Shiny & Chrome [Stargate AU]

[JoshuaSweetvale]

Now -- what I'm doing here is… only technically not against the rules.

Click to shrink...

I shouted profanity out loud as soon as I realized it.
Chair, you bastard.

Spoiler: Narrative

It's not Micrash. It's Anubis.

1: Furlings. Described here as blue-furred ape-men with a tail - Anubis's symbol animal is the Dog. One of only two furred Egyptian symbol-animals. And the baboon isn't tied to any gods. Or blue. Micrash was the host of Anubis.
2: Micrash died on Kheb. Where Anubis ascended. Or more accurately, when Anubis ascended.
3: This fits Anubis's M.O. - Using Ascended knowledge to powergame all the Alteran tech, while staying just a hair off getting smited by the Ascended. And having the time of his life doing it.
4: And this latest chapter only confirmed it: Oberoth has to be another decanted Ancient. He's the only other named character. Of course Lord Business wants to prevent that lunatic from subverting his lego city.

Now I feel like Daniel in the waffle house... Magnificent bastard.

 

[Jormungandr]

...Now it all makes sense, and I feel sad that as a rabid Stargate fan, I didn't piece this together myself. I feel ashamed.

I'm also mentally posting the "thisgunnabegood" meme in my brain in anticipation.

 

[Ame]

It does hang together oddly well. I hope its not, but I shall wait and see.

 

[Chairtastic]

Ch 4: Harsh

---

Pegasus galaxy, planet Asuras. 1998 CE.

The beige Asuran.

Niam spent days in a paranoid frenzy, as he outlined every possible obstructionist that could have informed Oberoth. Niam didn't want to fall into the obvious trap of 'its Oberoth of course' without ruling out other possibilities. The Lanteans could be terribly sneaky when they removed their craniums from their hindquarters. His network isolation meant that his workers had to physically talk to him to convey information -- something which he could tell made them uncomfortable. Rather than risk someone going to Oberoth with concerns, Niam informed his senior staff that they would be given operational command while he resolved his 'network issues'.

He had to leave his production spire -- which put him further away from the ascended being, but it would be better in the long run. He could follow up on leads, he could move around, he could attend Council meetings.

In the city-ship Asuras, the Council of the nine branches of Asuran government and the central authority of the High Councilor. One of the few changes the Asurans had made from Lantean rule, the unique needs of their construction necessitated the need for additional offices. Niam's was one of them, his office of production and the office of coding as the two non-traditional roles.

When he arrived for the meeting, instantly the other Councilors in their color-coded uniforms noticed that he was not on the network. Oberoth glowered at him without moving an inch as Niam took his seat.

"You pout at minor reprisals," the High Councilor muttered. "Perhaps your maturity for this position is no longer sufficient."

"You threatened to marbelize my staff," Niam responded with a clipped tone. "Perhaps the same can be said of you."

Oberoth turned his head fully to glare at Niam while the Councilors of land management, water control, and air traffic control all raised their eyebrows dangerously high. "You would do well to watch your tone," the High Councilor growled. "Lest the threat become a promise."

"High Councilor," the Councilor of religion, in her sand-colored dress, rebuked him. "Your position requires more maturity than his. Which is presently not on display."

Oberoth turned his glare onto her -- but she was of the same generation. Old enough to remember the Lanteans when they lived. She was not cowed.

She turned her gaze onto Niam. "You are network isolated -- why?"

"I am conducting an inquiry regarding the recent experiment of mine which prompted Oberoth's threats," Niam answered with visibly more respect than he offered to Oberoth. "It is best that the involved parties cannot spy on the collected evidence against them."

A wave of tension passed along the Council's three triple-seated sectional tables, and Oberoth looked just as annoyed as ever.

The cream-uniformed Councilor of Security cleared his throat. "That is in compliance with inquiry protocol. What was the reason given for the experiment's cancellation?"

Niam folded his hands on his table, while his neighbors appeared uncomfortable. "None was provided. The High Councilor surmised that the threat of marbelization would negate the need to disclose such."

Marbelization. Network isolation and being trapped in a super-dense sphere of nanites which could not be reversed from the inside. Most Asurans were made of empty space -- as organics were. Marbelization negated that -- and compressed the nanites until only electron degeneracy pressure kept them apart.

"Clearly I was incorrect," Oberoth muttered. His visage darkened. "Perhaps twelve or so marbelizations will teach you to mind your place." His eyes went distant as he communicated via the network. Suddenly his eyes snapped to the cream-uniformed security Councilor. "You have instructed the security personnel to ignore my orders."

