sujanha and Daniel and the others to a large waiting room or conference room. The Ipyrsh guards took up positions in the hallway outside, leaving Ragnar, Ruarc, Sujanha, and Daniel to wait inside. She took a seat on the far side of the room, and soon her face went blank and distant, as if all her attention was turned inward, a clear sign that she was speaking with Malek. The two seemed to get along well and had ironed out how they switched control. Malek had long-since stopped using the dual-flanged voice or bowing his—no, her, her—head when switching control … generally. Among the Furlings and their allies, where Sujanha was well known, body language, speech patterns, vocal pitch, and vocabulary choice all made clear who was in control. When members of the Tok’ra or Jaffa were present, however, Malek sometimes fell back on the older method.

About fifteen minutes passed, and then suddenly Sujanha’s comm chirped. She startled at the unexpected noise, her eyes suddenly coming back into focus. The blue-hologram of a human appeared over her gauntlet, and the two spoke at length for several minutes in quiet tones. Seated by the door next to Ruarc, Daniel could not make out what was said, but the worried scowl that almost instantly settled heavily on Sujanha’s face indicated that this was not good news, either.

Is it going to be one of those days?

“Commander?” Ragnar rumbled cautiously once the hologram had disappeared.

There was a pregnant pause before she spoke. “I fear we shall have a further delay,” Sujanha replied slowly. “One of the Diagoth’s generators failed while the ship was attempting to jump to hyperspace to come here.”

The Valhalla was still in the Milky-Way, as it had been since Sujanha was injured, under the temporary command of Ulfar, an old, experienced Furling commander, who generally had charge of the ship when she was not onboard. The Furlings were currently contending with the combined forces of Bastet and Kali, two powerful and crafty System Lords who had gained power in recent months, capitalizing on the recent power vacuum among their fellow System Lords. Until she was ready to return to the front lines, Sujanha had decided to leave her flagship, one of the three most powerful ships in the entire fleet, in the Milky-Way where its power would be of more use, rather than to have it return to Asteria to ferry her on “milk-runs.” The Diagoth, then, must have been the ship chosen as a replacement transport.

At the word “failed,” Ruarc had gone instantly stiff in his seat, one paw clamped so hard on the arm of his chair that Daniel almost thought he heard it creak under the force of his strength. “When you say failed…” He asked, voice choked.

“A critical overload.” Those simple words framed what could only be a tragedy in progress. A neutrino-ion generator suffering a critical overload, that could only mean it failed in spectacular, probably explosive, fashion. Furling ships, like Asgard vessels, had explosion suppression systems, but there were explosions, and then there were explosions. The system might not have been able to compensate.

Daniel flinched. A Furling mothership had a crew of 300. How many are dead? Is there even a ship still? Or was there only rubble, scattering across a solar system, bodies reduced to fragments or ash or atoms that could not be recovered?

“The crew?” Ruarc’s voice was strangled with emotion. This situation seemed to be hitting him especially hard, making Daniel wonder if he had friends onboard the ship.

“The explosion-suppression system did its job,”—Sujanha was looking even more worried now, her gaze focused on Ruarc—“and prevented the ship from being obliterated, but …” There she hesitated for a moment. “Forty-nine are dead, many more wounded. The ship has suffered severe damage, including multiple hull breaches.”

Almost a sixth of the ship’s crew was dead.

Daniel’s eyes went wide. Hull breaches? They must have been able to seal off the affected areas, or Sujanha would be talking differently. If not, wouldn’t the rest of the crew be doomed?

Ruarc almost deflated into himself, his expression stunned with horror, before he buried his face in his paws. His ears drooped, and Daniel thought he heard a low whine. Ragnar crossed the room with long strides and took a seat beside his brother, squeezing his shoulder. He whispered something to Ruarc in a low voice and then turned back to Sujanha. “Is it known what caused the overload?”

Ragnar doesn’t seem affected more than he is by any other disaster.

I wonder who Ruarc knew … knows? … onboard.

Sujanha shook her head. “This occurred only an hour ago. Asik just received the report and immediately forwarded it to me. The Diagoth and nearby vessels were too busy doing damage control meanwhile. What concerns me is whether this is an isolated problem on one ship or not.”

Oh, thank goodness. They do have help.

Isolated problem or not … I hadn’t even thought about that. It was her job to consider ramifications of an incident like this.

Almost all Furling ships were powered by neutrino-ion generators, a technology that the Furlings had borrowed from the Asgard in order to not reinvent the wheel—though they might have done some updates since then, I think. Only the three flagships, which used Ancient potentia to power their hulking primary shields, could draw upon an alternate power source in an emergency.

Has anything like this ever happened before?

Why would a generator just up and fail?

A flat mechanized voice suddenly spoke from the doorway where one of the Iprysh guards had suddenly appeared. “The Diagoth is one of the oldest ships in your fleet. Age or over-use could have contributed to the overload.”

Sujanha nodded. “Possibly. Or possibly mishandling or maintenance failures or any other of a host of causes. Aegir was on Uslisgas on business for Thor, and he is going to tow the ship to Ocelum. Perhaps the engineers there can shed some light on this terrible accident.” She sighed heavily and scrubbed a paw across her face. She seemed to have aged years in the space of minutes.

“What are you going to do in the meantime? What about the other ships?” Daniel ventured to ask, his mind torn between his concern for the injured and his desire for Judgment not to be delayed.

“I am unsure,” Sujanha replied slowly. “Such a problem has, at least, never happened in my lifetime, except perhaps on heavily battle-damaged ships, and I know of no such occurrences among the Asgard either. The Diagoth is old, true, and I hope that a fault just with it is to blame, but am I willing to risk the lives of my soldiers across three galaxies on such a hope?”

It could be like playing Russian Roulette. Any ship that jumps to hyperspace … is it or isn’t it going to explode?

“There could be construction differences between the Furlings and the Asgard even using the same plans,” the Iprysh guard spoke again. While Daniel had nothing against any of the Iprysh personally, their mechanized voices sometimes set his teeth on edge. ‘s kind of … creepy.

“Again, perhaps so.” Sujanha shrugged. “There are too many possibilities and not enough facts. Most of the dead are among the engine crew, which will not help us getting answers quickly.”

“What are you going to do, then?” Ruarc asked, speaking again for the first time in several minutes. His voice was a little steadier, but he still looked visibly thunderstruck.

Sujanha shrugged again, a very human gesture. “I told Asik to have a fleet-wide warning sent out to all our ships in Ida, Asteria, and the Milky-Way, instructing them to conduct immediate checks of their generators and to exercise extreme caution when jumping to hyperspace. For now, that is all I can do. I could ground the fleet, but that could be disastrous on multiple levels. The Asgard are relying upon our support in Ida. Any grounded ships could face a long journey via sublight engines to the nearest shipyard, and Anarr could be forced to pull back his troops. We are in the middle of a campaign, but his troops cannot push forward unsupported. The Goa’uld could regain lost ground if we withdraw.”

“Is Judgment going to be postponed?” Daniel asked the question most-of-all on his mind.

“NO!” Sujanha replied vehemently. “The Sul, an Iprysh warship, has been reassigned to transport us and the prisoners to Uslisgas.”

Although the Etrairs and the Lapith had intra-galactic hyperdrives—just them, I think—only the Iprysh, aside from the Furlings, of course, had inter-galactic hyperdrives. (The Furlings were not unwilling to share hyperdrive technology with their allies, but the efficacy of a powerful hyperdrive depended upon many other factors, as well, such as ship-design and power sources. Some things had to be learned and taught, not whole-sale plunked in one’s lap.) The Iprysh possessed a powerful array of vessels, suitable for war or scientific endeavors, but their fleet was much smaller than the Furlings’.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Iprysh ship before, or if I have, I didn’t know so.

“When will it arrive?” Ragnar asked.

“An hour or so. It’s coming from Skeshan and cannot leave immediately. The Ipyrsh have a science vessel much closer but are reluctant to use it as a prisoner transport.”

Seems sensible, I guess.

“Agreed,” replied Ragnar, shooting another concerned glance at his brother, who had subsided back into shell-shocked silence, his 1000-yard stare fixed on his paws.

After an update was sent to the base commander concerning the unexpected situation, Daniel and the others settled in to wait. He debated trying to distract Ruarc—it wouldn’t be hard to come up with questions to ask. There was always something he had questions on—but quickly decided quiet companionship would probably be a better idea. Even Ragnar was not trying to verbally distract his brother, only quietly sitting vigil at his side. Ruarc barely shifted over the next hour, and Ragnar only briefly left his side once.

Sujanha spent the next hour almost entirely in conference with six of her top commanders as well as her brother, Thor, an Etrair, a Lapith, and two Ipyrsh, all of whom Daniel did not recognize. The meeting by hologram was conducted in a surplus of languages, made possible by translators, which made somewhat hard to follow what was being said with the sounds almost layering on top of each other. When the last of the holograms had disappeared, Sujanha sat silently for several minutes, her gaze turned inward. Finally, she roused and looked around. The Ipyrsh commander, not one of the guards, had appeared in the doorway. Daniel hadn’t even noticed his footsteps.

“The Sul has arrived,” he announced, “and the prisoners are ready for transport. The transport shuttle will arrive in a few minutes.”

Ipyrsh ships don’t have beaming tech? Interesting.

It can’t be a problem with their armor, since our guards beamed down with us. Unless they have upgraded armor? Who knows.

“Very good, Commander. I thank you,” Sujanha replied, rising (somewhat stiffly) from her seat.

They were led from that waiting area down a series of tunnels. As they walked, Sujanha updated them on the situation with the Diagoth. “If there is no information on the cause of the Diagoth’s overload by the time night falls on Uslisgas and there are no clues from the scans on our other ships, I am going to ground all ships of similar age with identical generator models as the Diagoth.”

Okay. There have been updates then. I thought so.

That would make sense. More likely to have a problem with the same old model.

“How many ships will that take out?” Ragnar asked.

At least it shouldn’t be the entire fleet.

Right? Of course, she specified a generator model.

“Too many,” Sujanha replied, concern clear in her eyes. “I do not know the exact figures yet. If the worst happens and I am forced to ground those ships, the Etrairs, Lapith, and Ipyrsh have already pledged their full support. I will divide my remaining ships in Asteria between Ida and Avalon, with most going to aid the Asgard against the Replicating Ones. The Iprysh will send what ships they can to fill holes in Avalon, and the Lapith and Etrairs will temporarily become responsible for galactic security.”

Oh … yikes.

“What can I do?” asked Daniel. Sometimes just asking that question, being willing to help was all you could do.

Sujanha shot him a grateful look. “Remind me once we return to Uslisgas to have warnings sent to the Tok’ra and the Free Jaffa and to ensure word has reached the Dovahkiin of this situation. Their engineers would be of great use,”—her voice dropped in pitch to give a semblance of privacy—“Once that is done, you are released from all duties until Sha’re and Skaara are free and settled.”

“Commander…” Daniel began to protest.

“I managed without you for quite some time before your arrival, and as appreciative as I am of your presence, I can manage without you while you care for your wife and your law-brother.”

The shuttle bay beneath the surface of Idroth was a massive underground chamber filled with small transport ships as well as boxes and pallets of supplies. The Iprysh craft that they were led to bore a striking resemblance to an oversized brick, at least from the back, though from the angle that they were at, it looked like it swept forward into a more aero-dynamic shape towards the front.

Why don’t they just use beaming technology?

The prisoners were already inside, seated on benches along either side of the craft. The five Goa’uld—Cronus, Nirrti, Heru’ur, Klorel, and Amaunet—reacted strongly to the arrival of Daniel and Sujanha, and several expressed themselves rather violently and crudely in Goa’uld. Sujanha ignored them and went to the cockpit with Ragnar and a still unnervingly silent Ruarc. Daniel, after pausing in the doorway and looking back at his wife and brother-in-law—oh, how he missed them—joined the others up front. As he did so, there was a noise and an infinitesimal jolt. None of the others seemed bothered, but Daniel wondered at the cause.

Wings extending?

There were slots in the sides, but nothing out when we came onboard.

Could be a space-saving measure?

To Daniel, who had become used to Furling technology and ships, the Iprysh shuttle seemed all the more different. The inside of the shuttle was much darker than Furling crafts and had a distinctly sterile appearance that was even more futuristic and sci-fi-like than the Furling ships. Except when they had to check on the prisoners or speak to Sujanha, its crew was utterly silent and unnervingly still. Not even the hands of the pilots moved!

Now that’s unusual! Did that lend any credence to the theory, which he had always considered rather outlandish, that the Iprysh were some sort of consciousness inhabiting their suits? Were they technopaths of a sort?

The doors of the shuttle bay opened smoothly. As they did so, whatever snow that had fallen recently and covered the bay doors came under the sudden influence of gravity as their support disappeared from underneath them. A sudden avalanche of snow fell straight downwards with a thump and a splat, coating what ships and pallets were beneath in a blanket of snow.

Daniel’s eyes went wide in surprise, and he had to restrain the urge to laugh at the unexpected sight.

“Well, that is unfortunate.” From the dry tone and even dryer delivery, Daniel assumed it was Malek speaking.

Especially for whoever has to clean that up.

The Iprysh transport lifted off, accelerating quickly into the atmosphere. The artificial gravity and inertial dampeners did their work, making the journey no bumpier than a car ride down a straight-and-level highway. The Sul—the Iprysh ship waiting in orbit—was a hulking behemoth of a ship, much larger than even a Furling flagship, maybe even twice as big.[2]

Daniel’s jaw almost dropped open at the sight.

Recently, he had gotten a crash-course on ship classes from Sujanha as part of an explanation in a conversation one evening. I can’t even remember what prompted the explanation now, what we were discussing. Using earth terminology, the Furling fleet (not counting transports and hospital ships) had originally comprised only two classes, heavy cruisers and battleships (i.e., motherships, of what flagships were a scaled-up version). Several major disasters against the Goa’uld had taught the Furlings that smaller ships were necessary, especially to protect troops on the ground from bombers in the air. Thus, in recent months, smaller destroyers had been built—the first of many were already in service—to act as scouts and escorts for the larger warships or for allied ships as well as small corvettes to also provide close-air support among other duties.[3]

Given that crash-course, the Iprysh ship Sul almost certainly was a battleship. It was cylindrical in shape and probably, at least, twice as long as the Valhalla. There were signs of thick armor plating, especially near the center of the ship. Don’t want one lucky shot breaking the thing in half. Gun turrets rose from the surface of the ship like pock-marks at regular intervals. This was a behemoth of a ship, but its size and shape seemed fitting with the technological advancement of the Iprysh and the heavy armor that all their race wore.

This was a ship no one in their right mind would want to mess with.

Around the ship buzzed a handful of small fighters, the new planes, jointly built by the Furlings and the Iprysh, for countering the threat from Goa’uld death gliders and other in-atmosphere ships. Pilots were still being trained for the newly built fighters. The Iprysh pilots had so far been the most successful, and it was their fighters that were already in service.

I wonder if the Sul will be heading to the Milky-Way soon.

Passing through the energy shield, the shuttle landed in the large bay that was several stories tall. There were more fighters, their wings folded to save space, in their holding racks. More shuttles were held in similar but larger ‘racks.’ Soldiers of multiple races were moving pallets of supplies around. The Goa’uld prisoners were escorted from the bay, presumably to temporary holding cells—the Iprysh guards went with them—and Sujanha with Daniel and her bodyguards were led up to the bridge to pass the journey.

It was around mid-day when the Sul dropped out of hyperspace at the edge of the solar system in which Uslisgas was located. (The Iprysh hyperdrive seemed to be somewhat slower than its Furling counterpart, though perhaps the sheer hulking size could account for the slower trip? Daniel had no idea.) Because of the high volume of space traffic that passed through the solar system daily, ships were not allowed to jump into or out of hyperspace within the system’s confines to prevent accidents. Traveling to Uslisgas from the system’s edge via subspace engines was only a minor delay.

From the Sul, Sujanha, Daniel, and her two bodyguards beamed down to headquarters. Okay, so the Ipyrsh ships do have beaming technology after all? Maybe security measures on Idroth? It is a max-security prison so … no beaming out?? Sha’re, Skaara, and the other Goa’uld prisoners were beamed down to a separate location to await the High King’s judgment at sundown.

Did the choice of time have symbolic meaning?

The news of the explosion on the Diagoth had clearly spread. The citadel and headquarters, especially, were in a state of organized chaos, but there was a weightiness, a somberness hanging over all. Worried glances, concerned frowns, and subdued voices were common. One ship, nearly 50 dead. That number might continue to rise. One ship, nearly 50 dead, and a potential fleet-wide impact that could cause havoc in two simultaneous wars in Ida and the Milky-Way.

“Remind me…” Sujanha said suddenly as soon as they reached her office, waving Asik and Jaax to join them inside.

Daniel took a seat even as he replied, “Make sure warnings are sent to the Free Jaffa and Tok’ra, and ensure a call has gone out to the Dovahkiin for assistance."

“Of course. Thank you. You are free then,” Sujanha replied.

“I’ll stay for now, if you don’t mind.” Daniel was not quite sure what to do with himself for the hours left until sunset. Going home and killing time for hours alone did not exactly sound desirable. At least here, he could sit and listen and scrawl notes and ideas in his notebook when he wanted and help if he was needed. Distraction, that was what he needed.

Sujanha shrugged. “As you desire.” Her gaze snapped to her other aides. “Any word from Ocelum or our other ships?” Has anything else gone wrong? That was probably a question behind the question.

“Yes, and no,” Asik replied with a grimace. “There have been no overloads or warning signs on any other ships, so far, thankfully! Quick diagnostics have found nothing, but the generators are so intricate … a small fault could be easily hidden. The Diagoth has reached Ocelum, but there is much debris to examine to even find the ruins of the generator. The engineers are already saying that, if all four generators had been in the same compartment, the resulting chain reaction almost certainly would have overloaded the explosion suppression system and torn the ship apart.”

Sujanha cringed.

Daniel flinched.

Jaax picked up the narrative at that point. “The wounded were transported to the Eir, which was closer than Uslisgas.” He paused—his breathing mask concealed his expression from view—and then continued. “Nine more have died of their injuries, but the healers expect the rest to survive.”

The look on Sujanha’s face was horrifying. She looked like she had been hit by a truck, and it was several moments before she could bring herself to reply. “Nine more?! There has not been a disaster ship-board this catastrophic since the Great War. What else?”

Asik continued. “The Ipyrsh will have the rest of their fleet mobilized within the day. The Etrairs and the Lapiths will need at least another three days to get their full fleets ready to travel, but they said that that time can be shortened if food supplies can be provided in the short term.”

“We can do that,” Sujanha replied, but then she paused abruptly and frowned thoughtfully, backtracking. “Can I authorize that?”

Asik had to look up the answer. “You can, if it is from the fleet’s stores of provisions. You need … the king’s approval otherwise.”

“Check with the Lapiths and Etrairs, and see how many ships and how much food. If possible, take it from our stores, but if you do, make sure not to go below the buffer zone. If necessary, get the king’s permission and take the necessary amount from the national storehouses. Either way, repayments will need to be made quickly. I don’t like having to pull so heavily in the midst of a war, but this is an unprecedented situation.”

Asik nodded and jotted down a few notes. “Both said that the debt would be repaid at the earliest possible moment. Isn’t it harvest season soon anyway on Procater?”[4]

Is that a rhetorical question?

Sujanha shrugged. “You’d have to check the database to see how far their seasons are off-set from ours. Their years are a different length, so the offset is always changing.”

Trying to correlate time-keeping systems between worlds was headache-inducing.

“Also, a message for the Imperial Court has already arrived from the court of the Great Queen Sariiz. Word has somehow already reached her of the disaster, and she has offered assistance,” Jaax inserted at that point.

I wonder if there were Dovahkiin onboard.

 “Tell Ocelum to send any reports to Drehond, and have them request any assistance as needed.” Whatever had gone wrong between her and the Dovahkiin in the past, allies or not, she seemed to prefer not having any formal dealings with Drehond. “If they need to coordinate with someone within the High Command, have Algar or … Aterra deal with it, or have them delegate further.” Both were Kushik, half-Dovahkiin, half-Furling.

“Of course, Commander.”