"Indeed," the Councilor said. "We are a people of laws -- and summary execution is not part of them."

Niam was thrown off for a second -- he had intended to ferret out the obstacles to his experiment, but Oberoth was lighting his political career on fire with such tyrannic actions. Threatening multiple Councilors? It took Niam a second to realize what was at play. Oberoth wasn't a puppet-master, he was a puppet. The one pulling the strings wanted to ensure their control, and sacrificed a pawn to replace it with another.

Sneaky Lanteans, he thought.

Was Oberoth simply a willing pawn, or had he been co-opted by the Lantean?

"Oberoth's recent behavior is his usual tendencies taken to an extreme," Niam announced. He shrugged. "All to stop an experiment for unknown reasons."

"An explanation isn't necessary," Oberoth defended himself, a note of genuine anger in his voice.

"I disagree. And in the spirit of that disagreement, I call for a vote of no-confidence."

All noise fled from the chamber -- not Asuras' usual stoic silence, but tensed. As if the Council held breaths they didn't take.

Oberoth stood and approached Niam with his hand extended -- as if he intended to marbelize him then and there. But words spoken in the silence caused him to freeze.

"Seconded," the sandy Councilor of religion spoke up, bitter in tone. "Oberoth -- this is unacceptable."

"Thirded," said the cream security Councilor. "You moved on a Councilor of this body with intent to marbelize him. That alone would be cause for your ousting."

Niam frowned. This was too easy, he thought. Something was amiss. He looked around curiously and ran an internal diagnostic. What made him worried was that the diagnostic returned a system clear reply almost immediately. He knew his nanites -- minor imperfections in them would make it take at least five seconds to conduct a diagnostic. There was only one possible outcome -- someone had interfaced with him, due to his network isolation.

Niam released his form limit restriction, and shifted his hand and forearm into a curved slashing weapon which he brought across the air in front of him. A pained scream echoed, and the world around him became static and faded into blackness.

Niam snapped back to reality with an alarm which told him foreign nanites had entered his mass -- he looked around and saw a puddle of nanites which had been someone's arm on the ground, and heard distant footsteps. They were running away. Niam found that he had been at his desk when he had been forcibly interfaced with -- the darkness outside meant that his staff had gone home for their rest period.

Memories drifted back as his nanites isolated the foreign intruders in his head and disabled their network access. He recalled working late into the night on his suspicions, there was an announcement ping, and after that his memories were corrupted until the simulation started. Individual nanites did not retain ownership data once network isolated, so to anyone who was not a producer there would be no way to track the assailant with just their arm's nanites.

But Niam began to do an analysis of the nanites and took note of the structural imperfections within them. It would be simple as sorting Asuran production records to find matches of the relevant imperfections, and he'd soon have a list of people who could have tried to invade his mind.

Once the computer core was searching records, he stopped to process that someone had likely interfaced with him to force him to commit suicide -- deactivate his internal network and cause his nanites to fail. Without an outer network connection, he would be gone. Just like that.

Whatever Lantean walked in the shape of an Asuran -- they thought their anonymity was enough to kill for. Niam needed to decide if revealing it was worth dying for.

--

Milky Way galaxy, planet Earth. 1998 CE.

The vindicated Archaeologist.

Daniel was the one who drew the short straw and had to meet Dr. Weir when she arrived at the SGC. Her work in diplomacy was spectacular and in any other context, he'd be glad to meet her. But on the heels of a planetary catastrophe which he felt partially responsible for, and with her being one of the people who would need to clean up that mess, it felt like being chastised by a teacher in school.

General Hammond had set her up in an unused office to plan the negotiation strategy, and Daniel walked down to pre-empt being summoned.

He came to the door and knocked. In short order it was opened, and he got to look at the facility's guest. She was a little taller than him, or was it the heels? He couldn't be sure. Despite the two of them being civilians, she was the one who looked like it -- a pantsuit to Daniel's fatigues.

Dr. Weir's face was bright with an inviting smile, and she gestured him to come inside. "Dr. Jackson," she greeted, warmly. "Glad to finally meet you." She closed the door after Daniel had crossed inside. All around were boxes of files, and open folders of pictures. "I've… had a lot of reading, and a lot of it's been your work."

"Glad to meet you too, Dr. Weir." Daniel offered his hand, and the two shook. "I hope it's been interesting!" He rubbed the back of his neck as Dr. Weir walked back to her side of the provided desk, and he sat in a dusty guest chair.