“As soon as that is done, send word to the Tok’ra and Free Jaffa … Actually, no,” Sujanha shook her head sharply. “This information cannot be overheard at any cost. Send word to the Free Jaffa and to the Tok’ra. Tell Master Bra’tac that we need to speak with him urgently. A planet of his choosing will work. Here would work better. Ask to speak with Selmak on Vorash, if at all possible. Martouf or one of the other Tok’ra with whom we have had personal dealings would also be acceptable.”

The Goa’uld would have a field-day with this if they found out, especially if Sujanha has to start grounding ships.

“Of course, Commander.”

Asik departed to have the messages sent, but Jaax remained, lingering by the doorway. “Do you need anything else for now?”

Sujanha scrubbed a paw across her face and then replied, “Where is Bjorn? There was no time to speak with him about the status of the war against the Replicating Ones earlier. The reports from the Asgard High Command Algar gave me were somewhat dated.”

Jaax stepped out long enough to check something and then return. “Bjorn and the Taygeta are currently returning from Ida, leaving Fleet Commander Narr in charge of current operations against the Replicating Ones.”

Sujanha’s ears flicked back in clear alarm. “The last thing I need is to lose one of my High Commanders.”

That would be a disaster. As callous as it sounded, one ship and its crew could be (comparatively) easily replaced. One senior commander could not be replaced so easily. Not right now, especially.

“Our long-range sensors are currently tracking him. Considering his speed, he is almost certainly using the potentia to power the engines, not the generators.”

“A reasonable temporary solution, though that will not work long term,” Sujanha conceded with a grimace. “Our cache of potentia is finite, and we need them, first of all, for the shields.”

Jaax nodded and departed with a promise to tell the High Commander as soon as he returned that Sujanha needed to speak with him. As soon as Sujanha and Daniel were alone, she gave a deep sigh and leaned her head against the back of her chair. She seemed exhausted.

“On earth,” noted Daniel quietly, “this would be one of those days where you wish you never got out of bed in the morning.” Bury your head under the covers and hope everything is better once you wake up the next time.

Sujanha gave a throaty chuckle.

“I know you said I’m off duty now, but is there anything I can do to help?”

She shook her head. “Messages have been sent out, and for now, I think I must wait. Your presence here is enough.”

The afternoon passed with interminable slowness. Sujanha was in meetings almost constantly, first with Bjorn (a serious but friendly Nafshi), then Jacob-Selmak, and finally Master Bra’tac. The Supreme Commander had not spoken with Jacob-Selmak since the contentious meeting with some of the Tok’ra High Councilors onboard the Oshrocco weeks earlier. It had been, at least, a month or two since Sujanha and Bra’tac had spoken, and the old Jaffa master had heard through subsequent interactions with the fleet under Algar’s temporary tenure that she had been gravely injured. Despite the circumstances of the meetings, both were glad to see her well.

Daniel’s nervousness increased as the time passed. After two-and-a-half tortuously long years, his wait was at an end. Skaara would soon be free. Sha’re would soon be free, and they would be able to be together again. Yet, there was still the uneasy feeling that something would go wrong at the last minute. Sujanha seemed to pick up on his discomfort, not that his tapping fingers, restless movements, and occasional sighs did much to conceal his uneasy thoughts. She took pity on him and gave him small errands to run as a distraction.

Finally, the shadows lengthened, and the sun began to fall, painting the sky with rich hues. Sujanha closed off her screens and rose. “It is time,” she said. “Let us depart.”

The king’s judgment upon the Goa’uld would be rendered in the throne room of the palace where Daniel had attended Judgment Day not many days before. The crowds would be less, though. The Furlings allowed only select individuals to be present for court cases, besides those relevant to the matter of hand, and they did not have to allow ‘press,’ either, not that the national news/journalistic system bore any resemblance to the hounding press on earth.

As Sujanha said, “We are here to carry out justice, not create a public spectacle.”

Who would be present beside the High Council, the High King, and the late-great System Lords, Daniel did not know. He was, of course, allowed to be present since he was family of two of the hosts. Kasuf would also be there.

Sujanha spoke briefly with Jaax and Asik before they left, telling them to send for her immediately if any news came from Ocelum or any of her other ships. Daniel and Sujanha, with Ragnar and Ruarc, then beamed across from headquarters to the outskirts of the palace and threaded their way inside through the same less-used passageways. The throne room was about one-fifth full when they arrived. A small crowd had already gathered around the periphery of the room. The entire High Council was present, now that Sujanha was there and the High King was just entering. The number of the guards had also increased at least two-to-three-fold. Ragnar joined the other guards, while Ruarc stood beside Daniel, who managed to find Kasuf in the crowd near one wall.

The Furlings had slowly over time stopped coming to Abydos in human-guises, and his people had become used to their … strange … visages as time passed. Awed and star-struck gazes had even stopped following them once the Abydonians realized the Furlings, though different in appearance, were ‘men’ just like them. If Kasuf was surprised by the array of faces present, Furlings and other races together, his face did not show it.

Now they waited.

The waiting was short. Only a few minutes passed, and then as the sun touched the horizon outside, the five Goa’uld were beamed in. Judgment was finally at hand. They were in a straight line, each standing just outside of arm’s length from those on either side. Instantly, circular shields snapped up around each of them, leaving them some room to move but keeping them separate from each other. No mortal enemies going for each other’s throats or uniting against their common enemy … the Furlings.

Kasuf twitched and made a low noise in his throat. Daniel felt a lump in his own throat, seeing Sha’re … Hold on, my love. Just a little while longer now … and Skaara so close. (He would never forget what Jack had told him of the colonel’s encounter with Skaara and Klorel on the mothership bridge over earth during Apophis’ attempted attack.) Ruarc placed an encouraging paw on his shoulder.

High King Ivar rose from his throne and stepped down to the level of the main dais. He spoke first in Furling and then repeated his words in Goa’uld … without the use of a translator. His voice was not loud but carried well. The inherent dignity and gravitas in his manner and his speech benefited the occasion and made him a very compelling speaker.

“Cronus, Nirrti, Heru’ur, Amaunet, Klorel. For thousands of years, you and your fellow Goa’uld have reigned over the galaxy, known as Avalon and the Milky-Way by some of its inhabitants, as false gods, terrorizing, enslaving, and slaughtering its inhabitants at your whims. As your recent defeats have indicated, your reigns are over. You are not gods, as you so falsely claim. The twilight of the Goa’uld Empire is upon you.”

There was shouting and cursing in Goa’uld in response to the king’s words, but Ivar kept talking, speaking over them with apparently little effort. “You have been brought here to this court today to face judgment for your actions. The testimonies of many witnesses among those you enslaved and among those whom you forced to execute your whims have told us of crimes that cry out for justice. On the basis of that testimony, the High Court of the Furling Empire and I, Ivar, High King of the Furling Empire, charge you with the false imprisonment and suppression of your own hosts, with murder and torture of your subjects and your prisoners and even your own kind, with the enslavement and brainwashing of the Jaffa, and with human experimentation. Have you any word to speak in your own defense?”

All five Goa’uld all tried to reply at the same time. Some of the replies were unrepeatable in polite company, while most were of the “I am your god: who are you to judge me?” variety.

Ivar waited until the Goa’uld had shouted themselves out before calmly continuing once no actual defense was forthcoming. “For crimes innumerable, I sentence you to death. This is my decree on the 20^th of Duumm in the year 6546 A.S. Thus, shall it be.”

Daniel blinked back tears. It’s over, finally over. For Sha’re and Skaara. Beside him, Kasuf looked just as moved. For years, he had been a father bereft of both of his children with Shifu, his only grandchild, a comfort in his old age. Soon, we’ll have them back. Soon, they’ll be free.

The Asgard beams activated, and the six Goa’uld disappeared.

Slowly, the crowd dispersed, but for several minutes Daniel stood frozen, mind trying to comprehend that, finally, years-later Sha’re and Skaara were about to be free. If he had not found the Furlings, would events have turned out this successfully? A gentle nudge from Ruarc roused Daniel as Sujanha approached from the direction of the dais.

Sujanha greeted Kasuf respectfully and then turned to Daniel, saying in English, “It gladdens me to know that your wife and Skaara will soon be free. The Maker is kind that we have finally reached this point.”

“Where are they being taken?” Daniel asked, his voice rough with emotions. He pulled off his glasses, blinking back tears as he did so, to clean them just to give his hands something to do.

“The Halls of Healing. Our healers are ready to immediately extract the symbiotes, which then will be handed over to the army for the king’s sentence to be carried out.”

“Can I go there?” Daniel asked.

“Of course,” Sujanha replied. “You and your law-father both. The Halls are open to the families of all in the healers’ care. I do have need of Ruarc, though.” Her last words seemed almost slightly regretful.

“I remember the way,” replied Daniel. From my lengthy stay there.

“Then go,” said Sujanha kindly, switching into Furling and reaching out slowly and squeezing his shoulder gently with one paw. “One of us will check on you later, but for now, there is fleet business to deal with.”

A watched pot never boils.

A watched pot never boils.

A watched pot never boils

A watched pot never boils

Daniel reminded himself of that frequently as he paced the clinically sterile, cookie-cutter halls of the Halls of Healing. After years of waiting, he was done waiting any more, and years seemed to pass for every hour that he had spent at the Halls since the High King had declared judgment. Yes, he was exaggerating, but time seemed to have slowed to an utter crawl. Kasuf seemed to be handling the waiting better than Daniel was. He was feeling too jittery and impatient to do anything but pace.

One pass of the hall.

Two passes.

Three passes.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Eventually, Daniel lost count of his circuits of the hall. He was a relatively patient man by nature. Archeological discoveries and complex translations did not come at the snap of one’s fingers. They took time and patience, a lot of patience. In Egyptology, breakthroughs could be decades in making. And yet, Daniel was out of patience. On his umpteenth circuit of this particular hallway/seating area where he had been left to wait, he checked his chrono.

Only an-hour-and-a-half?! It can’t be. It seemed like several times that long.

The Halls were quiet, only a few hours being left in the day. Daniel wondered what Sujanha and the others were doing. Had there been new news? Would she be forced to ground all or most of the Fleet? The weight resting on her shoulders was immense, as she tried to balance many competing and critical concerns. Talk about the Sword of Damocles. He wondered how Ruarc was. Even when trying to be supportive when Ivar pronounced judgment on the Goa’uld, Ruarc had seemed off. He had not been the same since the news about the Diagoth had broken.

I wonder whom he knew on board.

Daniel paced.

And paced some more.

And paced yet more.

He left his hallway, which thankfully had very sturdy floors—or I might have actually worn a hole—only one just long enough to get a bite of food and something to drink for himself and for Kasuf. Daniel had not felt particularly hungry, but if one of the others found out that he was not taking care of himself, he would hear about it. When Sujanha was the one remonstrating with him, he found it rather ironic, though quite touching. She needed to take her own advice more frequently.

Finally, the wait was over. Risa, one of the chief healers working on the project to free Goa’uld hosts, emerged out of a side corridor and approached Daniel and Kasuf. There was a stain of blue blood on her apron, but her expression was pleased, or as pleased as Risa could manage to look. She was a Rhuzk—half-Furling, half-Lapith—and rather intimidating both in terms of personality and appearance, though she looked scarier than she actually was. Her bedside manner would beat many physicians Daniel had been forced to deal with on earth—I miss Dr. Frasier, though—but she often talked almost as technically as Sam did.

“The procedure appears to have been successful on both your wife and law-brother, Doctor Jackson,” Risa began. Daniel sank into the nearest seat with a sigh of utter relief. He would never forget how disastrously the attempt to free Charlie Kawalsky had turned out.

Risa continued, saying, “Work continues on the others so I can only stay a few moments. Your kin are being tended to and will be moved to isolation chambers until they wake from their drugged sleeps tomorrow. You will be allowed to sit with them both, if you wish, but you must stay outside the shields.”

Daniel could understand their caution. It’s not over yet, though, until they wake and we know for sure. Extractions could seem successful at first, like with Kawalsky, but fail in the end. The last thing the Furlings needed was a Goa’uld lose on their homeworld. “Of course,” he replied. “Can I stay until morning?”

“Yes, though there are only chairs and no beds.” The Furlings apparently had no concept of visiting hours.

“That won’t bother me.” I’ve had worse between digs and bedside watches at the SGC.

Daniel visited Skaara briefly—he looked peacefully asleep, a far cry from the last time Daniel had seen him during Apophis’ attempted invasion of earth—and then settled in for a long night by Sha’re’s bed, leaving his father-in-law to stay with Skaara. The healers had gone to great length to care for them both and make them comfortable. Sha’re was dressed in Abydonian clothing, probably brought from her cell, and covered in Abydonian blankets. Someone had carefully brushed and braided her long-dark hair to keep it out of her face until she had time to care for it herself. Her face was peaceful and serene, the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Pleasant dreams, my love! The trials of the past years had melted away, and Daniel could almost imagine, if the room were different, that they were still on Abydos.

Daniel touched her cheek gently, murmuring a greeting in Abydonian, and then settled down in one of the two chairs. A healer appeared from time to time to check on Sha’re, but largely, he was left alone with his thoughts. A few hours passed. The door slid silently open soon after a healer had left. The lights were low, except for the soft glow of a lamp next to the bed, and it took Daniel a long moment to realize that it was Sujanha and not another healer.

Sujanha gave Sha’re a strangely wary glance before moving the second chair quietly and taking a seat next to Daniel. “Malek says I must not be here when she wakes,” she said in an undertone, “lest she sense the naquadah in our bloodstream and become frightened, but I can stay for a time if you do not mind my presence.”

Oh, that makes sense.

“Of course not,” Daniel replied, feeling a hint of concern as he looked at her. She seemed even more exhausted than earlier. It has to be really late by now. He resolutely did not look at his watch. He did not want to know how late it actually was. “It’s too quiet here, too much time to think.” He was used to the beeping of machines in hospital rooms on earth.

“I have been in your place before,” Sujanha said flatly without explanation. “And I cannot say that I do not feel the same.” During the Great War?

“Any news? How are things at headquarters?” Daniel asked, wishing fervently for both a distraction and an update.

Sujanha gave a low groan. Not well, I’m guessing? “Not well. Bjorn has returned from Ida, and he and Frár are overseeing matters until morning. Elder Brother and I are supposed to be going home to rest.”

“I won’t tell,” that you aren’t at home resting, not that I’m surprised. Daniel forced a semblance of a grin.

“There is good news and bad news, as you say. An exhaustive search of wreckage in and around the engine room and a detailed study of the remaining generators has uncovered a fault with the Diagoth’s generators. Apparently, due to heavy wear over the last several thousand years”—hearing the Furlings talk about timeframes on such a scale had grown somewhat less shocking—“several small components deep in the mainframe wore down, damaging the fail-safes, thereby allowing the overload to occur.”

“That’s a relief,” Daniel replied quietly. “Uh, that you found the problem, that is. So, what’s the bad news?”

Sujanha grimaced. “Now that we know where to look … we are finding similar issues on almost all of our ships, not built within the last five centuries or retrofitted with updated generators since the end of the Great War. Not all have reached the same ware as on the Diagoth. Some are close. Some have, and it’s a mercy that we have not lost more ships.”

Yikes.

Almost all …

I have a very bad feeling.

“How many is ‘almost all’?”

“All of our flagships were updated after the Great War, which is a mercy since there would be consequences to using the potentia to compensate in the short term. Most of the mercy ships”—what the Furlings called the ‘hospital ships’—“were built within the last century, and the same applies to most of our troop carriers. A number of our cruisers were also built within the last five hundred years or retrofitted, so we will not have to ground all of them.”

But what about the motherships?

You can’t win a war relying on the destroyers and corvettes you’ve built in the last few years, or what’s left of your cruisers.

“The same isn’t true for your motherships, I’m guessing?” Daniel asked softly. It was instinct of what to do and not do in a sickroom that had him keeping his voice low even though Sha’re was sedated and wouldn’t be waking even if they shouted.

Sujanha shook her head, a silent growl revealing a glimpse of bone-white teeth. “Of the roughly 700 warships, not counting those new classes built since the beginning of the war, I just had to ground almost three-quarters. The majority of those ships grounded are among my motherships. The cruisers have been used more in the interim between wars and received more updates, as a result. Ironically, with all the repairs that had to be made, the generators on the motherships were largely left alone.”

Yipes.

“What about the ships from your allies? What about the Ipyrsh?”

“As advanced as they are technologically, the Iprysh have no interests in expansion and only control two solar systems aside from their own. That means they have a very limited fleet, even with their buildup over the course of the war. Their entire fleet, both warships and science vessels, is less than a hundred ships. The Lapith and Etrair ships can manage galactic security as long as their supplies last but are not equipped to face powerful enemies.”

Okay. That is … small.

“We’ll survive. You survived the Great Enemy. This is only a temporary setback.”

“Survival was never in doubt,” Sujanha acknowledged with a nod. “What concerns me is how much territory we will lose before my ships are fixed, and how many lives will be lost to retake that territory. I cannot leave Anarr’s garrisons unsupported. Our campaign against Bastet and Kali has already ceased, and we have already had to pull back from several battles. The Goa’uld must already know something has happened to us. We have to focus on protecting our major strongholds, allied worlds, and most important captured planets.”

Bastet and Kali, they aren’t stupid. Yea, they’ll know something’s up

“Makes sense.”

Silence fell for a short time. Sujanha seemed to be temporarily lost in thought or simply introspective. Finally, she asked quietly, “What do you plan to do now, Daniel? Your wife is free. Will you return to Abydos and your son?”

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know yet. It will depend on what Sha’re wants. I want to be a family again, but I would like to stay.” He gave a half-smile. “I’ve gotten rather fond of this place.”

Sujanha’s eyes smiled. “And I have grown quite fond of your presence. I want what is best for you both, but if you leave, I will miss you greatly.”

“Thank you. The main consideration with staying is space. I need a place with enough space for all three of us.”

Sujanha tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “Your room, at least by our standards, is large enough for two adults to sleep, and the room across the halls is yours, if you wish it.”

“But you’re using it.” Daniel protested.

“Only for storage.” Sujanha made a dismissive gesture with one paw. “Some items have been there for centuries. I have been needing to clean it out for years but have never gotten around to it. I can easily move the things into long-term storage elsewhere. You could use that room for your boy, if you wish.”

Daniel’s eyes were wide. “That’s very … generous of you. But are you sure you would want all three of us in the house? Shifu’s not even a year-and-a-half yet. Kids can be … loud.”

Sujanha shrugged. “I like children. I have none of my own and never will. His presence will not trouble me, and I am often away. Your wife and son could have the run of the house except for my library, office, and bedroom.” She paused and then clarified her last statement. “Your wife would be welcome to my books, as you are, but not …”

“No babies, please, among your collection, I understand.” Daniel smiled and thought of the havoc a child could wreck in his old office at the SGC, full of artifacts, books, texts, and the like. He wondered idly what had happened to all his stuff there and at his apartment. “I’ll think about your offer and talk with Sha’re later.”

“Of course. I should go sleep while I can,” Sujanha said, starting to rise. “Morning will come too soon. Do you need anything first?”

Daniel shook his head, and Sujanha slipped out as quietly as she had come, leaving him with much to think about.

For Daniel, unlike Sujanha, morning seemed to come much too slowly. The chair was not the most comfortable, and he only dozed, waking at slight noises throughout the night. As the time passed, Sha’re began to rouse slowly, making slight movements or indistinct noises in her sleep as the sedation wore off.

Murphy’s law, Sha’re finally awoke when Daniel had stepped out to use the bathroom and buy a mug of tea in the ‘cafeteria’ mid-morning. He heard raised voices as he neared her room and hurried forward. Risa was inside the room but outside the shield that surrounded Sha’re’s bed and was trying to talk with her. Risa’s strange appearance seemed to have frightened his wife—all of her guards on Ardea had been human—and Sha’re had retreated to the far end of the bed and was only answering in Abydonian, near-panic in her eyes.

Of all the times for me to leave!!!

Murphy’s Law had struck again.

Daniel hurried inside, setting his mug down with a little too much force on a nearby table, sloshing the contents … thankfully not onto his hand. With a little mental effort, he switched his brain out of Furling back into Abydonian. “Sha’re, my love, it’s alright. Risa is a friend, a healer. She wants to help you.”