"Interesting is an appropriate word, yeah," she smiled disarmingly and nodded. "The alien landing pad thing being completely factual… I'll admit, I was on the wrong side of that issue." She spread her hands, a gesture of admittance. Her face hardened rapidly as she opened a folder. "However this recent incident… with Hanka?" She looked down at the file, then at him. "Am I pronouncing that right?"

Daniel nodded, his face tight-lipped. "Yeah… it's a horrifying atrocity, on top of possibly literal hundreds which the Goa'uld have committed. But it's one of the first that's our fault."

Dr. Weir folded her hands in front of her, with her eyebrow raised. "How so?"

Daniel shrugged, a bit confused by her confusion. "Well, the Goa'uld did it because SG-7 was there. They were spooked by our presence and doused the whole planet."

"I read that part, but I don't see how it's our fault." Dr. Weir's hardened expression remained as she held Daniel's gaze. "We didn't poison this planet. We've been doing a crackerjack job with ours, but it takes decades with our current level of technology."

"But it wouldn't have happened without our involvement," Daniel replied, and gestured to the file. "If we'd have not visited the planet, and set up relations, then the Goa'uld might have simply occupied the planet. They didn't have the technology to fight back."

"Yes, we're responsible." Dr. Weir placed emphasis on the word 'responsible'. "But we're not at fault. Those are separate things." She held up a hand to stall Daniel's reply. "Imagine you were on the top of a mountain and kicked a rock which hit me. Then I threw a bomb, or boulder, or whatever -- and it caused an avalanche which destroyed an entire town." She raised her eyebrows as she tilted her head forward at him. "It wouldn't have happened without you doing what you did -- but you didn't actually cause the avalanche in that hypothetical."

Daniel sighed, defeated on the issue. "I see your point, but… if we're not at fault, it becomes too easy to just… ignore the Hankans and offer thoughts and prayers only." He rubbed the back of his head. "They made us at home on their world and it's totally wrecked now."

Dr. Weir nodded. "I know how you feel. And you're not wrong to feel that way, it's how politicians would decide to handle it." She took a deep breath. "And if we responded that way, how do you think this… Loki would respond?"

Daniel's lips tightened again. "It's hard to say -- they have a presence on Earth so they could feasibly retaliate against us through their… Earthly means. But they're also more established in the galaxy at large, they could badmouth us to others…. And that's assuming they don't do what they did to those Goa'uld ships, but to every airplane on the planet." He pushed up his glasses as he imagined it. "Loki's a wildcard if the mythology is accurate."

The diplomat nodded again, with a smile. "And given she… they," she corrected herself, "are Icelandic, and Icelandic sources are the best sources for how the Norse pantheon actually was… it's probably strongly advised that we put our best foot forward." Her smile widened. "But I'm glad that the SGC has someone like you, who has a functioning heart in their chest."

Daniel smiled back, grateful that the talk had gone so well as it had.

"In the spirit of that -- I'd like you to be in the room when we do the negotiations." Dr. Weir flipped the page on her Hankan file, her face hard again. "From what I've heard -- Loki's only agreed to help us because of the shared trauma they have with you, and a desire to see it ended."

His smile faded quicker than a cut could bleed. "You want me to use my wife and brother-in-law's abduction as leverage against Loki?"

"I know how it sounds," Dr. Weir said with a negotiating tone, "which is why it's an offer. An offer you can refuse." She looked up at him, her face still hardened from what she'd seen in the folder. "And if you refuse, I'll understand."

He expected her to launch into a guilt trip, or to threaten him, or to try and cajole him into it. But she didn't need to -- his brain did it for her. "If Loki forgets that moment of weakness which made them agree to the alliance," he said, slowly as he pieced it together, "they could just leave the negotiating table. And we'd be SOL."

Dr. Weir nodded.

Daniel nodded, and sighed through his teeth. "The things I do for this planet."

--

Milky Way galaxy, Asgard science vessel Svathilfari. 1998 CE.

The banished Liesmith.

Loki sat in their chair as they watched memories of happier times play on a viewing screen mounted into the wall. While archivists from the Asgard home galaxy remotely accessed his files on the Furlings, he watched them play. Every file that they accessed, as they accessed it. His notes on their cultures, their physiology their psychology. Recorded news broadcasts, literature, other media… and home movies.