Sha’re’s gaze immediately snapped from to Daniel at the sound of his voice. She tried to rise and move toward him but was blocked after only a few steps by the flare of the blue shield. “Dan’yel?” Her gaze moved anxiously from point to point around the room. “Where am I? What is happening?”

“Everything is alright. You’re in the healer’s … tent on my world among the Furlings. They took the demon from you.” Sha’re nodded her understanding. “They wanted to make sure that the procedure had worked, that it was you, who woke up, my love, not the demon in hiding.” This was Sha’re. He knew it.

“The demon is gone?” Sha’re asked.

“It’s over,” Daniel confirmed, stepping forward until he was just on the other side of the shield from her. He longed to hold her in his arms again but knew he had to be patient just a little while longer. “Skaara is free, too. He’s still asleep, just down the hall. Your father is with him.”

“I thought,” Sha’re murmured, her brow furrowing, “I heard his voice—Klorel’s voice.” She spat the Goa’uld’s name. “The demon took my sight, but I felt her fear, and sometimes her strength wavered.”

“Doctor Jackson?” Risa prompted in Furling, breaking into their discussion. “Can you confirm independently that the person speaking is your wife, not the Goa’uld?”

“Yes,” Daniel nodded. Interacting with Sujanha and Malek had taught him a lot about judging between host and symbiote even without clues like the flashing eyes and the funky voice. “That’s Sha’re speaking.” Even Malek could not mimic Sujanha that well, and she had tried once, at Sujanha’s request, as an experiment.

Risa nodded, made a few more notes on the tablet cradled in her left arm, and then swiped a hand through the air to bring up a holographic screen. Sha’re flinched backward in surprise—floating holographic screens, except on a peltak, were not a thing among the Goa’uld—and Daniel murmured something soothing in Abydonian.

In moments, the shield around Sha’re’s bed fell. “She is free to move around this facility with an escort but is not yet free to leave. Speak to one of the healers if she is in need. Someone will check on her in a few hours,” said Risa.

“Thank you!” Daniel replied with heartfelt sincerity, “Can you make sure the Supreme Commander is informed?”

“Of course,” Risa replied. She bowed once to Daniel in the military fashion and again to Sha’re and then departed.

Daniel took a slow step forward after the door had slid shut behind Risa and opened his arms. He could not imagine how Sha’re had suffered at the hands of the Goa’uld (and of Apophis). He wanted to leave her room to make the choices now. Sha’re, though, had no hesitation and immediately threw herself into her husband’s arms and began to weep. After much weeping, apologizing, and explaining (on both sides), Sha’re and Daniel sat down on her bed and began to talk. Her first question was for their son.

“What about the boy? Where is he? Is he safe?” Sha’re asked, demonstrating her knowledge gaps because of Amaunet’s attempts to smother her host despite Daniel’s best attempts to keep his wife updated. It still made him angry, even though Amaunet was … probably dead by now?

“Shifu’s safe. He’s on Abydos,” Daniel replied. “He’s 18 months old by Earth’s measurements and is growing quickly. He’s a very sweet-natured boy. I have pictures.” He started patting down his pockets, looking for his picture stone that he usually kept with him. “Actually, I don’t have it with me right now, but I’ll bring them soon.”

“But he is Harcesis,” Sha’re protested, her brow furrowing with confusion. “The demons, they will hunt him.”

“The System Lords are falling one by one,” Daniel explained. “The Furlings have been waging war on them for many, many … moons. Abydos is carefully guarded.”

“It is forbidden because of his knowledge. It will harm him.”

Daniel shook his head. “The Furling healers and their allies have technology. They blocked Shifu’s access to his memories. He is safe.”

“Can I see him?” She asked, wiping at her eyes with one sleeve.

“Soon. Once you’re strong enough and the healers release you, we can go to Abydos, or I can bring Shifu here. It’s your choice.”

[1] Shades of Gray.

[2] A/N: The Iprysh fleet needed updating badly. I went scrolling through Google for inspiration and found this picture: https://jvhageshii01.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/fasdf.jpg. I have no idea what franchise it is from. If someone knows, please let me know in a comment because I am really curious.

[3] A/N: I am much obliged to this article, https://thearcaneathenaeum.org/2015/05/15/on-the-taxonomy-of-spaceships/, for help on classes of spaceships.

[4] Procater is the homeworld of the Etrairs.

Chapter Text

Sha're and Skaara were kept under the care of the healers for three days in total after the successful procedure to free them from the control of their Goa'uld. Temporary quarters in the longer-term care ward outside of the city were allotted to them by the Furlings, and they then stayed there for two more days before they were allowed to return to Abydos, the intervening time being one final check that no unexpected problems arose. The need for that arose considering the fates of some of the other freed hosts. The bodies of the hosts of Cronus and Sokar, possibly kept in torment for centuries, had been overtaken by rapid aging soon after the procedure was completed because of the absence of their symbiotes. They, at least, had died free and died at peace, cared for most tenderly by the Furling healers. Since knowledge of their original homeworlds was not accessible nor the customary rites for the dead among their peoples, the Furlings had buried the two former hosts among their own dead on Numantia, carrying out all the burial rites that they would for their own people and burying them with all honors due to prisoners of war.

The hosts of Nirrti and Heru'ur had survived the procedure and not succumbed to the same rapid aging that had killed the hosts of Cronus and Sokar, whose names the healers had unfortunately not been able to discover before their passing. For now, that survival, however, was largely … physical in a way. They were not comatose or brain-dead, but both were horribly traumatized, the reports were. Nirrti's host was almost catatonic, and Heru'ur's host was not altogether … with it, either. They would be kept under the care of the mind-healers and well-cared for until they recovered enough to care for themselves and express a preference of a world where they would like to be taken or … until they passed. They had survived, but the evils of the past could not be undone in an instant just by freeing them from being puppeted by their symbiotes. The struggle for freedom was not over yet. Sometimes the mental battle, the battle within, could be the hardest of all.

And the extracted symbiotes? What happened to them? Their execution was carried out by the Army. What then? Daniel was not quite sure he liked the answer once he heard it, though he understood why the Furlings had done it. The gathered bodies of the symbiotes had been burned on a pyre and then buried in a marked grave on a distant world, not Numantia, of course. Part of him felt that the Goa'uld did not deserve even that after what they had done to Sha're, to Skaara, to the others. The Furlings were doing for their enemies what had not been done for them during the Great War, honorable burials and marked graves.

On the 25th of Duumm, five days after Judgment, five days after Freedom, Sha're, Skaara, and Daniel departed Uslisgas for Abydos. This possibly marked an end of the era for Daniel. Whether or not Daniel would remain on Uslisgas working for Sujanha long-term, it was time to go … home … his other-home. It was time to take his family home. It was time for Sha're to meet her son, for Skaara to meet his nephew, for both to see the family and friends since that horrible day when Apophis had come through the Stargate, attacked the gate-guards, nearly killed Ferretti, and taken Sha're, Skaara, and the others away. That day seemed so long ago, but it was a day that would remain firmly fixed in Daniel's memory … forever. Sometimes he still remembered the sound of screams, the smell of charred flesh when he passed through the gateroom on Abydos.

It was ironic how some memories you wanted to remember forever, you forgot, and how others, which you wanted to forget, you remembered.

For a couple of weeks, there would only be Abydos, his family, and peace and quiet. No war, no ships, no paperwork. Just family and peace. It would be a time to reconnect … almost get reacquainted with Sha're in a way. They had had such a short time together after the first mission to Abydos and before Apophis came. And we've both changed so much since then. It would be a chance to spend more time with Shifu, uninterrupted time, who was growing like a weed. It would be time for Sha're to meet the son whom she had not seen since he was a newborn. And now he's almost … a year-and-a-half by earth-measurements. She had missed so much. Some missed chances could not be made up, but new memories could be forged.

The mental scars that Sha're and Skaara faced from their captivity were deep, but now they were free and safe, and it might take years, but one day the scars would (hopefully) heal.

For Daniel, being on Abydos felt like coming home. It was complicated for him having multiple places that he considered home simultaneously, but his life was … unusual. Abydos had been his home for one of the best years of his life, especially considering what it preceded, and in many ways, he had felt more connected to that planet as a home than he had to earth. His family had died when he was a child—that memory of his parents, the one he had had to relive over and over and over in the Gatekeeper's pod was also one he wished that he did not remember quite so clearly—and his grandfather had rejected him, refusing to adopt him and thus abandoning him to the mercies of the foster care system.

His friends and colleagues at university had thought his theories about redating the pyramids were nuts (and that he was kinda nuts, as well), and by the time Catherine had recruited him for the Stargate Program, he had had no money and no home. All of his worldly goods had fit in a single bag. After returning from Abydos, he had enjoyed his time with SG1, had been friends with all of his teammates, but there had always been friction between him and Jack, despite their time on the first mission to Abydos, because of their widely different viewpoints and approaches to their missions. Those differences had spawned hard feelings and vicious arguments more than once. And Daniel had struggled to find his place on earth … again, to feel like he actually belonged there at the SGC, especially after missions where weapons and advanced technology were the be-all and end-all.

Daniel had been rather transient on earth, and that, he figured, had played a role in how much more attached he now was to Abydos and Uslisgas. There, he had found the family and the friends whom he had always struggled to find on earth. And yet, now, Daniel felt torn, his ties pulling him this way and that between the two planets. As generous as Sujanha's offer to let Sha're and Shifu move into her house had been, it was a decision that could only be made jointly with Sha're. Would she want to leave to Abydos, the only home that she had ever known? Would she want to live on a planet like Uslisgas, which was not a desert world? Though I'm sure Apophis' worlds weren't all sun and sands. Would she be even comfortable living in the same house as Malek, feeling her presence anytime Sujanha-Malek were at home, after Amaunet?

That would be a long conversation … for later. Sha're had not even met Sujanha yet, and the housing offer … and Malek … had not been a conversation for those first few recovery days. That would be a conversation for later.

Going home.

Those words were so simple. The action was comparatively simple in some ways.

And yet … sometimes going home was not so simple. Sometimes, after a long absence, home was not the same as it had been when you departed, not the same as how you remembered it. Other times … home was the same, but you were not the same, and that complicated the homecoming just as much.

For Daniel, coming home—coming back to Abydos—was simple.

For Sha're and Skaara, it quickly proved to not be quite so simple. (Even for Sha're, who had spent those couple of months on Abydos during her pregnancy, though much of that had been spent in quiet and isolation in her father's 'house'.)

There was the pained shadow in Skaara's eye as they stepped through the Stargate and he saw the gateroom, his last memory of which had been that desperate fight against Apophis and his Jaffa.

There were the cringes and flinches at sharp, unexpected movements or sudden noises behind their backs and Skaara's desire to never have his back to a door, a harder prospect with a tent whose 'canvas' could be slit with a sharp knife.

There was the utter devastation in Sha're's face when she saw Shifu again … a babbling, toddling, bright-eyed little boy and not the babe in arms that she remembered. The pictures that Daniel had shown her and the stories that he had told her were one thing. Actually seeing the change with her own eyes … having it hit home how much she has missed … proved quite another for Sha're. He would reach out for Daniel, whom he recognized, and call out happily for his father, but his mother … Shifu did not recognize Sha're despite Daniel's best attempts to show his son his only picture of her. If he had not been such a happy child, willing to be held even by strangers, their first meeting would have been even harder.

Then there were the childhood friends and companions who had passed these years in peace and the gulf that had formed because of the differences in experiences. It was not even necessary any longer to keep a constant guard upon the Stargate!

Then there were the night terrors that sometimes left them screaming in their sleep, sometimes in Abydonian, sometimes in Goa'uld, that sometimes left them starting awake, cringing away from the kindly hands that tried to wake them.

Abydos was still home, but Sha're and Skaara were not the same people who had been taken away those years ago.

(They had been, essentially, POWs for years … held in conditions worse in many ways than what Jack might have seen during his Black Ops days.)

And mental scars … those took much longer to heal than physical injuries.

While their homecoming, at first, had not been all that they might have hoped, Sha're and Skaara slowly settled back into daily life on Abydos. Life was not all hunky-dory, but they began to readjust to some semblance of life as it had once been, sun, sand, 36-hour days, and all. While still twitchy, Skaara began to seem less like he was about to jump out of his skin, and Sha're threw herself into her new role as a mother and not just to distract herself from her non-reptilian demons or to make up for lost time.

After they had been back on Abydos for 10 days (by Furling measurements) or about 7 days by the longer Abydonian measurements, Daniel finally found a chance to broach the topic with his wife about where to make their (for the moment, at least) permanent residence: Abydos or Uslisgas. With the Stargate, it was easy to travel from Uslisgas to Abydos to visit family, but with the travel time from the village to the pyramid and with the time difference between the planets, commuting from one galaxy to another to keep working for Sujanha would not work so well, Daniel figured. He felt torn between the two sides of his life, but he wanted what would be best for Sha're and Shifu, most of all.

It was late one evening after the evening meal. The suns had long since set, and the stars were shining brightly outside in a nearly cloudless sky. The heat of the day had faded with the setting suns, and the night chill of the desert was upon them. Within their tent, however, the fire burned brightly and warm, and there were animal skins and woven blankets to keep off the remaining chill. Daniel could still hear the drifting sounds of laughter and singing and music from elsewhere in the village where the evening festivities were still lasting into the night. There were no creaking floor-boards to step on to accidentally wake their baby who had just gone to sleep here on Abydos, but it had still taken him three times to actually get Shifu down to sleep and get him to stay asleep before he could return to the fire and to Sha're.

"You are quiet tonight, my Dan'yel," said Sha're. Kasuf's daughter had always been sharp-eyed and keen-minded, but Daniel's face was expressive, and it took little effort to read his moods and thoughts off his face like words out of a book.

Daniel shot her a quiet smile, his eyes flickering back between her beautiful face and the glowing embers in the hearth. "Just thinking," he murmured.

"About?" Sha're asked, her skirts rustling in the quiet as she shifted. "If you can speak of it." Daniel had told her some about the work he had been doing for Sujanha, and Sha're knew that there were some issues about which he could not speak.

This isn't fleet business.

Or anything like that.

"About home," Daniel replied softly, wary of waking Shifu, who was sleeping nearby. Let third time stay the charm. "About where we should make our home. Abydos or Uslisgas, since earth is lost to me for now." The story of the Tollan and his exile from earth had been one that he had recounted to her several days earlier. Sha're's eyes had flashed fire, and her words about Maybourne, about the president, about the possible fate of the Tollan had been razor sharp. Sometimes these days she was a little warier, a little jumpier, a little quieter, but what she had suffered at Amaunet's hands had not extinguished the fire of her spirit that had burned in her heart since before the days she had helped lead the rebellion against Ra.

"Where do you want to make our home?" She asked. There was a time for soft honeyed words and a time for bluntness. Somewhat shy and quiet, Sha're sometimes was in public, but not so much in private, not for a long time, their first meeting being a great exception. She was a woman, but much could be learned among the elder women of the villages of Abydos, and Sha're knew how to lead and how to advise. The influence of those who worked in the background could have great power of its own.

Daniel gave a quiet snort. "I want both, but I can't have both, not really, and not right now. But it's not all about what I want, either." It was not possible to have absolutely everything that one wanted in life. Life didn't work like that.

You deserve to have Abydos again … after everything the Goa'uld took from you, from us.

Abydos was home, but so was Uslisgas now. He had quickly become accustomed to his life among the Furlings. He enjoyed his work with Sujanha. He liked her. She and Ruarc and Ragnar and Jaax and Asik and the others, they were all his friends. He felt torn between his two homes. In peacetime, it would be possible with the Stargate to travel back and forth, but Sujanha and her bodyguards and aids were so often absent from Uslisgas, gone more often than not. Reaching them when he was on shift, tracking them down could be complicated. But what about Sujanha? How would she handle the change? She needs me. Or did he want to be needed?

I think I want to stay on Uslisgas for now. But it wasn't all about what he wanted.

"As long as I am with you and we have our son with us, I am content," Sha're said simply. "And if we go to Us-lis-gas, we could return to visit my brother and father, yes?"

Daniel nodded. "The Furlings set protections over the Stargate and over Abydos itself. No Goa'uld can harm us here. It's always safe to return."

"There is work to be done, yet. The demons are not all defeated. My demon is gone, but others remain. And you are helping Commander Su-jan-ha with this fight. You could not just leave, yes?" Sha're asked, stumbling slightly on the less familiar Furling words.

Welllll …

"Sujanha would need to find a replacement for me, but she would release me from her service if I asked. Trying to find a way to find you, to free you from Amaunet, was one of the main reasons I left the Nox and came here … there … to the Furlings in the first place. Sujanha understands that." This wouldn't be a great time for me to leave, I think, with what's going on, but … "No one would force me to stay."

"If there is work still to be done to defeat the demons, then you should … we should … return there," Sha're said simply, "if there is space for all of us."

Now the tricky part …

Daniel bit his lip and removed his glasses to mindlessly clean them to give him a second to think. "The Furlings pay me well. I could easily find a place for all three of us to live separately. I told you before that I've been staying with Sujanha since I came to Uslisgas…."

Sha're nodded.

"The first night after you were freed, Sujanha came to check on you, us. She offered that, if we wanted to stay on Uslisgas, that all three of us could stay at her home. There's plenty of space for you in my room, and there's a spare room that can be modified for Shifu. Sujanha's often gone anyway with the war and all."

Sha're brow furrowed, and she was quiet for several minutes. "Why?"

Daniel gave a sad half-smile. "Why? I can't say for sure, but I think she's lonely. Most of her family died during the Furling's … last war, and being Supreme Commander is a heavy burden. It's not conducive to having friends … subordinates, yes. Friends, not so much. She likes having me there. She's good company, rather quiet, good natured. It's an older house but has everything we would need. It's within walking distance of the city, but it's out in the countryside and has a nice garden with all sorts of colorful flowers."

"That was kind of her. I remember her … She came once or twice to my cell and after they took the demon away. She always seemed kindly but … distant."

I hadn't known she'd come by. I must have just missed her, since I was never gone that long.

Physically or otherwise? She was probably keeping her distance because of Malek.

Daniel nodded. "Sujanha has … a lot on her mind. It's not always being Supreme Commander … especially politically."

Sha're's gaze sharpened. The specifics of politics varied by world and form of government, but political problems and squabbling leaders were a constant. Given Kasuf's position, Sha're was no stranger to this. Many would talk, overlooking a quiet woman in the background.

"But that does raise one issue you need to know about before you decide whether you would like us to stay with her or not…"

His wife gave him an inquisitive, puzzled look.

"The main reason that Sujanha would have kept her distance recently when visiting you is because … she is Tok'ra. She has a symbiote, whose name is Malek. Sujanha saved her life after her previous host was mortally injured in an earthquake some … moons ago. Sujanha did not want you to feel her symbiote and …" freak out "be frightened or worried." That needs a little warning first.

Sha're was silent, so Daniel continued. "After everything that happened with you and Skaara, it was hard for me to be around the Tok'ra at first, but I have some good friends among them now. Malek … can take a little getting used to, personality wise, but she's … a good person, loyal, smart, canny … She looks after Sujanha, who … really needs someone to."

A lot of someones, some days.

"The Tok'ra helped save me from Amaunet. They helped save my son," Sha're said softly. "I cannot live in the past. They are not like my demon. As long as I know before I meet them, that is enough."

"Are you sure? I want this to be as much your decision as mine."

"Yes."

Sujanha's it was then.

On the fourth of Vekix, Daniel, Sha're, and Shifu left Abydos for Uslisgas. Though the Furlings would have allowed him to remain in Asteria and build a new life there if he had wished, Skaara remained on Abydos among his people, hoping to rebuild his former life there. Daniel was pleased that he was going to get what seemed like to him as the best of both worlds, literally and figuratively, as the saying went: his family whole again and his continued presence on Uslisgas with Sujanha and the others. There would be many visits to Abydos in the future, though. Both Sha're and Daniel were determined that their son would not grow up totally separated from Abydos, which was such a vital part of his heritage and culture, just because they lived on Uslisgas. Quick travel through the Stargate made that possible.

For now, as they stepped through the Stargate, life seemed good. Sha're was free and safe. Shifu was free of the weight of his status as Harcesis with the hunted-status and possible madness that came with the genetic knowledge of all the Goa'uld. They were together again, and they were a family. There would be setbacks in the future, adjustments, difficulties, along with plenty of culture-shock and adjustments for Sha're, especially, but for now life was good.

One of those adjustments made itself known as soon as the three emerged through the Stargate on the citadel of Uslisgas. Sha're craned her head back, gently bouncing Shifu in her arms to readjust his weight, as she looked around the great hall with wide eyes. The sheer size of the hall combined with the majesty and solemn grandeur of the statues of heroes past made an impact that all the overdone gaudiness of Goa'uld architecture could not match.

Then Sha're looked around … closer to floor level … and started violently, which roused a startled cry out of Shifu. Daniel's head snapped around—his attention had been drawn away from them for a few moments as he set down their couple of bags long enough to send a message to Sujanha about their arrival—to see what was wrong. Nothing looked out of the ordinary to him. There were some other people farther down the hall … a couple of Furlings—with his eyes, it was hard to tell whether they were Maskilim or Sukkim—a Dovahkiin soldier and an Iprysh, talking at the base of one of the statues; and much closer … a Vos-Mell.

That's it, I'm guessing. Abydos had larger predators of its own, including desert creatures of the feline variety. There were, however, few remaining races in the Milky-Way as visibly different as the Furlings and their allies were, save for the Ohnes and the Asgard, whom Sha're had never met. Or the Dovahkiin.

Is that Long Claw? Maybe.

Sha're edged closer to him, her eyes fixed unsurprisingly on the polar-bear-sized tiger. They scared the dickens out of me at first, too. "Is it dangerous? It will not attack us, will it?"

"No, of course, not!" Daniel quickly reassured her. "That is one of the Vos-Mell, a race allied to the Furlings. They wouldn't hurt anyone." Well, anyone here. The Goa'uld, sure, especially if that is Long-Claw. Anyone who messed with Anarr … well, that would probably be the last mistake they ever made in this life.

Together, Daniel and Sha're, still carrying Shifu, made their way outside, leaving the others in the hall to their travels or their contemplations of the past. The system of checks and passwords that protected access to and from the Stargate was something that he could explain to her later. Spring had transitioned into summer in their absence, and the sun was shining brightly over the capital city as they emerged outside. Daniel wished idly for a pair of sunglasses, but Sha're seemed to luxuriate in the bright warmth. Abydos is warmer, but this is a warm day for here.

"It is warmer," Sha're noted, studying their surroundings with keen eyes as she did so. The last chill of late spring had still been clinging to the weather by its fingertips around the time they left. At least, it wasn't cold and rainy. That would have been harder for her to face.

"It's summer now here," Daniel replied, "though it doesn't usually get much warmer than this … at least while I've been here." Weather would be another adjustment for Sha're, though not as bad as it would have been if she had never lived off Abydos before.

Daniel deliberately beamed them to a spot just a little way from the house so that Sha're could see more of the countryside and the area around the house as they walked up the street and then up the stone walk to the house. The flowers in the garden were in full bloom, and their rich scent filled the area and nearly made Daniel start sneezing.

Sha're seemed rather nervous at the prospect of really meeting Sujanha for the first time, and Shifu was getting a little fussy, picking up on her nerves. Daniel had long ago gotten over any nerves in Sujanha's presence, but he did readily acknowledge that the Supreme Commander could be somewhat intimidating, mainly when she wanted to be. For annoying politicians. I wonder how Janth is doing these days. He's sure not winning any popularity contests after that stunt he pulled, calling the vote. That backfired on him.

The front door slid open automatically as they approached, which made Sha're start slightly. Shifu was just looking around with wide eyes at all the unfamiliar sights. Daniel set their bags down in the front hall, urging his wife far enough forward that the door could slide shut behind them. The house was quiet. Where was Sujanha?

A few seconds later, there was a deliberately loud noise from the back of the house, and Sujanha appeared a few seconds later from the direction of her library. She looks well. She was moving easily … but slowly and stopped just within symbiote-detection range. That could tell by Sha're's resulting shiver. For a moment, no one spoke.

It was Shifu who broke the silence and the hint of tension first.

After she had come to earth and the situation with Nirrti's bio-weapon had been resolved, Janet and SG1 had taken Cassandra out to the park, and Jack had arrived with a new little doggy for the girl. He had told her that there was a rule on earth that all kids had to have a dog. Shifu was much too young for a dog, especially when the responsibility for taking care of it would have been dumped on Kasuf or others in the village. On one of his visits several months earlier, Daniel had, instead, brought his son a small stuffed animal that he had brought in the Great Market. The stuffed animal had quickly become one of Shifu's most favorite toys, but it had only been much later that the toy's resemblance to Sujanha registered with Daniel.

The little boy must have thought that his favorite toy had suddenly appeared in gigantic form, for his little face lit up like a beacon, and he leaned out of Sha're's arms, crying out "Baba," which was what the toy was called.

For a moment, Sujanha looked utterly dumbfounded, and Daniel pressed one hand across his mouth to try to hold back the laughter that was bubbling up in his chest.

Sha're began to smile softly as she tried to keep Shifu from tumbling out of her arms in his attempt to reach "Baba"-personified.

"Well," said Sujanha dryly but with fond amusement, "that is different from how I'm usually greeted."

Now Daniel did laugh.

There were adjustments for Daniel, too. Having Sha're and Shifu with him seemed normal now, but slotting them into his routines on Uslisgas—waking up with her beside him and reminding himself that this was real—was different. The biggest change for Daniel, however, came not at home, but at headquarters. A couple of days after their return to Uslisgas, on his first day back at work—Sujanha was largely remaining in Asteria due to the grounding of much of the fleet—Daniel was flabbergasted to see Ragnar, but not Ruarc, for the entire day. The two brothers were not joined at the hip, but seeing them apart for such a stretch of time was unusual and jarring. Daniel had wondered on multiple occasions during his time on Abydos how his friend, who had done so much for him during his early days with the Furlings, was doing.

The answer was, unfortunately, not well.

Still struggling in the aftermath of the Diagoth disaster, Ruarc had taken an indefinite leave of absence to deal with … whatever was going on … and get his head back on straight. That was the sense that Daniel had gotten from Ragnar's explanation, though he had not put those thoughts into so many words. Ruarc had lost someone close aboard the Diagoth, though who exactly was never specified. Ragnar may not know. When Ruarc's struggles had begun to affect his work, he had been forced to make the hard decision to temporarily leave his position for his own good and for the good of Sujanha, whom he was sworn to protect.

Distracted bodyguards … that could end badly.

Poor Ruarc … I wish there was some way I could help.

Vylt Arvahrel, an Iprysh warrior and member of the Imperial Guard, had been assigned as Sujanha's second bodyguard during Daniel's absence. Like Ruarc, he was quiet, but it was not the same comfortable, natural silence. The interesting thing about Vylt, however, was his armor. Most Iprysh had heavy-duty armor that seemed fitting for front-line shock troops. Vylt, however, had been a scout, and his armor was lighter and more streamlined and sometimes seemed to even change color. How does that work? The other notable thing was the small markings that dotted several spots on his armor. Clan markings? Unit insignia? (There was so much that he did not know about the Iprysh.) Daniel was very curious and had made a mental note to talk to Vylt … after he had spoken with Ragnar to ensure that asking such questions would not be (a) offensive or (b) forbidden for some reason.

It was a question that he would have asked Ruarc once upon a time.

But Ruarc wasn't there.

Shifu's enthusiastic greeting towards Sujanha that first day had broken any tension there might have been otherwise, and Daniel and Sha're quickly settled into new routines in their new home and in the city. Community with one's family, whether close and extended, and the sense of belonging that came from being part of such a group had been a major aspect of village life on Abydos. The fact that Sujanha obviously lacked that—or would, without them—coupled with the melancholy fondness with which she watched them sometimes, a look that she was not as good as hiding as she thought she was—made Daniel feel sad and moved Sha're to pity. His wife had a kind heart and thriving protective instincts, and as they would soon find out, even Sujanha could become subject to Sha're's maternal fussing.

"Is Sujanha ill?" Sha're asked Daniel one night as they were lying in bed going to sleep five days after their return to Uslisgas.

That depends on what you mean by ill …

Daniel rolled onto his side, facing his wife. With the lights off and his glasses off, sitting on the bedside table, he could just make out the fuzzy outline of her form on the other side of the bed. "Is she sick right now, no, but I don't think that is what you're asking."

"She barely eats." Sha're's frown was almost audible. "She picks at her food like a child. She holds herself stiffly. Every move she makes … it is like my father's father when he became old … every step requires thought. Her … hands … shakes." Her paws, yeah.

Sujanha's good at hiding things … sometimes.

But when you're around her enough, it's really obvious. An open secret. Though, granted, at home, she was not bothering to try to conceal the symptoms.

Daniel thought for a moment about how best to explain in brief. It was too late for a long explanation. "Many, many years ago, Sujanha was betrayed and poisoned. She nearly died and never fully recovered. Her right side is weaker, and she is often in pain. It takes away her appetite, so she mainly just eats the same things over and over. She knows what won't make her feel sick," Daniel replied softly. "But do not speak of this outside the house. It is known but not spoken of."

"Maybe if she had real food … Did you know there are no cooking things and nothing to cook in this entire house?" Sha're seemed horrified at the very thought.

"We are gone a lot of the time and home at uncertain intervals," Daniel explained. "Even with the frid … the cold box … it's hard to keep food from going bad. I am not even sure whether Sujanha knows how to cook. She gets food deliveries and has since before I arrived, and that's … just how we kept on doing things." Food deliveries, fridges, and Furling 'grocery stores' were being or were going to be an adjustment all of their own for Sha're, used to Abydonian ways of gathering, storing, and preparing food. At least the 'farmers' markets' had near enough equivalents on Abydos.

"You have been eating this … delivered … food all this time?" There was almost a note of horror in Sha're's voice.

"Yeah?"

When it came to marriage, there were times that it was wise for a husband to shut up and say the equivalent of "Yes, dear." After the revelation that Daniel and Sujanha had not been eating home-cooked food, Sha're had decided that both her husband and Sujanha, for that matter, definitely needed looking after, especially in terms of food, not that the stuff Sujanha had delivered tasted anything like the frozen food or the takeout that he had bought on earth … more than a few times. When Sha're raised the change at dinner the next night, as an almost done-deal after discussions with Daniel during the day about how cooking might need to be adapted to Sujanha's needs, Sujanha was almost too flabbergasted to even oppose the idea. The only thing on which Sujanha would later put her proverbial foot down was that any money for groceries or cooking equipment could come out of her bank-accounts, not Daniel.

Making food and haggling for supplies was not something Sha're was a stranger to, and quite quickly, Sha're was set loose on the 'farmer's markets' and the 'grocery stores' of Uslisgas. Daniel was not sure whether he should laugh or feel sorry for the merchants.

Chapter Text

Sujanha's concerns about the strategic impact of having to ground much of the fighting force of the Furling Fleet turned out to be prescient in the worst way possible. With so many of her motherships and cruisers grounded, the heavy background of the fleet was greatly reduced, and the war against the Goa'uld … stalled … worse than, really. The Iprysh were doing their best to assist, but their limited numbers of ships could not—and could not be expected to—fill that gap. What ships Sujanha had remaining were spread thin across the Milky-Way, Ida, and Asteria, continuing to (or attempting to) oppose the System Lords and the Replicating Ones.

Despite the best efforts of Sujanha and all her commanders, the withdrawal of so many fighting ships from both wars had almost immediate effects. In Ida, the war changed from the Asgard and the Furlings being able to hold the line to them slowly being pushed back. In the Milky-Way, well, Bastet and Kali were evil, not idiots, especially not those two. Some other System Lords, it's up for grabs. They quickly recognized that the balance of power had shifted in their favor and quickly went on the offensive. Sujanha was unwilling to place the burden of defending the ponderous, slow, unarmed troop transports and hospital ships on the new crews of the destroyers and corvettes, most of whom had been pulled from the Reserves, and were not battle-hardened in the same way that the crews of the other fighting ships were. What battle-hardened warships were left could not be expected to keep up the offensive. There was too much risk. They would be spread too thin, and right now, any loss would be much more serious proportionally … from a strategic viewpoint. Regretfully, Sujanha and Anarr pulled their forces back, abandoning the offensive against Bastet and Kali for now and simply focusing on trying to keep control over their most important bases and outposts on former Goa'uld worlds.

Most ships had been told to retreat if faced with more than light Goa'uld opposition, though a select number were allowed to carry out hit-and-run tactics if the systems they were guarding were attacked before they pulled out. That, at least, would hopefully keep the Goa'uld on their guard, keep them from getting too cocky about the tide of battle temporarily turning in their favor.

For now.

The Furlings could not even bury Stargates to slow the Goa'uld advance on the ground, to force them to rely on their slower ships to transport troops and supplies from world to world. With much of their fleet grounded and lacking sufficient escorts for most of their own transports, the Furlings themselves were relying on the Stargates to move troops and supplies. Catch-22.

So much for that idea. There's only so many people and stuff you can cram on a ship.

All of this had been ongoing while Daniel was off on Abydos and was still an issue by the time that he returned weeks later. Gathering the material, manufacturing the requisite parts, and doing maintenance on hundreds of ships with 2 or 4 generators per ship took time.

There were only so many people qualified to make the repairs.

And they needed to eat, sleep, and rest.

Some generators even, once the work began and they were opened up, needed more complicated repairs, and others were even in need of being replaced entirely for utter safety's sake.

It was a stressful time, and that stress was only compounded by the gaping hole that was Ruarc's absence. Daniel still expected to see him coming around a corner or appearing in Sujanha's office door, and she still sometimes caught herself in the middle of calling for him.

And then, to top everything off, Daniel had to go get sick.

Very sick.

And right after what would have been Christmas on earth, at that.

Sometimes he had the worst luck in the world … worlds?

15th of Vekix, 6546 A.S.
(December 26, 1999)
Uslisgas, Asteria Galaxy

Have I given myself an ulcer or something?

Daniel idly wondered as he shifted position in his chair in Sujanha's office for the umpteenth time (or so it seemed) in the last hour or two, trying vainly to get more comfortable. He had been feeling under the weather for a day or two now and even had no appetite for breakfast that morning, not that his appetite had been good recently. Sujanha had left for work early, for some reason, which meant that she had not noticed, and Sha're had been up during the night with a teething, cranky Shifu, which meant that she had still been asleep when Daniel had skipped breakfast and left for work.

I don't think I'm sick. This has been going on too long to be the proverbial plague.

Sha're isn't sick, and we sleep in the same bed.

There was certainly enough stress in his life currently to give him an ulcer. Sha're was adjusting to Uslisgas, but there were still blips. Shifu was teething, which meant crankiness, which meant not enough sleep when he got upset overnight. On top of that, the Fleet was trying to continue the war in Ida and not lose all the hard-fought gains in the Milky-Way with limited resources, and that was complicated and stressful in the extreme and the cause of more than one long night since Daniel had returned to Uslisgas.

Sujanha was at her desk and had barely moved since Daniel had arrived. I wonder how early she came in. Too early, I'm guessing. At least she had Malek to watch over her. She could get farther than Ragnar could usually. Sujanha's attention was split between a massive holographic map that spanned the length of her desk and stretched half-way up toward the ceiling and a handful of tablets littering the surface of her desk. Whatever she was doing seemed related to the latest, not-so-good reports that had arrived from the Milky-Way that morning.

Daniel bent his head back to his own work. If Sujanha needed something, she would ask. Until that point, it was best to keep distracted and not think about his ulcer in the making or whatever was making him feel blech.

Mid-morning, there was a cry of surprise and then a loud thump from the outer office. At the sound, Sujanha flinched like someone had hit her, and Daniel started (and then promptly cringed with pain as the sudden movement jolted his sore abdomen). Did I pull something the other day?

Sujanha cocked her head, her ears flicking back in concern. (Ragnar's low rumble joined the murmur of voices.) "Problem?"

"One moment, Commander!" Jaax called back, voice tight.

Okay. What happened? Something about the tone of Jaax's voice gave Daniel a horrible feeling in the bit of his stomach, which was not the mild nausea talking. It made Daniel think that something had happened besides an unexpected collision or an inadvertent moment of klutziness. What happened this time would be the better question, the way things are going these days.

Asik appeared in the doorway a moment later, and Daniel's bad feeling solidified with one look at his face. His fellow aide was wide-eyed and pale as death, his shaking hands gripping his tablet so hard his knuckles were bone white. Ragnar and Jaax, only the right edge of his body visible from Daniel's angle, were hovering behind him expectantly. Even Ragnar, who usually seemed unflappable, looked rattled.

Sujanha tensed and minimized all her screens, straightening into her most formal posture, as if preparing herself for bad news. "What happened?" Her voice was too calm.

"News from Ida, Commander," Asik replied. "Supreme Commander Thor … the Beliskner …" His voice stuttered to a stop. One heavy indrawn breath later, he was able to continue a little more calmly. "There was just a battle with the Replicating Ones … near Othala. The Beliskner was boarded. Supreme Commander Thor, injured, stayed behind to beam his crew off before his ship disappeared into hyperspace, destination unknown. Its last known heading, however, would take it out of Ida. This happened minutes ago. The Asgard sent a warning as soon as they could."

Destination unknown? That's not good. The Asgard ships had extremely fast hyperdrives. It could end up almost anywhere … quickly. Heading out of Ida? There was no telling where that ship could end up. Even here! That was so not good.

Sujanha's tablet, the one still in her hands, clattered to the table. Her eyes were wide, and her ears were pinned back flat to her head. "Jaax, is my brother on world?"

Jaax nodded.

"Good." Sujanha gave a slight sigh of relief. One piece of good news. "Go, have him found now. I don't care what he's in the middle of. Interrupt him. Get him down here now. Until we know otherwise, we must assume that Thor's ship is headed towards Asteria, and that, if he is even still alive, he has no control over his ship. Once you've done that, any ranking commander of mine in the building, I need to speak with them in the nearest conference room as soon as they can get there."

You could be facing a fully armed Asgard mothership, full of replicators.

Against the crippled Furling fleet. Bloody …

Jaax nodded and disappeared.

How long would it even take to get here?

"Put every ship in Asteria on high alert. Our ships. The Ipyrsh Fleet. The Etrairs and the Lapiths. Any ship with weapons. Until we know otherwise, the Beliskner is to be considered armed, hostile, and extremely dangerous. Make sure that our allies are aware that this is the Beliskner, and I doubt that any could survive actual combat against it except the Iprysh. The Replicating Ones cannot be allowed to get a foothold in this galaxy. We have avoided that for so long. To have an invasion now …"

Would be an utter disaster.

Sujanha continued rattling off orders, barely pausing for breath. "Any crew that is currently on leave, call them in. If headed here, the Beliskner could arrive in as little as 10 to 15 minutes depending on whether the ship is damaged and how fast the Replicating Ones push the hyperdrive. If it is coming here, we need to know as soon as possible. Also, have word sent to the High King. I don't care what he's in, either. Interrupt him."

Would they come after the capital? His mind jumped to Sha're and Shifu at home. High priority targets. Take out the leadership. The Replicating Ones would know anything that was in the Asgard onboard database. (It was slightly terrifying that such thoughts were even occurring to him, but he had not just been an archaeologist and a linguist in a long time now.)

"Yes, Commander." Asik nodded and withdrew back to his station, leaving Ragnar alone in the doorway.

Gingerly straightening, having unconsciously curled slightly over his right side, Daniel asked, "What can I do?"

Sujanha's eyes snapped to him. "Go help, Asik. The messages will get sent more …" She stopped mid-sentence and cocked her head, ears flicking uneasily. "Are you sick?"

Daniel's eyes went wide, and his face went a little sheepish. "I don't feel good, but I can still work." As if to prove his point, he pushed himself to his feet and then promptly staggered, grimacing with pain as his side flared with burning agony. Ragnar appeared out of nowhere at his side, catching his arm, and eased him back into his seat.

Okay. Not a good idea.

Definitely not a good idea.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

"For how long?" Ragnar prompted.

"A couple days. I gave myself an ulcer or something with all that's going on or caught something," Daniel protested. "I can work for now."

"Oh, for stars' sake …" Sujanha paused, suddenly stiffening. Her gaze turned distant for a moment, as she spoke with Malek, and then her ears went flat against her head. "Ragnar," she snapped, "take Daniel down to the healers. See that he is seen to by one skilled in Zukish ailments. He is not to return until he is cleared."