They watched their Asgard son, Fenrir, play with a young Micrash. Despite Fenrir being fully grown, Asgard diminutive stature put him at eye level with the impish Mircrash. Reckless Fenrir challenged Micrash to a race through the trees -- while Loki recorded it all.

The Loki of the past was silent as they watched the grey Asgard and the small blue simian in purple clothes race through the thicket on their old home on Furl. It all seemed to be in good fun until the branch Micrash had landed on broke underneath him. The recording device shifted as Loki had rushed down from the balcony down to the ground floor. The present Loki closed their eyes against the child-like wails of a long-gone child.

They wished they could close their ears against what they had said.

"See? This is would not have happened if you had practiced your reflex exercises," the Loki of the past spoke, harsh and venomous. "Stop bawling, it's a surface injury."

The present Loki forced their eyes open to see their son with a scraped joint -- amber and pink blood pooled in the injury -- while Fenrir tended to his little brother.

"Father," Fenrir had rebuked them. "He's just a child."

The present Loki's shoulders shook. With the cold, unforgiving weight of hindsight they could see how the seeds of their present misery had been sown. How they wished they could take the words back.

"He acts grown enough to shirk his tasks and play with you," Loki hissed. "Well look what it's got you, Micrash. Now you'll have to do your stretches with that scrape. Let the pain be a reminder."

Micrash hadn't said anything, he'd refused to look at Loki or Fenrir, just sniffled and kept his head turned. His back moved, like he'd forced himself not to vomit.

A memory came back, like a flash, as Loki had thought about why. "The sight of blood always made you sick," they muttered as their past self continued to be harsh and unforgiving.

Footfalls on stone made Loki look up. Their guest had approached their viewing room and leaned in to see what was up. The bespectacled diplomat watched the home recording and listened to Loki's past biting words, and frowned.

With a thought Loki's viewing of the remote access ended, frozen on a stilled frame.

"I came because we need to discuss… what we're going to discuss with the Americans," Thorbjorn slowly spoke into the awkward silence. Hesitantly, the man adjusted his peacock bow-tie and approached Loki. "I…," he struggled for words for a moment before he sighed. "It's your grief, you mourn how you wish. But…." He flipped his hand at the screen. "Dwelling on old regrets is not healthy."

Loki smiled as much as the Asgard physiology would allow. "If you live long enough, Thorbjorn, all you have left is old regrets." The Asgard stood from their comfortable chair and walked with the human diplomat. "But… let's get to business. The Americans, if I remember right, haven't a functioning heart in their chests. They'll likely have a Senator or perhaps a Secretary conduct the negotiations…."

As they left the room, the stilled frame of Micrash just as he'd worked up the courage to look at Loki, while Fenrir scowled at his father, faded into blackness.

---

Fenrir gets a sorta appearance! Guy's a hothead for an Asgard, but he was always willing to get physical. Even if it meant biting off someone's arm. Tyr never let him live that down.

 

[Chairtastic]

Ch 5: This for That

Astral plane #43, diner sublayer.

The descended Fool

"Aw man," a blue-furred simian figure muttered to himself as he lounged in a booth seat of a diner adrift in the infinite. "I already like Humans more than you Lantean jerks -- none of you ever invented anything like this pina colada thing." He took a long drag of the drink through a colorful straw and gushed at its taste. "Glad that they didn't inherit your terrible culinary skill." The simian figure stood out from the rest of the diner's occupants. Even if they weren't so in the lower planes, they took the hairless anthropoidal shape of Lanteans dressed in the style of the Earth Human's western 1950s fashion. The monkey-man was dressed in long pants, a tunic, sandals, and a leather coat -- wildly outside their norms.

Across from the monkey man was a waitress with tired lines in her face and her curly hair all done up in a bun. She didn't look even remotely happy to be where she was -- or hearing the monkey man badmouth her species to her face.

She tapped her fingers on the table, irritated. "You're the deciding vote, Micrash."

"Really?" Micrash lifted his head just enough to peek over the table. "What about Jimmy-Jim-Jimmy-Jim-Jim-Jim? Or Ran?"

The woman, even more irritated by the question, sighed. "Ran has moved back to the Ida Galaxy. We don't have jurisdiction. And… he's not granted a vote."

"Hmm." The monkey pursed his lips and sipped his pina colada some more. "Sounds like you're in a tough spot, then."