"Commander," Daniel tried to protest.

I can work. I can help.

Sujanha shot him a look that was half-exasperated and half-fond. "Malek is concerned that you may actually be quite ill. You will help no one if you collapse. Just go, get seen to. If they clear you, you may return then."

By that point in the day, Daniel was feeling rather crummy, and as much as he wanted to help at a time like this—with the possible oncoming threat of the Replicating Ones backed by the might of the Beliskner bearing down on their heads—Sujanha's point was undeniable. His nausea was slowly getting worse. Sitting still and trying not to move a muscle was much preferable to moving, and he was starting to wonder if his sense of warmness had more to do with a fever than it being summer.

Okay, maybe I do need to see a healer.

It was the first time that Daniel had been at the halls since Sha're and Skaara had been released. (And he would have preferred for it to be a bit longer before he needed to be back … just because doctors.) The Healers' Halls doubled as both a hospital and a general doctor's office. The reception/triaging/processing area had a handful of people waiting, but Ragnar's presence combined with Malek's warning got Daniel, to his slight discomfiture, pushed to the head of the line. He was soon taken back to a treatment room, which was more high-tech than any doctor's office examining room which he had ever seen on earth.

The diagnosis—with a little bit of confusion caused by unfamiliar Furling medical terms … one more thing I need to read … later—was quickly arrived at. (And then there was the complexity of having to explain ailments that did not happen to Furlings in Furling.) Daniel had appendicitis. (The Furlings were humanoid in appearance and similar in anatomy and physiology to humans, but then there were moments like this where one of those differences reared their heads.)

Definitely not an ulcer.

Appendicitis with a very inflamed appendix that, even in the Empire, needed surgery.

Like today.

Like now.

Before inflamed progressed to burst and Daniel's bad day got even worse.

Appendicitis.

At the world's worst time.

When there was possibly an Asgardian mothership, infested with creepy mechanical bugs, bearing down on the galaxy, he was about to be in surgery and then stuck in a hospital bed, instead of helping Sujanha in any way he could.

Wonderful.

I'm 34. How did I never have appendicitis before now?

"Should I go and bring your wife?" Ragnar asked once the healer had finished diagnosing the issue, discussing the necessary surgery, and giving him a shot of pain meds that were already making it a lot easier to … live and think about something but "I hurt," and then had finally departed to get things prepped for surgery shortly.

Daniel gave a brief nod, still wary of moving too much and bringing back the pain. "Yes, please. And let Sujanha know, too. They'll both be worried." Malek was right. This was serious.

Ragnar made an indeterminate sound that might have been one of assent and rose from his chair. He had wanted to stay nearby for Daniel's sake, but the healer had shooed him out of the way. "You need to take better care of yourself." He paused and then added in a barely audible voice. "You both do." More loudly, he finished, "I'll go to the house right away to find Lady Sha're and will return as quickly as I can."

"Okay. Just …" Daniel hesitated, trying to figure out how to clearly phrase the concern in his mind. Sha're was used to Sujanha and Malek, but she was still getting used to everyone and everything else, and sometimes she found the Furlings somewhat intimidating. He did not want Ragnar to surprise her and unintentionally scar her. Having him show up out of the blue while we're at work is going to worry her enough. "I know you have right-of-entrance to the house, but with her there alone … just be careful. Give her space."

Ragnar's eyes bore a deep depth of understanding. He nodded simply. "I will be careful. My word on it." The Furlings were sadly no strangers to soldiers and non-combatants alike, who still bore deep scars from war and captivity.

"And don't use the word 'appendicitis,'" Daniel added as Ragnar turned toward the door. He nodded and departed with another promise to return soon.

Sha're's knowledge of English vocabulary was, in some contexts, spotty, but "appendicitis" was one medical term that she did know. Now that the diagnosis was in, Daniel was kicking himself for not cataloging his symptoms and realizing what he actually had. He knew the symptoms. He had seen the disease before. (But … yes, it was an infection that could happen to anyone at any time. Yet, in the midst of a stressful job with a toddler to help care for … you never expect it to happen to you.) During his time on Abydos, there had been a young man, an age-mate and friend of Sha're and Skaara, who had died of what only could have been appendicitis, given his physical symptoms. On a planet like Abydos, a massive infection like appendicitis which required antibiotics, at least, and usually surgery to resolve—massive medical intervention if it burst—was a veritable death sentence. The young man—Hapu, that was his name—had not died easily, and Sha're had been one of the one's nursing him until the end.

She'll recognize the symptoms.

The only reason she probably hasn't has been Shifu.

She's going to be terrified, and then she's going to kill me.

Daniel would have much preferred being able to explain the situation to her himself and not have to have her find out from Ragnar. There was not time to explain the full story to him now, and Daniel could only hope that Sha're would not put the pieces together in hindsight and freak out before she got to the hospital.

The pain medication—very effective pain medication that did not give him the same floaty sensation as the good stuff on earth—made it easier to rest, and Daniel felt himself half-dozing, half-drifting as he waited for someone else to do something. It did not seem that long at all before Ragnar and Sha're returned. She was sitting at his bedside, while Ragnar was across the room, holding Shifu and patiently enduring being poked by chubby fingers and having his fur pulled by a toddler who probably thought another of his fuzzy toys had suddenly come to life. Different colors than Sujanha. Does that to her, too. (Both bore it with patience and grace.)

"Oh, my Dan'yel," Sha're said with a sigh in Abydonian. It made it easier for Ragnar to tune them out and allow them to have a private conversation. "You should have told me you were feeling sick."

Daniel gave a sheepish smile and squeezed her hand. "Until the healer tended to me, I honestly thought my stomach was sick because of too much work." There were some concepts that it was harder to express in Abydonian than Furling or English. As far as he knew, there was not a word in Egyptian or Abydonian that encompassed the idea of "stress."

Or a word for "ulcer." "Sick stomach" was the best approximation he could come up with.

Sha're gently felt his forehead and frowned at the heat she felt. Daniel squeezed her hand again. "The healers need to do surgery," he said, "and I will need medicine and rest, but I will be fine."

"Your stomach is just sick, yes?" His wife confirmed.

"Not quite," Daniel hedged. He shifted slightly and then promptly winced, sucking in a heavy breath. The meds he was on were good, but staying still really, really helped. "You have to remember that I'll be fine. The Furling healers are very good."

Okay. Maybe that wasn't a good way to put it.

The concerned frown on Sha're's face was growing deeper. "My Dan'yel?"

"Do you remember before Apophis came when Hapu became ill?"

Sha're's dark eyes went wide with terror. She took a heavy indrawn breath, but after a moment, she nodded calmly, showing the same steely resolve that had been the back-bone of her character in so many difficult situations throughout her life. To survive among the Goa'uld, to survive in the desert, one had to be strong.

Daniel hurriedly continued. "What made Hapu sick is what has made me sick, but here that sickness may be cured. I will be well again soon. I promise."

She swallowed hard and studied him intently for a very long minute. "Can you really promise that?"

Well … When it came to medicine, there were no 100% certainties, not even here on Uslisgas.

"With perfect assurance, no," Daniel answered honestly, "but the healers here are very skilled and very knowledgeable. I should be fine. This is a common surgery. I will be well again."

There was not much time to talk after that. The healer returned with 'orderlies,' and after a quick parting from Sha're, it was time for surgery. The operating theater was as high-tech as the rest of the Healer's Halls. His surgeon was human, and as the anesthesia took effect, Daniel idly wondered how someone like Ragnar or Sujanha, especially, with her shorter, stubbier fingers because of her Asgardian blood, would handle a scalpel, or whether they could at all.

When Daniel awoke next—or when next he remembered waking … given that he had been under general anesthesia—he was in a room of his own. It was dark outside. No light crept in around the edges of the drawn curtains, and the only light in the room came from the soft golden glow of a dim lamp on the bedside table. Near the window, Sha're lay asleep, curled on a side, her hair like a curly halo around her head. Shifu was asleep in a crib by her feet. Daniel felt tired and slightly warm, but the throbbing pain and the overwhelming sense of malaise were gone, though pain meds were surely helping with that.

Unlike earth hospitals, there was no IV-needle taped to his arm, poking him, itching, and hampering his movements. There was also no beep-beep-beep-beep-beeping heart monitor making noises at all hours, which didn't exactly facilitate rest for the sick and injured. A sensor cuff around his wrist transmitted his vitals to the healers' consoles elsewhere on the floor and did so silently, utterly silently.

I hope there are fewer problems with Furling pain meds than heavy-duty earth ones.

Only appendicitis surgery, though, not a long-term energy. Shouldn't be an issue.

"Are you awake this time?" Ragnar asked softly in Furling, breaking the silence. He was sitting on the side of the bed nearer to the door, and until he had spoken, Daniel had not even realized he was there. His greyish fur was not quite as good for blending in as his brother's pitch-black fur, but it worked pretty well.

'Awake.' It was an interesting choice of words that Ragnar had chosen. Furling was an extremely precise language, and that Furling word had a much broader connotation than the English word 'awake.' It was 'awake' in the sense of being awake, sane, and in your right mind and not 'awake' as in half-asleep and barely functioning (like before morning coffee after crawling out of bed at 6am in the morning after staying up well past midnight working on homework).

Daniel blinked slowly. "I think so?" It came out more as a question than a statement. He thought he was thinking clearly, though there was still an edge of fuzzy exhaustion.

Ragnar gave an amused smirk. "Everyone reacts to sleeping-medicine differently," he whispered. "You have taken longer to come out of it fully."

Oh, dear.

"I didn't say anything embarrassing, did I?" Daniel whispered back.

His friend shook his head. "No, you made little sense, though half of what you said wasn't in Furling, English, or Abydonian."

I don't remember a thing.

If I can't remember, I didn't do it?

I wish.

Resolutely pushing away the thoughts of what he might have said and to whom while under the influence of the anesthesia—if most of it wasn't in Furling, English, or Abydonian, they couldn't have understood me—Daniel asked, "Any news?" Enough hours had passed, it seemed, that the Beliskner could already be in the galaxy, wreaking havoc, for all he knew.

Ragnar probably wouldn't be here then.

"Yes and no," Ragnar answered in brief, occasionally glancing over to check that Sha're was sleeping as he gave the updates in a whispered undertone. She's a hard sleeper unless Shifu starts crying. Then she's awake like a shot. "There has been no sign of Commander Thor's ship in the galaxy, thank the Maker, but Sujanha is having ships sweep all systems on the edge of the galaxy facing Ida as well as any important systems that could conceivably have been high enough up in the Beliskner's navigational computer to interest the Replicating Ones. Thor has free right-of-passage within Asteria, and the High Command does not always know when he comes here or where he goes. She's also sent ships to the neighboring galaxies to set up sensors to search for him. The last thing we need is them getting a foothold in another galaxy."

Keep the problem contained.

"Sujanha?" Daniel asked.

"Exhausted but functioning. She was lying down for a few hours when I left earlier. She's leaving for Ida come morning. Any ships that can be spared have been pulled out of Avalon, and most should be arriving here soon. The Asgard defense is faltering without our support, and the loss of Commander Thor is only exacerbating problems. Sujanha is experienced in fighting battles against grievous foes under overwhelming odds. She'll see what she can do."

Some people might not like that, I'd bet.

Daniel nodded.

"Go back to sleep," Ragnar ordered gently at that point. "It's late. I can tell you more tomorrow."

Recovering from appendicitis on Uslisgas was simpler and less painful (compared to earth) with better meds and the application of a healing device to speed things along, but it was still boring. The healing device could speed the healing of his surgical incision, but Daniel still ended up remaining in the hospital for two days after his admittance on the 15th. Still better than having to stay in bed and rest for who knows how long.

Asik occasionally stopped by briefly to bring updates, taking time out of his meal breaks to do so. Ragnar was in Ida with Sujanha, and Asik and Jaax were keeping things running in Sujanha's office, which made Daniel feel bad for getting laid up at a time like this. Not that I had any control over it whatsoever, but still! Two important pieces of news that Asik brought were (1) that the Beliskner had been located at Midgard and subsequently destroyed with the aid of SG1 and (2) that, though severely injured enough to need a new cloned body, Thor had somehow survived.

(Daniel's delight at his former teammates' success was mingled with fear at the close shave that earth had had … again.)

With each day that passed, a few more Furling warships were being returned to service, and each ship that returned was another ship to bolster defenses in Ida until a strategy could be devised to push the Replicating Ones back from around Othala and in the Milky-Way. A strategy besides pummeling them into oblivion? Overwhelming force worked on the Goa'uld, but the Replicating Ones were in another league.

Advanced techno-bugs. I don't know if Sam would be intrigued or horrified.

Or both.

Being laid up meant more uninterrupted time to spend with Sha're and Shifu, but Daniel would have much preferred a better reason for doing so and a better locale. Not the hospital!

A week after Daniel's surgery—on earth, it was now a new millennium on earth!—Sujanha returned from Ida late in the evening. Sha're and Daniel were sitting in the living room working, taking a chance for some quiet time now that Shifu had gone down to sleep for the night. Sha're had a basket of mending by her feet—Shifu was an active toddler, and that meant things got snagged or torn—while Daniel was finishing a couple of reports that he had not had time to finish before leaving the office before supper.

Suddenly, there was a sound and a flash of light from one of the front windows, and a second later, the front door slid open.

"We're in the living room," Daniel called. Noises did not carry well between the floors unless one was standing by the steps and intentionally trying to shout upstairs. He was not concerned about waking Shifu if he talked too loudly.

No need for her to wonder if she's the only one home.

Sujanha appeared in the doorway of the living room a moment later, pulling off her gauntlets. Saying she looked exhausted and wrung out would probably have been an understatement. From all accounts, the fighting in Ida had been some of the fiercest since the days of the Great War. "You are looking better than last I saw you, Daniel," she said as a greeting, sinking into a seat across from the sofa. "I am assuming that I do not need to tell you to go to the healers much earlier next time?" She began in Furling, probably automatically, but caught herself and switched into English after his name.

You default when you're tired.

I sometimes forget what language I'm supposed to be speaking, and I'm a lot less tired than she is.

Abandoning her sowing in her lap, Sha're hid a smile behind one hand, but her dark eyes were dancing.

"Nooooo," Daniel replied. "Furling medicine or not, I'd rather not do that again anytime soon." Not that I could exactly, since humans thankfully only have one appendix.

"Good." Sujanha turned tiredly to Sha're. "Are you well? Is Shifu still teething?"

Sha're nodded, replying in lightly accented English, "I am well but tired. When my child hurts and cannot sleep, I cannot sleep. Dan'yel tries to help, but sometimes Shifu does not want to be soothed."

There are some things you just need your mama for.

"Are you back for good?" Daniel asked. "Or is the fighting still ongoing?"

Sujanha gave a heavy sigh and sank further, almost bonelessly, into the depths of the padded chair she had chosen. "The fighting with the Replicating Ones is always ongoing, just usually not to such desperate extents. Thor has returned to battle, and between what forces we could both commit and some … unconventional tactics, the Replicating Ones have been pushed back from Othala for now. Too many ships and lives were lost, but for now, we have conquered. Bjorn is remaining in Ida for now with extra ships, in case this is only a temporary reprieve, but to the best of our knowledge, we have, as you say, breathing room for now, and there are other matters to which I must turn my attention."

Like retaking what ground we've lost in the Milky-Way. That had been a deep concern. Any planet and system retaken by the Goa'uld would take time, money, resources, and lives to reclaim.

"And I"—Sujanha gave another sigh—"am very tired."

I'm surprised you're still on your feet.

Probably Malek to thank for that.

"Have you eaten yet?" Sha're asked.

Sujanha shook her head. "Not this evening, but I am too exhausted."

Sha're frowned. Community with the family and sense of belonging that came from that had been a major characteristic of village life on Abydos. Hearing about how Sujanha had lived alone for so long, about how she basically had no one aside from Daniel and her bodyguards—whatever her relationship was with her brother, it was … complicated—had aroused his wife's kind heart and protective instincts. Sha're had quickly added Sujanha to her family circle, and even Sujanha was subject to her 'fussing.'

"We'll eat something in the morning. We're just too tired tonight." Sujanha repeated.

I can't imagine Malek is happy about that.

Sha're let the subject slide. Learning how to pick her battles, learning how to convince stubborn people into doing what she wanted was another of her many and diverse skills. She certainly had plenty of time to practice on her brother.

"Any other news?" Daniel asked.

"Thor told me some of SG1's creativity in dealing with the threat of the Replicating Ones onboard the Beliskner and devising ways to bring down the ship while working around the systems not under their control. I was impressed. I can tell you more in the morning."

Daniel nodded. SG1 saves the day again. "No Replicating Ones reached earth?"

Sujanha shook her head.

His eyes went wide. "What?"

"One survived reentry after the Beliskner broke apart. It took control of a Rus-sian sub-mar-ine and killed the crew. Between SG1 and your country's military, the sub-mar-ine and the original Replicating One were successfully destroyed."

He gave a sigh of relief. Another close shave. "I bet that's quite a story, but tomorrow."

Sujanha nodded and pushed herself to her feet. "Unless more disasters occur, I have the day off tomorrow to Malek's … relief. I can give you fuller updates then."

But for now, sleep.

Chapter Text

1^st of Ea, 6546 A.S.
(January 22, 2000)
Uslisgas, Asteria

“Sujanha.” A small hand shook her shoulder. “Sujanha. Ragnar is here to see you.” It was a woman’s hand and a woman’s voice that roused Sujanha from sleep, though she had not even planned to fall asleep … earlier.

*Sujanha. Wake up.* Malek’s voice fully brought her to consciousness. It was dark, but then she realized that her symbiote had control, so their eyes had not opened automatically, which was somewhat … strange. *Sha’re’s trying to wake you. I don’t want to startle her.*

Sha’re was learning quickly how to discern whether Sujanha or Malek was in control but still had occasional trouble differentiating between them, since they never made any physical sign of a switch in control (flashing eyes, modulated voices, or bowed head) when at home. (At work and with some of their allies, such measures still sometimes proved necessary or beneficial). It had been about a month since Sha’re and Shifu had moved into the house, and though Sha’re had adapted well to Malek’s presence, given her previous … experiences with symbiotes, Malek still went to great lengths to never startle her. Sometimes she feared that using one of those methods to indicate control … like suddenly flashing their eyes or changing their voice … could inadvertently startle Sha’re.

*Let me have control.*

Malek pulled back smoothly, and Sujanha slid into control, opening her eyes. She was half-lying, half-sprawled lengthwise across one of the couches in the living room. It had been a long, busy day at work, and she had just sat down to rest for a little while after dinner, warm, filling, home-cooked food that had made her sleepy. She had not even intended to fall asleep and had just wanted to listen to the story Daniel was telling Shifu about a sailor stranded on an island, a giant snake, a meteor, and a long list of trade goods.[1] (It was a very strange and somewhat depressing story in her mind.)

Her almost-son had a very soothing story-teller’s voice, and she was utterly exhausted.

Sha’re was standing by the couch, withdrawing her hand after shaking Sujanha gently awake. Her other hand kept her light shawl from slipping off her shoulders. “Your bodyguard Ragnar has come,” she said softly in accented English. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

“It’s alright,” Sujanha replied, remembering only at the last moment to not automatically reply in Furling but in English, instead. “Thank you for waking me.”

What happened now?

The light in the room had been dimmed. Daniel and Shifu were still sitting on the other couch, but Shifu had fallen asleep in his father’s lap since Sujanha herself had dozed off. His little head was pillowed on his father’s chest, and Daniel had dragged the throw blanket closer to tuck around him. Out of the folds of the blanket peaked one edge of “Baba,” the stuffed animal whose resemblance to Sujanha herself had earned her the same nickname. Daniel was reading a book, held awkwardly in his off-hand, his dominant hand wrapped around his boy, but he gave her a small smile of greeting as Sujanha pushed herself upright.