She sighed, and rubbed her temples with both hands. "Micrash…"

"What do you want me to say, Oma?" The monkey rolled his eyes and sat up. "'Oh, boo-a-hoo, the Asurans might ascend and be mighty upset with us'." He spoke with an exaggerated infantile tone to mock the assembled Lanteans. More than one turned in their seats to glare. Micrash gestured at Oma with his poco grande glass. "That's what this stupid vote's for, right? Wether to let the Asurans seek ascension -- which I was told none of you were allowed to stop." He smiled just enough to show fang. "Yet here we are."

Oma, displeased and annoyed, glared at him. "That's not what the vote's about. We can't let him manipulate them into being weapons."

"Except there's one of you down there already -- just stop this whole thing if it's an issue."

A large man in a dark suit who had been putting shattered pieces of a radio back together at the bar turned and glared at them. "Could ya quiet down, I've almost got this thing up and running again."

Micrash grabbed a handful of salt packets from the table and physically threw them at him. "Kiss the fuzziest part of my ass, Jim!"

Oma sighed through her nose, but she couldn't help but smile as Jim was pelted with salt packets. "You know we can't do that."

"Yes, you could," Micrash fired back. He glared right back at her and noisily sipped his pina colada through a straw. "But you won't. Because every Lantean who ever ascended, became a coward in the process."

Her face softened, her jaw lowered just a bit. When she spoke, she sounded genuinely hurt. "That's how you see us?"

"I'm sorry -- did I misunderstand the collective 'brown pants' moment that you all had when I ran the numbers on what architecture an ascended Asuran would assume?" Micrash's expression was hardened, unmoved. "Or did I misread the paper -- and you chuckle-fucks don't have a damned Ash Eater locked in the basement of Atlantis because you're too fucking terrified to let him out? And if I speak a sentence that rhymes with 'wallowed car duh more-eye', you all won't tackle me halfway through?"

Oma covered her eyes with one hand and sighed. "You're being unreasonable."

"Now -- you'd think with all the talking you and Jim did way back, you'd know this about me by now." Micrash finished his pina colada and set the glass on the table. The air in the diner had become tense, even Jim had paused in his radio repairs. "Sometimes being angry is the reasonable response, though." He squinted and clasped his hands on the table. "Each side in this vote has strings attached that poison their position. So I propose a third option, which you can take to the other side."

Oma uncovered her eyes, which had narrowed. "A third option?"

"It's something us Furlings learned to do a lot. Mostly from dealing with you and yours." Micrash couldn't resist another jab at them. "We lift a concept from over yonder, plane forty, cake sublayer." Micrash pulled a yellow-bound book with the symbol of a bident that held an oval between its barbs, and the word 'Origin' beneath it.

"You can't be serious," Oma replied, breathless.

"Of course I can. I sometimes choose not to be." Micrash set the book down and slid it across the table. "Sometimes… the enemy has a good idea. This is one of those times."

Oma hesitantly picked up the book and opened it. Her eyebrows rose. "You highlighted the parts you want us to consider."

"Mhm." Micrash rested his head in his hands, and let his tail rise up behind him like a snake. "I'm not going to vote for your side -- because I don't believe in locking the Asgard and Asurans out of ascension. And I'm not going to vote for their side because -- " he gestured with his tail at Jim -- "I don't want this mess to keep getting worse."

Jim looked up from the radio he'd almost fixed. "Hey!"

"Die mad about it, Jimbo!" Micrash made finger guns at him, then went back to his prior pose. "So -- you'd be deadlocked again. And it would be the worst of all worlds." Micrash raised his eyebrows. "But… the stuff I've highlighted in that book? I'd vote for it. As it's written. And I'm willing to bet that it could pass… if it gets to the floor."

Oma frowned. "This is… a betrayal of our most deeply held beliefs."

Micrash's brow creased. "Yet locking two whole species out of ascension -- one of whom were allegedly your friends -- isn't? Your beliefs seem quite adaptable, at times. I'm sure they'll adapt to this." He smiled as she glared at him.

Oma looked back at the book and finished her reading of the highlighted sections. She sighed, and set it down, then rubbed her temples again. "Getting it as written will be the tough part. But…" She nodded and looked up at Micrash. "I'll tell my side to vote for it."

Micrash grinned wide, enough to fully bare his fangs, and extended a hand to shake. When Oma hesitated, he tilted his head into his supporting hand. "Whassamattah, Oma? Won't shake a poor sinner's hand?"

Oma's glare at him sharpened a bit. She glanced at his hand, then extended her own. The deal was struck.

--

Milky Way galaxy, planet Earth. 1998 CE.

The irreverant Colonel.

Jack didn't know what to make of the new civilian in the SGC. Dr. Weir didn't universally condemn or support their actions -- it was all on a case by case basis. Killing Ra, she agreed with. Sending the nuke that Ra had wanted to return-to-sender to Earth she condemned so hard Jack had heard her shouting at General Hammond through the door to his office.

Still, at her request, he got into his dress blues along with his team and waited in the conference room for the announcement that Loki and the diplomat had arrived. While they waited, Dr. Weir gave them a primer on what the negotiations would entail.

She paced in front of them, while General Hammond sat at the end of the table. "Alright, Icelandic meetings start with a handshake, firm -- not crushing. They like things informal -- preferably over food or at home." She stopped in front of Jack and eyed him. "I'm told that being informal is your specialty?"

"One of many." He caught General Hammond tilt his head backwards at him, with raised eyebrows, and hastily added 'ma'am'. "So… you want me to do some talking?"

"I want you to keep the discussion from getting super tense. Loki might just bail on the negotiations if we become too combative with each other." Dr. Weir looked down at the floor and sighed. "And if you could make either Loki or Heimisson laugh… that would be much appreciated."

SG-1 looked at her with raised eyebrows. "You want him to be cracking jokes?" Daniel asked, dumbfounded. "In alliance negotiations?"

"It's how Icelanders handle things, informal, don't take things too seriously all the time." Dr. Weir shrugged. "Now -- Dr. Jackson and I will handle cultural sensitivity, General Hammond is here to represent the President's direct interests," she turned and nodded at him, then came back to SG-1. "Teal'c, you're our Goa'uld expert -- I'm not going to sign off on anything that doesn't meet your expectations of what we need to at least feasibly win a fight."

The Jaffa nodded, somber and silent.

"Captain Carter -- you're our technology expert." Dr. Weir focused on Carter and smiled. "Specifically -- I need you to make sure that we get what's necessary for us to not just use whatever technology we obtain today, but to understand it. A ship's no good to us if we can't fix it when it's damaged."

"I understand," Carter nodded, resolute.

"Right." Dr. Weir turned and walked around to the windows which overlooked the gate room. "All we can do now is wait for them to arrive."

As if those were the magic words -- two beams of light filled the room. The guards at the door drew their firearms, and SG-1 had to flag them to stop as Loki in their human disguise and Thorbjorn Heimisson appeared where the light had been.

"Good afternoon everyone!" The young Icelander said and grinned. "I've brought a gift!" He held up a bottle of alcohol of some kind -- wine? Jack couldn't really tell.

Loki looked over their shoulder at the Airmen who put their guns away at SG-1's insistance, and arched a brow. "Did you forget I possess teleportation technology?"

Jack sighed. "Well… we didn't think you'd just pop in unannounced."

The Icelander -- Heimisson, Jack suddenly recalled his name -- looked around confused. "But we sent you a notice. You're all here and ready for the talks." The man turned to look at Loki. "Do you suppose that wasn't sufficient notice?"

While Dr. Weir and Hammond processed what they'd seen, Loki cupped their chin in their hand hand. "Hmm. I suppose it would seem like coming into someone's home without knocking first." They nodded, resolute. "We've misstepped, I believe." They wagged their finger at SG-1. "I'm calling in a do-over. We'll come down the slow way." In a moment, the two figures vanished just as soon as they'd arrived.

"Well." Jack spoke in the awkward silence which followed. "That happened."

"I do not believe that to have been a misstep," Teal'c said, his first words of the day. "It is quite possible that Loki was giving us a warning that the mountain above does not shield us from them in any way."

Jack glanced at Carter, and noted how her face paled just a bit. Some really advanced tech had to be at play, then. "Bit of a reach," he replied, in an easy tone. "I mean, that guy had his… wine-thing all ready to go."

"It's not impossible that Loki simply didn't tell their consul their intentions," Hammond spoke up, slightly agitated. He was distracted by ringing from the conference phone on the table. One brief call later, and the General rubbed his temples. "The main entrance just called to inform us that our expected guests just appeared in front of them in a beam of light. They're on their way down."

After a moment's reflection, Jack decided to open his mouth. "Did that wine seem oddly purple-y to anyone else?"

"It might be blueberry wine," Daniel commented, distracted. "Iceland grows those a lot."

"Hmm." Jack raised his eyebrows. "Wonder what you serve with that."

--

Milky Way galaxy, planet Earth. 1998 CE.