*I am back here for one day,* she mentally grumbled. *One night of peace with my family, can I not have that?*

After the explosion aboard the Diaogth had led to the very needed but still extremely disconcerting discovery of a widespread flaw in the neutrino-ion generators that powered the entire Furling fleet, the campaign against Bastet and Kali had … stalled … for a month and a half. Too much ground had been lost in their territories and across the galaxy more broadly as enterprising Goa’uld sat up and took notice of their enemy’s weakness and took advantage of the temporary Furling withdrawal to start regaining some of their lost territory. The campaign against Bastet and Kali had restarted just days before, and there was much work to be done to regain the ground that the Furlings had lost, retaking the planets that were passing back and forth between Furling and Goa’uld hands like “ping-pong balls,” according to Daniel. Sujanha had returned for one day to Uslisgas that morning to help coordinate and deal with some strategic matters in Asteria and Ida and was due to return to the front lines the next morning.

Malek was sympathetic. As a former base commander and operative, she knew the annoyance of unexpected call-ups and subordinates needing things at odd hours, which usually coincided with rest breaks. *We were able to get this much, at least.*

*True enough,* Sujanha replied and pushed herself to her feet with a muffled groan. The brief nap had felt good, but after being sprawled out on the couch instead of in bed, she felt old and creakier than normal. At least they had gotten these few precious hours with her new little pseudo-family, but now there was work to be done. Her duty came first. Leading the Fleet had always meant sacrifices.

Ragnar was standing in the hallway, leaning heavily against the wall. He looked as tired as she felt but half-straightened as she appeared.

“What happened now?” Sujanha asked. (Behind her, she could hear a low murmur of Abydonian flowing from the living room. Sha’re was still somewhat more comfortable in Abydonian than English and required a translator for anything in Furling.) She glanced at the chronometer on the wall. I was asleep for about three hours. It was almost the 22^rd hour. No wonder Shifu had fallen asleep. It is far past his usual bedtime, though asleep in Daniel’s lap, asleep in bed … both are still sleep.

“An urgent message for you, Commander,” Ragnar replied before trying to muffle a face-breaking yawn behind one paw. “Jaax forwarded it to me maybe … fifteen minutes ago.” And woke you up, it looks like? When they had parted at Headquarters, it had been his plan to go eat dinner and then promptly collapse into bed until duty called the next morning and back to Avalon it was.

“What is Jaax doing at headquarters at this hour?” Sujanha asked as an aside, frowning. It’s late, and we’ll be leaving early tomorrow. He needs to sleep as much as the rest of us.

“Working.” There was a slight smirk on Ragnar’s face. It was slightly ironic, Sujanha admitted, for her to be concerned about the hours her aids kept when she was not there, given the hours she had kept even before the war had begun.

As the Midgardians say, do as I say, not as I do.

Malek snorted wryly in her mind.

Sujanha scrubbed her paws across her face, trying to wake herself up, and shifted her weight more onto her left leg. Her nap had helped the tiredness, but the position had not helped the throbbing aches and nerve-prickling in her other leg. “What happened? An issue in Avalon?” High Commander Algar was there, was more than capable of managing everything in her brief absence. If something had happened that he could not handle … there have been enough disasters these past months. Please, Maker, not another.

Ragnar shook his head. “No, no, Commander, a message from Ardea. There’s been an issue with one of the recently freed hosts. They’re asking for you to come.”

They want me to come?

What?

Now Sujanha felt even more confused. Ardea was one of the prison worlds where captured Goa’uld were held until judgment was declared and their hosts were freed. Each prison world had a large complement of guards from the Army, capable of handling anything conceivable—and the Furlings could conceive of many potential problems—that might occur. If there was a problem that would require military support, it would be Elder Brother’s problem or, more likely, one of his High General’s problems, since Anarr was currently in Avalon.

A problem with a freed host, though … Why do they want me, not a healer or a mind-healer?

“An issue? What kind of issue?” Sujanha asked, prompting him for more details. Ragnar is usually more forthcoming with information. “Why does this require my oversight?”

“Because the host claims to be Tok’ra, so they are hoping Malek can come and confirm her claim.” A Tok’ra host and a Goa’uld symbiote? What? How?

Malek roused at that, her mind whirring through possibilities and odds of this being real. *Are there any other details on the host? Ragnar said ‘her claim,’ so a female host. Whom was she host to?* To Sujanha, she seemed somewhat skeptical, somewhat surprised, and … a tinge hopeful. There were Tok’ra who had been captured and then disappeared into the depths of a Goa’uld’s territory never to be seen or heard from again. If there was a chance that a missing host might make it home …

“Host to whom?” Sujanha asked.

“Kryse, Underlord to and daughter of Cronus.”

*I know the name but very little about her. It would be a strange set of circumstances, but it is not out of the realm of possibility,* Malek replied, her mind still whirring.

*Are you willing to go?* Sujanha asked.

*Of course.*

“They sent word to me, though they need Malek?” Sujanha confirmed, annoyance rising.

Ragnar nodded.

“Malek and I are two separate beings. If our military would like Malek’s help or advice on a matter, then they need to send word to her.” Sujanha stressed that last word. “If they wish to send their respects to me, that is perfectly acceptable, but there is no need for me to play intermediary.”

“Of course, Commander.”

Sujanha scrubbed her hands across her face again. “Go to Headquarters and tell Jaax to go to bed. I’ll meet you at the Stargate shortly.”

Ragnar nodded, saluted, and then went outside. There was a flash of light as he was beamed away. Sujanha picked up her gauntlets from the table in the hallways and started fitting them on, blinking tiredly. Sha’re appeared then, carrying a still sleeping Shifu off to bed, and Sujanha murmured a good night to them both. Daniel appeared a minute later, took their tea glasses into the kitchen, and then joined her in the hallway.

“Problem?” He asked, taking his glasses off to polish them on his shirt. It seemed to be a nervous gesture, at least sometimes.

“An issue with a recently freed host on Ardea. She claims to be Tok’ra. The hope is that Malek might recognize her and be able to confirm her claim.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Wow.” Then he frowned thoughtfully. “Wait, she was host to a Goa’uld? How does that work?”

“Yes, to Kryse, an Underlord of Cronus. And I don’t know. It is puzzling,” Sujanha admitted.

“That was over 6 months ago.” Daniel grimaced. Six months by Furling measurements. Longer by Midgardian standards. “If she is Tok’ra …” He shook himself. “Ooof. Well, be careful. Do you expect to be back before you return to Avalon?”

Sujanha shrugged. “I do not know for sure, but I expect not unless she is not what she claims to be.” If this unnamed woman was truly a missing Tok’ra host, back almost from the dead, so to speak, this was going to be a very long night with much to be done.

“Well, safe journey then. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

What a strange Midgardian phrase. True … but still strange.

Unlike Idroth, which was an ice-planet and unpleasantly cold for anyone not belonging to the Azhuth or the Iprysh, Ardea was a temperate world with rolling hills and sprawling forests, idyllic scenery that was in sharp contrast to the prison system far below the surface. Not feeling it necessary for a full complement of bodyguards for a visit to a Furling-controlled planet in Asteria of all places, Sujanha stepped through the Stargate, with only Ragnar at her side. The night-cycle had fallen, and it was dark with no moons shining in the sky. There was a chill in the air that made Sujanha shiver slightly, even underneath her heavy jacket.

Her blood had always been thin after growing up on Drehond.

A woman stepped forward out of the shadows and saluted sharply as soon as the wormhole disappeared, taking with it almost the only light. She was tall and thin with large hands and feet. Those physiological differences because of environmental conditions on their homeworld Aquileia combined with the pattern of braids in her black hair and the pattern on her garments, both just barely visible in the low light, marked her clearly as Boii. “I am R’Danatek, Supreme Commander. Our base commander, Ovisek, asked me to meet you and escort you.” Those naming conventions were two more characteristics of the Boii. All female names either began with S’ or R’, and all male names ended in a k sound.

There would be other guards nearby, the usual number for a night-time shift. Sujanha thought she might hear them—emphasis on the might. There were some vaguely sentient noises carried on the wind—but they were well-hidden in the darkness. Even those noises could be mistaken for other things by those less experienced or less familiar with this world.

“My thanks, R’Danatek.” Sujanha inclined her head shallowly. “Please lead the way.”

The tunnel system was much brighter, though the lights were modulated given the time of day. Working constantly underground with no visible sun—unless one was a Dovahkiin on Drehond and rose, slept, and worked largely on a schedule fit for yourself alone without care for the time determined by a sun that was invisible and useless in the tunnels—could cause problems medically for circadian rhythms among other issues, so said the healers. The same problems could occur during long-term duty onboard starships. As Furling bases and starships kept to Uslisgas time consistently, the problem could be alleviated somewhat by dimming the lights during the night-cycle. It was not a perfect solution, but it helped.

R’Danatek led them through the winding halls with their unexpected turns and random choke points, all designed for defense, until they reached the healers’ halls. Most of the healers were Boii—given those they had passed, much of the staff of this base seemed to be Boii, which was probably helpful for interacting with the Zukish hosts before and after they were freed—but Risa, a Rhuzk and one of the chief healers attached this project, was also present, her back half to the door, frowning at an expansive array of holographic charts stacked in front of her. A female Boii healer was standing beside her, lips moving silently, her attention half-caught between the charts and what looked to be security footage of an isolation room.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Risa spoke first, looking up from her charts. She was largely Lapith in appearance, and whatever Furling blood she had was not strong enough, perhaps too distant, to have had much effect on her appearance. Only her golden eyes and lack of a tail marked her as Rhuzk and not a full-blood Lapith.

“Ragnar told me that Kryse’s host claims to be a Tok’ra. Can you tell me anything more?” Sujanha asked at Malek’s request.

“Very little unfortunately,” the Boii healer, who then introduced herself as R’Kimix, responded. “She has been terribly traumatized by her ordeal. Except when she dreams, she barely speaks, has not spoken to us since she identified herself as Tok’ra and begged to be taken home. Though … I am not certain that she knew us. It took nearly a week for her to even speak at all. She will let us near her to bring her medicine or food, but otherwise …” She shook her head sadly.

Sujanha nodded, understanding what the healer was and was not saying. This woman, whether a Tok’ra or not, had been a prisoner inside her own body for only the Maker knew how long, perhaps years, perhaps decades, perhaps centuries. Alone only with her own thoughts, forced to watch her body being puppeted into doing indescribable acts. It was a terrible fate.

Among the Goa’uld, even death might not be an escape with their sarcophagi, those perverted things that upended the laws of nature itself. Alone, there was no one to lean on, no friendly faces, no hand to grasp yours through cell bars, no whispered words. No one. Even those who had lived and died at the Great Enemy’s camps had not been alone, for what little comfort that was. Having your body, your mind violated, forced to do unspeakable acts, even the hardiest would be traumatized.

Malek’s thoughts were just as dark, and she was resolutely blocking those memories from seeping across to her host. They both had dark memories, enough for more than a lifetime of nightmares. Sharing only brought more pain.

“Which chamber is she in?” Sujanha asked.

R’Kimix pointed towards the correct room, hesitated, and then added verbally, “Just … do not take your bodyguard with you, Commander. She might not be able to distinguish the gender differences in your forms—your voice should make that clear, Commander—but … she has not reacted well to the presence of male guards or healers.”

Sujanha stamped down the urge to flinch at the implication of what those words mean. On top of all that she had suffered … to have been brutalized, as well? Is there no end to their evils? The Commander nodded and turned for the door.

The woman was curled up in the corner of the isolation room as they entered, her back to the wall, face buried in her knees, which were pulled tightly to her chest. A large blanket was wrapped around her shoulders and tucked around in front of her. Strands of brown-hair, sun-bleached lighter in sections, were visible, but given the angle of her body and the fall of her hair, not her face. The female Boii healer sitting silently on the floor by the bed rose as Sujanha entered and slipped out, leaving the other two women alone in the room.

Corner seat … back to the wall, defensive posture.

Knees to the chest, protecting vital organs.

Blanket, cold from mental-trauma induced shock, perhaps.

Or just the lack of a symbiote messing up your body’s systems.

Her posture is too stiff for sleep, but she hasn’t looked up. … The angle her head is at, she probably can see us, study us before she visibly reacts.

*What are those … things on her wrists?* Malek suddenly asked. *Not cuffs, surely?* Part of the host’s right hand and wrist had emerged from beneath the blanket as it slipped slightly.

Now Sujanha did flinch … minutely.

Those things were not cuffs but a variant of the gauntlet technology, used only on those so traumatized or life-weary that they were deemed a danger to themselves. They enclosed the arms from just below the base of the hand (or paw) to just above the elbow (or sometimes further) in thickly padded metal, protecting the vulnerable blood vessels in the wrist and elbow from injury. (There were joints at the elbow to allow one to use their arms while wearing them.) Gauntlets only had padding underneath. These had thick padding on both sides to prevent somewhere from causing harm to themselves by tearing at them with their fingers. Only the healers could authorize the use of such devices, and only the healers could put them on or remove them. In more extreme cases, there were variants that could protect the veins in the neck and legs.

Malek read those thoughts from her mind without her having to speak them to her directly, saving Sujanha from having to explain.

Sujanha added verbally, *They also have sensors to detect if any blood is drawn elsewhere on the body. They’re for her own safety, and they take away less bodily autonomy than sedating her against her will if she becomes frantic or tries to hurt herself. That’s also why they had a healer in here close-by.* Former prisoners-of-war needed structure, but they needed to be able to make choices, even just little ones at first.

*A useful invention,* her symbiote noted, mental voice tightly controlled. It was terribly sad that there was even a need for such devices, that there was so much cruelty from external or internal factors that someone might be driven to such choices. To think death is preferable …

Finally, the woman looked up, and an icy chill swept across Malek’s mind as the former host’s features became visible. Shoulder-length brown hair was swept back from her broad forehead, sections still held back in braids that were falling apart. Her eyes, set above sweeping cheekbones and thin cheeks, were haunted and wide with fear.

Horror replaced shock. Malek was swearing in a variety of languages, cursing all the Goa’uld to any dark fate imaginable. If she had been in control, her voice would have been breaking with tears of utter devastation if she could have managed to speak at all.

*Rosha. It’s Rosha,* Malek whispered, horror-stricken, once the torrent of curses died away. *She was supposed to be dead, at peace. Oh stars, it’s Rosha.*

Rosha. Once host to Jolinar of Malkshur, one of the few Goa’uld who had learned the error of her way and joined the Tok’ra. Jolinar of Malkshur, who had taken Daniel’s friend Carter as a host and died years earlier on Midgard.

*It brought Martouf and Lantash a little comfort after news of Jolinar’s death was brought by the Tau’ri to know that they were at peace beyond the reach of the Goa’uld, but all this time …* Rosha had still been alive, suffering at the hands of the Goa’uld. For a moment a faint feeling of nausea swept through their body before Malek pulled the reaction back under control.

*She has survived. That speaks much to her strength,* Sujanha replied. Her mind flew to those prisoners who had been rescued from the clutches of the Enemy, from the dark, dank depths of their camps during and after the wars. The memory of seeing the horrors that they had suffered visible in their eyes was not one she would ever forget. Healing took time. Unfortunately, the Zukish, especially those of Avalon, had much less time in which such healing could be affected.

Sujanha took a step closer to the bed, empty hands spread to either side, claws retracted, and then lowered herself to a seated position on the floor, making herself smaller and less visibly threatening, very necessary given her height and appearance. Malek slipped forward into control. “Hello, Rosha,” she said quietly in Goa’uld, the only language that they had in common now.

Rosha flinched—at the greeting? At their presence? Appearance?—and drew sharply backwards, eyes wide. “How do you know my name?”

“I am Malek, Rosha. I lost Loknu died some months ago in an earthshake. This is Sujanha, my new host. Her people are enemies of the Goa’uld, the one who defeated Cronus … and Kryse.”

“Why should I believe you?”

For a former prisoner, it was a very reasonable question. The Goa’uld would certainly not be the first to use decoys, claiming the name and identity of a friend to get close to a prisoner to get information. But … Rosha had identified herself as Tok’ra and asked to go home. That would indicate she knew that she was no longer in Goa’uld hands … one would think, but suspicion and mistrust were outgrowths of such terrible trauma. Though, given what Risa had said … isolation could do terrible things to the mind. Figments of the past that might bring a little comfortable … hallucinations … for someone as traumatized as her, it would not be unexpected.

Despite Rosha’s initial suspicion as to their identity, Malek was eventually able to convince her that she was indeed Malek, through some combination of the way she spoke and her knowledge of events that only she could have known. Rosha went quiet for a long time after that, but finally … in a very quiet voice, she asked about Jolinar and about Martouf-Lantash. Malek, circumspectly, replied only that Jolinar was dead, her death confirmed by allies of the Tok’ra, and that her mates did, however, still live. Given the time since Rosha’s disappearance, for operatives like Martouf-Lantash, their continued survival was not guaranteed.

Sometime later, the healer returned, bringing medicine and some food that she tried to coax Rosha into eating. Feeling sick at heart and terribly sad, Sujanha retook control and quietly slipped from the room. Ragnar and the healers were still in the outer ward where she had left them, and they all looked at her as she returned.

Sujanha nodded, confirming the question that was clear in all their places. “She is Tok’ra, as she claimed. Her name is Rosha, and she was once host to Jolinar of Malkshur.”

Ragnar started slightly, probably recognizing the symbiote’s name. “What now then?” He asked, his gaze cutting toward the isolation room door for a moment. “Do we notify the Tok’ra? Does she want to see them?”

“Yes, we need to notify the Tok’ra,” Sujanha replied. “Whether she wants to see them, we did not get that far. It took most of the time we spoke just to convince her that Malek is whom she says that she is. She is extremely wary and afraid.”

R’Kimix agreed but cautioned them, saying, “The Tok’ra should be notified, especially any of her friends or family among them, but I will not allow any interrogations for intelligence of any kind, no matter how time sensitive, while she is in my care. She … Rosha … is much too fragile for any questioning.”

Stir up terrible memories of the past … that would not end well. She was already life-weary. No one wanted to push her over an edge that might require more extreme protective measures than just those gauntlets on her arms.

Sujanha nodded. “She might not be strong enough, mentally or physically, to return to the Tok’ra for some time, if ever, though from what Malek knows of her, she could surprise us all. She has already proven herself to be a Survivor. Depending on the length of her stay among us, it might be worth offering to take her to Ilea for peace.”

*Ilea?* asked Malek.

Sujanha brought to mind a picture memory.[2] Her vantage point in the memory was on the slope of a tall hill, where unseen behind her was the Stargate. Spread out below here were rolling green fields and large forests stretching down the hill beyond. At a much greater distance were mountain peaks, the tallest of which were covered in snow. Clouds hung above a valley, half-hidden behind trees far down the slope. The sun was shining so brightly that one could almost feel its warmth, even in the memory.

*A rest world, primarily for our military. Those who received serious injuries with longer recovery times or those who may never heal often go there or are sent there for a time. Some choose to live out their days there. It is very peaceful with good weather.*

“Worth considering, for certain,” R’Kimix replied.

Sujanha turned to Ragnar. “To save time since it is the middle of the night here”—the chronometer on the wall said that it was now the early hours of the 2nd—“Ragnar, would you object to taking word to the Tok’ra?”

We are in Asteria on a Furling-controlled world. You can safely leave me.

It’s like we would be returning home to bed, anyway.

“No, Commander, I don’t mind. To Martouf-Lantash?” (She noted idly that he looked more awake than he had back at the house.)

“Or to Jacob-Selmak if they are absent,” Sujanha replied. “Use your best judgment whether to tell them there or once you return here.” The rest of the Tok’ra would need to know eventually, but at first, privacy might make this easier for Martouf-Lantash’s sake. This would be staggering news.

Ragnar nodded. He pulled up a screen on his gauntlet and made a couple of notes and then pulled up another screen with a gate address. “This is the correct gate address for Nistra, yes?”

The destruction on Vorash had been widespread enough that the Tok’ra had decided to move their homeworld, instead of moving the Stargate and rebuilding elsewhere on the continent. Nistra was the planet to which they had moved their forward operating base. Its address, which the Furlings had provided, was not on the Abydos cartouche but came from the Ancient database in the Asgard’s possession. The more vulnerable members like scientists and elderly host-symbiote pairs as well as vulnerable experiments and the like had been moved to a separate base on a Furling-controlled world called Vestra.

If one base is lost, not all are lost.

Sujanha and Malek both scanned it and then confirmed that those symbols were the correct address. Ragnar bowed to them and then, politely (and more shallowly), to the healers and departed. Sujanha was shown by another guard to a waiting area, and then it was time to rest. Perhaps, if the seat was comfortable enough, they could even nap a little until Ragnar returned.

Sujanha did sleep, but when she awoke again, she found herself not in that same little room but back in the main healer’s hall with Jacob-Selmak at her side. Malek was, obviously, in control and talking to them softly in Goa’uld, but she stopped mid-sentence as Sujanha awoke.

*Several hours have passed.* Malek recapped the situation briefly. *Martouf-Lantash are in the isolation room, sitting with Rosha. Jacob-Selmak accompanied them … for ‘moral support.’ You were tired, so I didn’t wake you.*

Aloud, Malek continued after her abrupt pause. “Forgive the interruption. Sujanha awoke, and I was updating her on the situation.”

*That’s fine. Where’s Ragnar?* Sujanha replied mentally.

*Resting, I believe, until you need him again.*

*Good. How are Martouf-Lantash … and Rosha … taking all this?* Sujanha asked. *And Jacob-Selmak?*

Malek gave the mental equivalent of a grimace. *From what the healers have said—given the potential emotional upheaval from the reunion and Rosha’s fragility, they are overseeing things—Rosha seems even less convinced that her mates are real than we were who we said we were.* Somehow she was managing to keep her conversation ongoing with Selmak simultaneously, a feat that Sujanha did not think that she could have managed.

*She thinks they are hallucinations.* Sujanha realized the implication of her symbiote’s statement. *Or might be, at least. Given what she must have suffered before being taken over by Kryse … sometimes a figment of our minds is all the comfort there is.* Rosha had gone back and forth, while they were will, in seeming … with it … and not.

Malek agreed sadly. *Martouf-Lantash was … shocked beyond words … by Ragnar’s news, though overjoyed, of course, that at least one of his mates was spared. They are shaken, Martouf especially, and struggling in their own ways. Selmak was very close to Jolinar and Rosha. He agrees that Rosha should probably stay here for now. The Tok’ra mean well, but tact and … careful handling with ‘kid gloves’ … is not always our way. Much of that intelligence that she might have been able to provide about Cronus and his domain is unneeded now, anyway.*

*She has sacrificed much. All of your people have. Some injuries never fully heal, but for her, I hope they will. You all deserve peace.*

[1] A/N: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tale_of_the_Shipwrecked_Sailor.

[2] A/N: https://cdn.thinglink.me/api/image/619937948221046784/1240/10/scaletowidth.

Chapter Text

26th of Ea, 6546 A.S.
(February 17, 2000)
Teucuria, Avalon

That's …. a lot of trees.

Jack would have really complained about this planet.

Jack had opinions about alien planets and trees.

Jack had opinions about everything, for that matter.

Those had been Daniel's first thought that morning when Sujanha, Daniel, and her bodyguards had stepped through the Stargate onto Teucuria. It was a Furling-controlled planet, formerly held by the Ancients and possibly inhabited thereby, which meant that its address was not on the Abydos cartouche. This was one of the major reasons Sujanha had chosen it as a base in the first place. Less risk of the Goa'uld stumbling across it, hopefully.

Teucuria's importance had increased tremendously in the aftermath of the Diagoth disaster and had seen much use servicing the warships which were unable to return to Asteria for repairs. A little over two (Furling) months had passed since that day, and about a month-and-a-half had passed since Daniel's unexpected bout with appendicitis and the heart-pounding battles against the Replicating Ones following Thor's disappearance to protect Othala.

Much had happened in those months for Daniel personally and in terms of the war effort against the Goa'uld. More and more Furling warships were being returned to service, the defects in their ion generators fixed, and with the Replicating Ones having been decisively driven back for the moment, giving the Asgard some breathing space, Sujanha and Anarr were now able to (and had been for a couple of weeks) return their attentions to Avalon and to the Goa'uld. In those intervening months since the Diagoth disasters, the pull-back of the Furling fleet meant that more than a few worlds and even a handful of entire star-systems had fallen back into the Goa'uld hands. A handful of those worlds had been recaptured during the last two weeks after the campaign against Bastet and Kali was restarted, and the horrible, though unavoidable, consequences of those worlds ping-ponging between Furling and Goa'uld control was already becoming terribly clear. Technically occupied worlds though they had been under Furling control, they had done well, and Furling aid with medical care and agriculture had turned more than a few Jaffa against their former masters. The Goa'uld did not take kindly to their slaves turning against them, and some of those planets, not all so far, had suffered heavily.

"Razed" had been the word Sujanha had used to describe one. Whose hands it had fallen into, she had not said.

Sujanha had been horrified at the collateral damage because of their strategic retreat, though she acknowledged that there had been no good alternative to that plan.

Rock and a hard place, as the saying goes.

The resumed campaign against Bastet and Kali was still ongoing and would be for some time, to all expectations. Battles were not ongoing constantly across the expanse of their territory or, at least, not battles that required Sujanha's express attention and oversight. The Valhalla was currently at Ausonia, resupplying and doing some minor maintenance among other tasks, none of which required Sujanha's presence, so the Supreme Commander was coming to Teucuria. The trip had been announced to Daniel as soon as he had shown up in her office on the Valhalla earlier that morning, not long after rolling out of bed and getting breakfast. The purpose of the visit was not totally clear to Daniel, but it sounded like a cross between official thanks for the base's work the last couple of months and an inspection tour.

The Stargate was situated in a broad valley, with towering mountain peaks on either side. Surrounding the gate was a small grassy clearing, but farther off were trees, trees, and more trees, stretching out to the edges of the valley where the cliffs climbed up into the sky. Even on some less sheer sections, there were trees on the mountain sides, as well, though not all the way up to the snow lines. The sun was shining brightly, and the whole scene seemed rather idyllic, like something straight out of a National Geographic photo of the Alps or something.

From what Daniel knew of Teucuria, the actual base was on the far side of the towering mountain peaks. If one attempted to keep the base concealed, it made no sense to have parked warships in sight of the gate … not that there would be room in this valley. That might be deliberate. Did they move the gate, I wonder? The Furlings had before on other worlds.

Given the number of trees, Daniel could almost feel his allergies sitting up and taking notice. He hoped that whatever season it was on Teucuria was not spring/pollen season, or misery might follow. I've got a handkerchief in my pocket if I need it.

Muddy grass squished as Daniel stepped forward out of and away from the Stargate, and his boots left obvious tracks on the meadow floor. It was not raining, and the sky was sunny and clear, but from the squish, it must have rained recently.

An exasperated grimace momentarily flashed across Sujanha's face as her paws went squish and she realized the conditions. Daniel, at least, was wearing boots. Sujanha (and Ragnar, like almost all Furlings … save those with specific injuries to their extremities) wore no shoes.

Mud … bare paws … mud in fur … ugh.

"We'll need to walk," Ragnar rumbled. Their footprints were all too obvious in the wet ground, and their footprints abruptly disappearing if they beamed out here would be too obvious. The immediate region surrounding the Stargate needed to look uninhabited or as uninhabited as possible. Footsteps vanishing into thin air would be more suspicious than even a few sets of footprints leading into the woods, which could be attributed to passing travelers.

Ragnar led them forward, with Sujanha following straight behind. He had shortened his stride, and she was walking in his footsteps so that their prints almost merged together, somewhat jumbled though they were. Daniel kept pace at her side, and Vylt—the Iprysh temporary replacement for Ruarc—brought up the rear. At one point, Daniel looked back and saw that his armor—just the feet—had changed shape until they were human-like, and Vylt was perfectly matching his steps so that it looked like there were only two of them, instead of four, or maybe three, depending on how closely someone is paying attention. Feline and canine paws aren't the same if you're paying attention.

The forest was quite thick, and there were no clear paths (at least to Daniel's eyes) that led away from the meadow in the direction Ragnar had picked. There were some tracks, but their presence could as easily be attributed to local fauna as humans. Ragnar warned Daniel to not get side-tracked or separated from the group. The trees made an almost natural labyrinth, and with only diffuse sunlight visible through the thick foliage, it would be all too easy to get utterly lost.

It was probably fifteen minutes before they found terrain dry enough for Ragnar to call a halt. It was a stony bank at the edge of a river several hills past the Stargate. Or would it be a stream? When does a stream become a river? It's too big to be a creak. The water burbled pleasantly as it ran along, and brightly colored fish of various sizes swam by. The far bank was maybe … fifteen or twenty feet away, and the water looked shallow enough to cross on foot … if you don't mind getting quite wet.

"This is good, Commander," said Ragnar. "It'd be easy for tracks to disappear here, especially if you crossed the river."

Sujanha nodded agreement, and within moments, the four of them were beamed away.

Unlike most Furling bases, which were built entirely underground, protected within the deep bedrock, a shipyard obviously had to be built partially above ground. Daniel was not claustrophobic, but seeing unending miles of uniform passageways got old after a while, and it was nice to be at an above-ground base. Once they were on base, Sujanha went off to do whatever she needed to do with Ragnar trailing along behind, and Daniel and Vylt were parked in a conference-room-like room overlooking a large bay where a corvette by the looks of it was being worked on.

Time passed quietly and rather slowly. There was nothing he needed to do for Sujanha, so he spent the time working on his journals. Vylt parked himself in a corner and did not move a muscle (proverbially, since no one knew if the Iprysh even had muscles or biological forms) for the rest of the morning. It was strange … him not moving and Ruarc not being there. Daniel missed Ruarc. They could have passed the time talking. Not so with Vylt … not yet, at least.

Vylt was pleasant enough and perfectly polite, but the Iprysh largely fit the stereotype of the strong silent types, at least, out-loud. If he wasn't giving reports during a battle, it was almost impossible to get Chakrechi, the Valhalla's weapons officer, to say anything more than pleasantries. How much the Iprysh were communicating with each other non-verbally, Daniel could not know.

Yet … after Ruarc's open friendliness, Daniel's relationship with Vylt seemed stilted. It was hard to get a read on him without facial cues or body-language … because of the suit of armor. The Iprysh, conversely, semi-frequently had trouble with human body-language, as well.

I miss Ruarc.

I wonder how long until he'll return to duty.

I need to check on him one of these days. Ragnar probably knows what he's doing.

Eventually, Daniel pulled out a small bag of Asgardian ration tablets and nibbled on a couple. They weren't bad, but they weren't great either.

Early afternoon (Uslisgas time), Sujanha and Ragnar returned, and it was time to head back to Ausonia and the Valhalla. They beamed back to that same river along with four Lapith soldiers who were returning to Uslisgas and from there would depart to Noreia (the Lapith homeworld) on leave and joined (been assigned?) them as an escort. (There were much tighter restrictions on travel from the Milky-Way to Asteria than vice versa … for very understandable security reasons, and those restrictions currently included a very limited list of planets in Asteria to which one could gate from the Milky-Way. Most homeworlds were not on that list.) With eight people, instead of four, they made no attempt to disguise their footsteps and walked along as they wished, Ragnar, Vylt, and the Lapiths forming a loose circle around Daniel and Sujanha.

Sujanha quickly engaged the guards in polite but sincere conversation. She had an astounding memory for names and faces, and one reason the Fleet loved her so much was because they were not statistics, not nameless faces in a crowd. It was not just her bridge-crew that she called by name. The guards seemed slightly … in awe but also appreciative of her interest. The conversation was drifting between family, the guards' plans for their leave, and how hunting/harvest were currently on Noreia and Tuspietov, the only other inhabitable planet in the Lapiths' solar system.

Ragnar dropped back to walk by Daniel's side, leaving Vylt on point, and cheerfully began to ask how Shifu and Sha're were doing and whether Daniel had any new pictures to show or stories to tell about his "cub." Of course, I do! There was always something silly or cute that kids got into at that age.

Maybe half the walk back to the Stargate has passed or thereabouts when Ragnar stopped dead in his tracks as a hologram appeared above his gauntlet on his left arm. Appeared without waiting for the call to be accepted. An emergency override! That's not good. The figure was Lapith. Someone from the base? Ragnar and the other soldier exchanged terse, tense words for several moments, and whatever was said made Ragnar snap immediately from Daniel's friendly (but still watchful) walking companion straight into ultra-bodyguard mode. What just happened? The two had been speaking Furling, but the conversation was half in military-speak with a good dose of specialized vocabulary that Daniel did not know, which made the discussion hard to follow.

Ragnar snapped a few curt commands in Furling. They seemed to be military field codes or something, because Daniel understood the specific words, but those words made no sense in that order or context. The Lapith guards accompanying them instantly closed ranks around Sujanha, and Daniel was close enough that he could feel the slight charge in the air of shields rising. The staff weapons/staves that the Lapiths had been using almost like walking sticks where the ground was more uneven and less suited to their feet made a strange sound as they were armed. (They weren't quite normal Furling staff weapons and looked somewhat adapted.) Vylt was turning slowly. Scanning the forest?

What just happened?

Daniel instantly raised his own personal shield as the guards went on high alert. Doing so had become almost second nature with practice, though he had rarely needed it outside of practice. Just because he spent most of his time with Sujanha in an office did not mean that Ragnar (or Ruarc, previously) was going to let him get away with no self-defense practice.

Jack would approve.

Sujanha turned around, outwardly unruffled. "Ragnar?"

"Intruders have come through the Stargate," her bodyguard replied. "Jaffa are among them. All are armed. They are between us and the gate."

Jaffa? This planet is not even supposed to be known to the Goa'uld!

That was the whole point! The address isn't even on the Abydos Cartouche!

"Identity?" Sujanha asked calmly.

"Unknown. The gate guards were changing shifts. Those coming on duty did not get a good look at the intruders, and it was too great a risk of alerting them to our presence to get too close."

So there were guards when we arrived. It felt like we were being watched at one point.

"Numbers?"

"Unclear," Ragnar replied. "About 6, perhaps."

Sujanha had that look on her face like she was running through scenarios and plans at top speed. "Plan?"

"The intruders are heading roughly in our direction by chance or … not. If they get too close, they will be captured for your protection."

Don't you just hate it when the infinitesimal odds actually happen?

Sujanha nodded, and then her black eyes went blank, as she turned inwards to speak with Malek.

Vylt had finished scanning the forest or whatever he had been doing and then proceeded to run some sort of scanning field over each of them, starting with Sujanha and ending with the additional Lapith guards. When he had finished, he said something quietly and at length to Ragnar, of which all Daniel caught was, "No trackers."

How would someone even get a tracker on us? And who could?

Security around Sujanha was tight, especially for face-to-face meetings with those outside the Fleet/Army or the Asgard.

Ragnar and the guards herded Daniel and Sujanha away from the crest of the hill they were about to descend from and back down the way they had come. He guided them to a particularly thick clump of trees, half-way down the hill, which would shelter them from view from anyone standing at the top of the hill.

"Capture them alive, even if they resist," Sujanha ordered. "We must know how this address became known to our enemies. I must know if this is chance or whether our base has been compromised. Ragnar, join them. We will be safe here until you return."

With intruders here anyway, that negates the need to be careful of footprints and all. We can just beam back to base if they get close.

Daniel wondered vaguely why they hadn't already. Not a pressing enough need to? Yet.

"Yes, Commander." Ragnar bowed deeply to Sujanha and turned on his heel, hissing something into his comm as he moved. With only a few swift strides, he disappeared over the crest of the hill and was out of sight.

Please be careful.

Though he never would have admitted it to anyone except his brother, Ragnar felt slightly uneasy leaving the Commander and Daniel alone with only the five other guards. And if Ruarc were here, I wouldn't be concerned in the first place. Though he trusted Vylt—and he had no reason to distrust the Lapith guards, though he did not know them—Ruarc's months-long gaping absence made Ragnar feel like he had a limb missing. It was utterly foreign and uncomfortable to leave Sujanha alone without his brother with her to guard her.

The two brothers had lived, slept, fought, and bled beside each other for hundreds of years, and although Ragnar was thirteen years the elder of the two, they were as close as womb-mates (twins, as the Midgardians would say) with an ability, unnerving to some, to speak without words. Granted Ragnar and Vylt had overlapped during their time with the Imperial Guard, but that had been brief before the two brothers had been detailed by Commander Anarr to Sujanha's service after they had recovered from injuries gained at the nearly disastrous Battle of Three Peaks in 6107 A.S. Most of that time we were on leave.

Ragnar ruthlessly stamped down his illogical concerns and quickened his pace to a ground-eating lope, slipping silently between the trees like a shadow. In wooded environments, his gray fur made it less easy to blend in, so he had to trust to silence, instead. Darkness would have helped, but he had to work with the conditions present. The sooner the intruders were captured, the better he would feel.

Ragnar was strong, fast, and in excellent physical condition. Without the constraints of matching Sujanha's slower pace, it was quick work for him to cross the distance to join the guards. Gaps between patrols? Why does this keep happening? It's caused near-disasters before. This has to stop. It was a judgment call, how fast to go. Speed was needed to intercept the intruders before they got dangerously close to Sujanha and forced them to return to base, but he could not move so fast to alert even a buffoon of a predator moving about in the woods. Every step he had to judge. He had to watch out for branches that would break under his weight, slippery patches of greenery that could send him crashing to the ground in a jumble of limbs, unstable patches of earth on hillsides that could cause a slide.

Ragnar found the guards waiting to capture the intruders in a concealed hollow, a ditch almost, in a carefully cultivated agriculture choke point between the curving base of a steep hill and the wooded slope that led down to a fast-moving river, too deep to safely cross quickly on foot. The labyrinthine paths of the forest had shifted the intruders' path, so they were now not heading towards Sujanha and the others but might, if they were allowed to continue, pass out of sight (though not out of hearing range if the wind was right) to one side.

There were twelve guards there, not counting Ragnar. He scrambled as quietly as possible down the steep hillside and dropped into the ditch. Jotar, whom he had met for the first time just hours earlier, was the commander of the entire Teucuria garrison. He was Maskilim by blood with the appearance of one of the Azzon, the forest hunters, and his coloring made it easy for him to blend in among the trees. He was an old soldier with at least five centuries more battle experience than Ragnar himself, old and cagey and smart.

"Are there any new reports about the intruders?" Ragnar asked respectfully, acknowledging the other soldier's higher military rank despite his own position as one of the Supreme Commander's bodyguards. That made hierarchies … complicated.

"Our original estimate was in error. They number only four," Jotar replied. "One is a first prime. Another is a Goa'uld. What their purpose is here or how they found this world, only the Maker knows."

Ragnar frowned. That is near illogical. A Goa'uld with his First Prime but only two guards? On an unknown world? That is asking for an ambush by a rival. The cynical side of his brain then added. Unknown, we hope. Has this world been compromised? That was Sujanha's concern. Could this be a trap?

Jotar continued in an undertone, speaking now to the entire company. Caution, probably. The wind could carry their voices but was blowing towards them for now. "The intruders will reach us quickly. We will cover both sides of the track. On my signal and only on my signal will you reveal yourselves. Those on either end will cut off the way of escape to the front and rear. If the demon attempts to fight, disabling shots only. The Commander wants prisoners."

Ragnar scented the air as Jotar finished giving orders. This world and its smells were unfamiliar to him. If there were fresh scents on the wind, he could not tell. All the soldiers nodded and saluted but made no verbal reply. They moved to their positions, one handing Ragnar an extra staff weapon as he passed.

The next few minutes passed slowly.

Ragnar always found the last moments before battle or conflict to pass interminably slowly. He crouched beside Jotar, but unlike the garrison commander, he had been forced to activate the cloaking device he carried. His black-and-white coloring made him much more visible in the woods whatever the season. He was not willing to take the risk of being the one to expose the ambush.

His senses seemed to sharpen as the moments dragged on, the humming in his bloodstream. He knew one Goa'uld and only three servants stood no chance against the greater numbers of the Furling troops, who held technological superiority, but he was always glad for any battle to be over. He held no love for war despite his skill in battle, and the more years he fought, the more he looked forward to peace once this series of war was over.

The wind carried the noise of the intruders to Ragnar's ears before they appeared: the slight thump of footsteps, the barest murmur of low voices carried on the breeze, the low crack of branches underfoot. When the four intruders finally did appear around a bend and rise in the 'trail,' Ragnar felt a sense of utter shock at the sight of them. He was sure he recognized them—three of them—from Daniel's stories about his teammates from Midgard. The boy had a way with words, and Ragnar was blessed with a good imagination based on picture-words. These intruders matched closely with his mental images of how his friend's teammates probably appeared.

SG1 here? That doesn't make sense.

How would they know the gate address, either?