The freed Warrior.

Once the guests had returned to the conference room -- the slow way, as they'd wished -- the talks began. Teal'c took his seat and cautiously observed Loki and their agent, Thorbjorn.

He seemed personable and energetic -- a contrast to Loki's cool and aloof bearing. Teal'c couldn't easily read the Asgard's eyes -- as they resembled a doll's to his eyes. His friends in the Tau'ri could more easily infer feelings, perhaps they were used to seeing minute differences. But Teal'c watched all the same.

"Now, there is an elephant in the room," Thorbjorn started after he had handed the bottle of blueberry wine to General Hammond. "The United States does not have a stellar record of dealing with technologically inferior cultures. Part of this agreement will include a process by which Iceland, my good friend Johannsson here," he gestured to Loki, "or other later additions to this treaty to ensure equitable treatment."

Dr. Weir took a deep breath while Teal'c observed General Hammond's eyes shift down to the table, and Colonel O'Neill look downward toward his hands. Something terrible had happened in the past, he assumed.

"What sort of process would you imagine?" Dr. Weir began her side of the talks, her tone curious.

"Copying what's familiar would be our first proposal." Thorbjorn nodded, with a small smile. "In the absence of specific trade deals with extraterrestrial cultures, we would ask the United States to agree to a similar framework like that which exists in the WTO, with the understanding that the actual WTO would be involved later on…."

Teal'c did not know what many of the letter combinations meant, he spared a glance to his team and saw that they didn't either. Even General Hammond appeared confused. He committed the words to memory anyway -- as he could ask questions about them later on.

"...and it would only make sense for the United States -- through the SGC -- to provide for the defense of allied worlds in a similar method to what exists under NATO." Thorbjorn clasped his hands, and smiled at Dr. Weir and General Hammond.

"We'd intended a plan to that effect -- with the construction of defensive structures on our allied worlds," General Hammond started. "The small fleet of ships Loki shot down would be of great help to that end."

"And of course, my good friend is willing to lease the use of those ships to the United States -- provided that you have someone on staff who is qualified to instruct others on their operation, and explain the technology in-depth." Thorbjorn looked over at Teal'c and smiled wide. "Oh look, there's one."

"I will gladly share what I know," Teal'c told the room. He paused before he admitted the limits of his usefulness. "But I do not understand the inner workings of all Goa'uld technology."

"Word on the street," Colonel O'Neill started, in his defense, "is that the Goa'uld don't know how it all works either. They just steal it and use it. Like crows, grabbing the shiny stuff."

Thorbjorn chuckled a bit, then sighed. "Well, that presents a problem. We cannot, in good conscience, release the Goa'uld ships to you if you don't know how they work. We could give them to you for disassembly -- let you take them apart and find out how they work -- but that would take time." He looked up at Dr. Weir. "Precious time, which is running out."

A wave of tension rolled over the SGC side of the conference table. Teal'c pondered the many meanings of what had been said, but it was General Hammond who found the most likely.

"Are you saying you know of an attack on this planet in the works?" The General had become agitated, understandable.

"It's quite likely," Loki spoke up for the first time. "The house of Ra abandoned Earth, but several System Lords frequented it recently enough to know the coordinates." They frowned. "Some very recently. My contacts tell me that Hathor has entered into her son Heru'ur's service. She is not a system lord in her own right as she was with Ra, but…." Loki left the implicit warning hanging. "I expect Heru'ur to move on his father's old territories soon. However -- between us, and the allies I hope to bring to you, there should be sufficient forces to safeguard Earth, Abydos, and Amun station."

Teal'c's eyebrows rose high. "Amun was known as Ra's personal retreat," he informed his side. "It doesn't possess a stargate, but it is heavily armed and armored. Both Heru'ur and Apophis coveted it greatly."

Thorbjorn nodded, as if he knew the legends as well. "The station is capable of movement under its own power -- so my friend would enable you to move the station," he tapped the table with glee. "To this solar system. Its presence would do a lot to secure Earth against attacks." He waved his hand. "But that's a future plan. We have more immediate concerns. Such as getting you someone on staff who can teach you about Goa'uld technology."

Dr. Weir leaned forward, a small smile on her lips. "And let me guess -- the Icelandic government happens to have access to such people."

Thorbjorn looked shocked, and shook his head with an awkward chuckle. "Um. I… suppose that would have been a great way to segue into that. Ha, but, um. No." He shrugged. "We only really know bits and pieces of advanced technology… the lack of naquadah and neutronium on Earth makes it hard to make the good stuff, you see."