The Jaffa was the most striking of the four. The gold symbol—a snake, the sign of Apophis—marked him as a First Prime. He was very tall and broad-shouldered with dark skin. His staff weapon was carried in one paw-like hand as if he were heedless of its weight. He periodically scanned the path and the forest around intently. His build would have made even Ragnar wary to oppose him without the protection of a personal shield. Teal'c, his mind supplied.

The second male, based on his age, had to be O'Neill. The hair that emerged from beneath his extremely peculiar hat was colored gray with age. He has an interesting face. O'Neill, like Teal'c, seemed quite aware of his surroundings like an old, canny soldier.

The only woman in the group, tall and blond-haired, could only be Carter, the scientist and Daniel's close friend, with whom he shared a love of seeking after knowledge, however diverse. She had temporarily been a host to a Tok'ra symbiote, which would explain why the gate guards' scanners had identified one among the intruders as being Goa'uld.

Someone needs to update the sensitivity to distinguish between a host and a former host.

The identity of the last figure—a younger, much shorter man, with reddish-brown hair—Ragnar did not know. He did not match any of Daniel's descriptions of his friends or teammates at the SGC, and his outfit was not military like O'Neill and Carter. There was no name-patch or other identifying marks on his clothes, not that they would have done Ragnar any good even if there had been. Unlike Ruarc, who was the more linguistically inclined of the two brothers, Ragnar's knowledge of written English was almost nonexistent. His spoken English had been passable, though heavily accented, without a translator, but his skills had declined somewhat since Daniel had learned Furling. With any language, lack of use generally precipitated a decline in skill, though Sha're's presence had given him necessary practice more recently.

Aside from "danger!" There were standard phrases in common languages that any bodyguard needed to know if only to keep his charge out of danger.

Shaking himself from his bewildered surprise with a soldier's discipline, Ragnar leaned over and silently tapped Jotar on the shoulder and made two quick hand gestures. *Possible friendlies. Me lead* (Grammar was an after-thought usually with simple, field sign-language.) Jotar's returning stare was one of incredulity, but after a long pause, he slowly nodded, trusting that Ragnar knew what he was doing.

Ragnar waited patiently until the intruders reached the prime position for the trap to be sprung. SG1, he believed them to almost certainly be, but neither Jotar or Ragnar would countenance taking risks with the lives of their men. Or with Sujanha's. Finally, Ragnar glanced across at Jotar and nodded. It is time, the look said. Using his comm on his gauntlet, Jotar sent a non-verbal countdown to the other troops.

A heartbeat passed, and then Ragnar slowly began to rise from his crouch, keeping his cloak up to hide his movements. Though he brushed against no leaves and broke no sticks under his feet, the Jaffa seemed to suddenly sense something amiss and paused, his weapon rising, as he intently scanned the tree-line on either side of the path. The Midgardians, if they were whom Ragnar believed them to be, immediately halted, as well, moving like an experienced cohort, scanning for danger but spotting none of the Furling warriors hidden nearby. (The fourth—the unknown young man—had a weapon but was evidently not a warrior from the way he was moved towards the center of the group.) The four exchanged a few words in tense voices, their voices only barely audible to Ragnar, but before they could do much more, Jotar gave the signal.

Moving as one unit, the Furling warriors rose with armed weapons and emerged from the woods, quickly surrounding the four intruders and cutting off all means of escape.

The three Midgardian warriors, despite their surprise, moved immediately into defensive positions. Ragnar quickly cataloged their visible weapons. Save for the Jaffa's staff weapon—out of date—the rest seemed to be the projectile weapons favored by the Midgardians—guns, Ragnar remembered Daniel called them. Ragnar could also see one or two bladed weapons. Knife-fighting and the type of close-quarter battle that came with it was something with which Ragnar had less familiarity outside of a practice arena, though he was not unskilled by any means. If there was a style of battle he might encounter, he had to know how to counter it.

Knowing that his personal shield would protect him from the weapons of "SG1," if the standoff should devolve into a battle, Ragnar took a chance and deactivated his staff weapon. He rested the end on the ground and leaned his weight on it casually. "Colonel O'Neill, I presume," he began in heavily accented but still passable English.

There was instant recognition at the name. One of the gray-haired warrior's eyebrows rose almost to the brim of his very peculiar hat, and a range of emotions flashed across his face, going from wary to confused to calculating all in a split second at the very Midgardian turn of phrase.

"Guilty as charged. And you must be Akela," O'Neill replied. His head tilted, and then he continued dryly, "Or his younger brother." Ragnar did not know who or what an 'Akela' was but figured such an expression must be a sign of O'Neill's legendary wit, of which Daniel had spoken at length. Ragnar filed away a mental note to ask Daniel later to explain the expression. A compliment or insult?

"You are trespassing. We do not allow trespassers without permission."

O'Neill's eyes narrowed, and the woman's eyebrows shot up. "You forgot to post signs, big-honkin-signs with red letters," he countered.

What is "honkin"?

What a strange word!

"Perhaps," he was starting to run out of Midgard-terminology he remembered from Daniel's stories, "you did not see them, or perhaps the labyrinth is the sign."

Slowly, O'Neill lowered his weapon, his brow furrowed. Whether the old soldier had recognized the hints Ragnar had been trying to drop to show that he knew more of Midgard than one would expect or he had seen the futility of any resistance, Ragnar did not know. The Jaffa and the woman still kept their weapons raised.

"You will surrender your weapons and come with us. My commander will decide what is to be done." Technically, Anarr had jurisdiction over all planet-side bases, even over Sujanha's shipyards and supply worlds, but Sujanha was the most senior commander on planet. Despite the issues between the two, Anarr would not be bothered by his sister dealing with the matter, instead of punting it across the chain of command and making it his problem.

"Colonel?" The woman—Carter—questioned.

"We don't have a choice, Carter," O'Neill replied bluntly. "We're outnumbered at least 4 to 1."

"You will not be harmed. You have my word," replied Ragnar. The Furling soldiers collected the weapons of the reluctantly cooperating SG1 and quickly searched them.

"And I should believe you, why?" O'Neill asked sharply, turning his gaze away from his subordinate back towards Ragnar, cutting a glance around the scene and at the still raised weapons of the Furling troops.

"You do not know me, but I know you, O'Neill. Some we know in common, and they have told me much of you."

Daniel will be quite surprised. And pleased, I hope. I know that he has missed his friends greatly since he joined us.

"And yet this warm reception…" O'Neill countered with a sweep of his arm and a sarcastic lilt to his words.

"You are still trespassers, and this is a restricted world. My commander will speak with you," retorted Ragnar.

With a few quick words, Jotar had the other soldiers in motion, and they began the trek back toward where Sujanha, Daniel, and her guards were waiting.

Daniel felt a sense of unease sweep over him as he watched Ragnar disappear over the hill-top. He knew how skilled the Furling troops were, but he still felt concerned for his friend, especially with the unknowns about the intruders. The time passed with interminable slowness. Sujanha, usually unflappable, seemed outwardly unruffled, though who knew what was going through her mind or what she was saying to Malek. Soon after Ragnar left, Sujanha sat down, her back against a tree. Her eyes were staring off into space, and she seemed to be either thinking or talking to Malek.

Daniel paced a few steps back and forth along the tree line.

And he paced, and he paced some more until one of the Lapith guards asked him to sit because he was making too much noise.

Finally, Sujanha stirred, one paw making an aborted gesture toward her ear. For most communications, the Commander used the holographic comm function on her gauntlets, but she also had an earpiece that she used for private messages. She spoke a few words in such a low tone that Daniel sitting only a few feet away could not make out her words.

"Commander?" Vylt questioned, as Sujanha rose.

"The intruders have been apprehended," Sujanha replied. "There is no danger. Ragnar and Jotar are leading them to us."

They all walked on ahead for several minutes until they reached the next rise. On that hilltop, Sujanha stopped walking and indicated that they would wait for Ragnar and the guard to join them there. She took a seat on the soft grass in the shade of a tree, a position that gave her a view of the tree-line in the vague direction of the Stargate. Daniel knelt beside her, his back to the slope, to ask her a question that had been on his mind for days but that he kept forgetting to ask or rather remembered only at all the wrong times. Like the middle of the night. I have so many brilliant ideas in the middle of the night. Vylt and the Lapith guards were spread around, watching forward and the way they had come.

Sujanha set to answering his question thoroughly, but to Daniel, she seemed somewhat distracted. Another few minutes passed, and Sujanha was just wrapping up her explanation, when one of the Lapith guards suddenly spoke, "Supreme Commander, they have arrived."

Rising (and wincing at the pain in his knee from crouching so long), Daniel turned slightly and looked down the hillside. Just coming from the tree-line at the base of the hill were Ragnar, whose towering form Daniel could immediately pick out, a dozen or so other soldiers, and in the midst of them all …

His brain ground to a halt.

It can't be!

If it would not have been terribly undignified, Daniel would have been tempted to clean his glasses or rub his eyes to make sure he was seeing straight. It had been nearly two years since he had left earth to escape the clutches of Maybourne and his goons with their presidential orders and some such nonsense about treason for making sure the Tollan didn't become lab-rats. But now … SG1 was there … just down the hillside. His heart leapt, and for a moment he felt choked up. He had missed them so much. Jacob and Bra'tac gave him updates periodically when they heard new news, but it wasn't the same.

What are they doing here? How are they even here?

This address wasn't on the Abydos cartouche!

Daniel glanced down at Sujanha, who had not risen, and noticed that she was looking back at him, studying his reaction. "Did you know?" He asked.

"Yes," Sujanha replied. "Ragnar recognized them from your description. I wished for confirmation. Forgive me."

"I understand," Daniel replied, glancing back down the hillside. Jack, Sam, and Teal'c—and whoever that is who replaced me—did not seem to have seen him yet. He thought he might be half-hidden behind the Lapith guards, and his back was still mostly to the slope. "I … have … no idea how they're here. This address wasn't on the Abydos Cartouche, and that was the only database they … we had while I was there."

"That does concern me, but you have been gone for some time. Matters can change rapidly."

"That they can," Daniel replied softly. That's the tagline of my life some days.

He took a half-step forward, bringing him just in front and to the right of Sujanha and out from behind the back of the Lapith guards, stationed in a semi-circle a few paces down the hill. The flash of movement drew Sam's eye, as they approached, and even with his eyes, Daniel could still see her jaw drop and then her nudge Jack, speaking a few quick words and gesturing dramatically toward him.

Before Daniel could move forward anymore, Sujanha gently caught his wrist. Her 'finger'-pads were rough. She shook her head. "Not yet," she said softly in Furling. "This is more than just a reunion."

Especially if Sam gets too close to Malek!

That would make this very unpleasant.

Daniel nodded and dropped back a pace to her side. Sujanha slowly climbed to her feet. The exercise was good for her, but she was tired, and it was easier for her to stay on her feet than to get up and down. Malek's presence was helping, but her healing powers weren't a cure-all for the long-lasting effects of the Enemy's poison.

"For now, I'm simply Supreme Commander in any introductions among your people," Sujanha spoke again. "Until I know them better, I do not want my true status known."

Knowing what he did of the history of the Furlings, of American politics, and of the (very short) Furling line-of-succession, Daniel could understand her caution. Betrayal by those whom they thought close allies had cost the Furlings dearly before. He was not even sure if Jacob-Selmak knew her true standing either, and she trusted him the most among all the Tok'ra save her own symbiote. "Yes, Commander."

Sam, Jack, and Teal'c had all seen Daniel by now, and they were talking animatedly amongst themselves, their faces full of surprise and elation. Even Teal'c, usually stoic to the extreme, looked pleased.

Sujanha made a small signal. The guards stopped SG1, including the new fourth member, whose face Daniel could not place for the life of him—he wasn't a member of the archaeology department while I was there, I'm sure of it—a little ways down the hill from the Lapith guards. The Lapith blocked the approach toward Sujanha, and all together it kept Sam, especially, well back and out of symbiote detection range.

The last thing we need is Malek getting discovered.

I'm not sure I want to know how Jack'd react. From the pieces he had put together from some of Jacob's stories and from other things he'd overheard from other visiting Tok'ra operatives, it sounded like relations between the SGC and the Tok'ra were tense. I can't imagine, knowing Jack, that he likes them much … especially after what happened with Sam and Jolinar.

"The newcomers, as you commanded," Ragnar spoke in Furling, with a low bow to Sujanha. He then moved to take up a position on Daniel's right, leaving Vylt off Sujanha's left.

It was interesting for Daniel to watch the play of emotions across his friends' faces and to see their expressions as they got their first good look at Sujanha and at the Iprysh and Lapith guards, the latter of whom were even more … unusual … in a way than the Furlings. Unsurprisingly, Sam seemed torn between looking at Daniel and eyeing Vylt's armor. She had the science-y look in her eyes that usually preceded lots of questions or long days in the lab. Teal'c seemed mostly occupied with the guards. Jack, however, after his first look at Daniel, was focused on Sujanha, an undefinable look in his eyes. The fourth was just staring wide-eyed all around.

I'm guessing he's new to all this?

"You are their leader?" Sujanha spoke directly to Jack. It was not like she did not know the answer, but it worked as a good opening.

"Yesssss," he drawled, before turning his attention to Daniel himself. "Danny boy, what's going on?"

Not now, Jack. Daniel shook his head and made a motion toward Sujanha. Answer her questions. Then we can talk. Base security had to come before catching up.

"How did you come here?" Sujanha asked, moving forward slightly but still keeping her distance from Sam. Her voice would have sounded almost emotionless to his friends, but Daniel could hear the slight edge of stress.

"Through the Stargate," Jack answered dryly, not even trying to be helpful. There was a set to his jaw that Daniel didn't like.

Oh, for …

Sujanha gave a low, rumbling growl. "Do not test me, Colonel. How did you learn of this address, and why have you come? This is a forbidden world."

Jack looked back across at Daniel, and finally Daniel thought it wise to speak before Jack was more of a smart-aleck. "Just answer her, Jack, please, and this'll be over sooner for all of us. You won't be harmed. Trust me."

"I know the address for this world is not on the Abydos Cartouche," Sujanha added.

Where else could they have gotten this address?

Jack was quiet for a long minute, staring at Daniel, but finally answered, "Brain dump from a doo-hicky. And we're explorers. You should know that since Daniel's with you."

Brain dump from a doo-hicky? What did I miss? That certainly didn't make it into the updates I've gotten. And what on earth does that even mean?

Sujanha pivoted to look at Daniel, her black eyes puzzled. "What is a 'brain dump'?" She asked in Furling. "And what is a 'doo-hicky'?" Even hearing that word coming out of her mouth was so incongruous that he almost laughed. Somehow, she managed to actually say "doo-hicky" on the first try.

"In this context, I have no idea," Daniel replied in Furling. "In general, a 'brain dump' is basically a large transfer of information from one place to another, like when someone writes down a lot of stuff on a tablet. A 'doo-hicky' is a slang term in English for an object whose name you can't remember."

"You're the Forgotten, aren't you?" Jack continued, when Daniel had stopped talking, "Lya spoke of you."

Sujanha turned back to face him and gave a short laugh. "Some might call us that, yes, but in our own tongue, we call ourselves the Furlings."

Sam gasped, relaxing a fraction. "You're the last of the Four Great Races … like from Heliopolis. We thought you had disappeared."

"We are," Sujanha confirmed with a nod. Tensions in the group had lowered a notch at this revelation, but Daniel noticed the Commander hadn't released the guards. Sam still hadn't felt Malek's presence yet, and when/if she did, that could prove a problematic surprise. "In a way, you are correct. We had matters to deal with in our galaxy for ages and have only recently had time to start dealing with the blight that is the reign of the Goa'uld in these lands. Our name has largely been lost to the time."

"Thanks for that, by the way," said Jack. "You've made our work a lot easier."

"We did this for all those who dwell in this galaxy and do not wish to live under the tyranny of a corrupt race," Sujanha replied. She made a motion with one paw, and the guards stepped back from Sam, Jack, and Teal'c. Sujanha started to turn away, signaling that she considered that her part in the conversation was done.

"We're free to go?" Jack asked.

Sujanha stopped and turned back. "Yes. You may speak with Daniel for as long as you choose. When you have finished, you all will be escorted to the Stargate." Apparently, she did not expect to get anything more helpful about how SG1 knew the address than "brain dump from a doo-hicky." Is that supposed to be reassuring or not about base security?

"Can we have our weapons back?" Sam asked.

Daniel met Sujanha's eyes. The most prominent emotion in her eyes was amusement at the question. SG1 were still trespassers, even though the Commander was allowing their presence. Only members of the Furling military or of the militaries of their allies could bear arms on Furling controlled worlds. The transitive property doesn't apply to their being allies of our allies. They'll get a little more room because of my friendship with them, but earth isn't an ally of the Furlings.

Sujanha shook her head. "No. Your weapons will be returned to you when you return to the Stargate. I am allowing your presence, but you are still trespassers."

Daniel could see Jack visibly rile and stepped forward to intervene. No Jack-isms and confrontations, please. Not now, not here.

"The Commander always keeps her word, Jack. You're all safe here, and your weapons will be returned to you," Daniel said, trying to defuse the situation before it began. "Let's not waste time arguing. How long can you stay?"

Please let me have a little time to catch up.

Thankfully, Jack allowed himself to be drawn aside as he checked his watch. "We're due back in about 5 hours now. This was only supposed to be a short recon mission."

"The Commander might need to head back before me," Daniel replied, "but I can stay for a bit." I think? She can spare for a little while, at least, I'd guess. He glanced at Sujanha with a question in his eyes, and she nodded agreement. Good.

Sam moved over to join them, and the two hugged. Daniel had missed them all, missed their adventures and (even sometimes) their misadventures, missed the science-y discussions and the snark. After a minute, Teal'c, who had been keeping a close eye on the Furling soldiers, who had not returned to base but had gathered around Sujanha who had retaken her seat on the hillside, joined them, as well. Are they going to escort SG1 back? A slight, awkward silence descended for a minute. Despite their comradery, no one was sure what to say first after the long separation.

It was Teal'c who broke the silence. "It is good to see you well, Daniel Jackson."

"It's good to see you, too, Teal'c," Daniel replied. "I've missed all of you."

"The teams have been keeping an eye open for you. We had a capture-on-sight order from on high for you until recently," said Jack, his … opinion … of said order clear in the contempt in his face and tone, "though we all had no intention of following it if we actually ran across you." The SGC was loyal to its own.

"Lya passed on your warning. I actually haven't spent that much time on the ground since I left earth. When I'm actually in Avalon … uh, the Milky-Way, I'm usually with the Furling Fleet." Daniel had to be careful how much he said, what he said about the Furlings, but referencing the Fleet was safe. Its presence was plenty clear from the Goa'uld getting their tails kicked.

"Actually in the Milky-Way?" Sam asked, her head snapping around. Her gaze had drifted back towards Vylt. (Jack gave a groan, anticipating the forthcoming science-y discussion.)

"The Furlings don't live in this galaxy," Daniel replied with a nod, picking his words carefully. "They have some bases here to help with the war against the Goa'uld, but their homeworld is in another galaxy … like Thor's people." Don't ask me where. The name won't mean anything to you, and I don't know what all those galaxies are called on earth.

"How do you get back and forth?" Sam asked, brow furrowing. A look passed between her and Jack. I must be missing a story.

"The Stargate, if we're on foot," Daniel replied simply. The Furling's level of technology had become so normal to him these past two-ish years that it didn't cross his mind how extraordinary regular inter-galactic travel through the Stargate system would seem to his friends. It was amazing what one could get used to.

Sam's jaw dropped. "It took a special power source for just that one-way trip to the Asgard homeworld last year," she said almost as an aside. "It nearly fried the power-grid, it was drawing so much power."

Okay. I definitely missed something.

"What's this?" Daniel asked, puzzled, looking back and forth between Jack and Sam. The Furlings had regular contact with the Asgard, and Daniel saw Thor semi-frequently, but there had been no word about this adventure. Was it low priority, or did he forget something, or did Sujanha forget to tell me?

"I got head-sucked by an Ancient doo-hicky a couple months after you left," Jack explained.

"It downloaded the knowledge of the Ancients into his brain. That's how we knew this gate address," Sam explained. "He uploaded a lot of Ancient gate addresses to our database."

Head-sucked by an Ancient artifact … what?