"I have reason to believe that there are more Goa'uld on Earth," Loki cut in, and rested their hand on Thorbjorn's shoulder. "And even if there aren't, there are members of the species who would be… willing to fill the position."

Teal'c frowned. "You would ask us to accept help from a Goa'uld?"

Loki smiled, and Teal'c felt as if he had walked into a trap of some kind. "Not quite. The same species, but a different culture. A different ethnic group. A different government." Loki's smile widened. "Tell me, who here has heard of my fellow liesmiths… the Tok'ra?"

---

Woo! Micrash made an appearance at last! Also diplomacy is surprisingly hard! In a couple days, there will be new artings to share -- so keep your eyes peeled for it!

 

[Krazyfan1]

Brilliant as usual!


I wonder if they sell nonalcoholic blueberry wine?

 

[ptbptb]

"is that the Goa'uld don't know how it all works either. They just steal it and use it. Like crows, grabbing the shiny stuff."

Click to shrink...

Eh, there are a few obvious and very dangerous exceptions to that. There is also the whole 'genetic memory' thing which makes it a dubious position to take. I think it's more like the Goa'uld are (as a whole) lazy, arrogant and conservative (in the glacially slow to change) sense.

 

[carterhall]

I'm loving the whole 'liesmith' thing!

 

[Chairtastic]

This is one part of a commission I've had done for Micrash as he was when he was goa'uld'd hard in the face. It will be edited to include the other part when that piece comes down the river! Credit for the art goes to Zexeos, who will hopefully have a twitter page by the time the second piece rolls around.

Behold... the him!

Spoiler: Goa'uld Micrash

 

[Modus_Tollens]

Eh, there are a few obvious and very dangerous exceptions to that. There is also the whole 'genetic memory' thing which makes it a dubious position to take. I think it's more like the Goa'uld are (as a whole) lazy, arrogant and conservative (in the glacially slow to change) sense.

Click to shrink...

Their genetic memory is vast but... evidence points toward it being massively, magnificently imperfect. As centuries turn into millennia it becomes ever more a smear of abstractions, lies and masks becoming indistinguishable from the truth, until a Goa'uld is more just playing a role than even being a proper person. Who they are becomes lost in a sea of years and ill-sorted memories.

Some retain most of their secrets, and build on them. Nerus and Nirrti among them because that is their bread and butter, what demands their attention and anchors them. Most, though, lost much of what was no longer of importance to them as they came to rest on their laurels.

 

[Chairtastic]

Ch 6: Uncomfortable talks

Milky Way galaxy, planet Earth. 1998 CE.

The curious Captain.

After the first day of talks, Loki and Thorbjorn left the SGC the slow way before they allegedly beamed away the moment they exited the facility. Sam found herself desperately hoping that no one nearby had a camera. In the conference room, SG-1 sat while General Hammond and Dr. Weir were on a conference call with the president in the office. Sam occupied herself with looking over the dealership information Loki had provided about the ships -- and some technical documents attached. Daniel sat beside her, and examined the notes of the meeting, and drafts of policy proposals. Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c both stood near the windows and talked shop with each other.

"I don't buy it," the Colonel groused loud enough for them all. He crossed his arms and shook his head. "This Tok'ra stuff."

"The legends say that they did exist once," Teal'c commented. "They may yet still."

Daniel set down his notes, and snapped his fingers in a sudden realization, which shocked Sam enough to look up from her reading too. "Do you remember when Loki said, on their ship, that meddling with other liesmiths and helping them set up their networks got them banished from the Asgard?" He stood from the table, and walked around to the window side. He stopped to glance at Sam, and shook his head. "You were in storage at the time, Sam, sorry."

"Aw man," she said, only half-disappointed, "I always get poisoned and stuffed into advanced technology when there's an interesting conversation."

Teal'c arched his eyebrow at her. "I do not believe that to be a regular occurrence."

Daniel shook his hands to get them back to the topic. "I'm willing to bet that the liesmiths that Loki helped -- the Tok'ra were one of those groups." He looked around at them, eager to share his hypothesis. "Loki described them as a resistance movement, Teal'c confirmed that. If they're made up of Goa'uld, why would Loki help them at all?" He focused on the Colonel as he asked his last question. "Why would someone who'd lost their son to the Goa'uld ever, ever help anything remotely similar to them?"

The Colonel scratched the back of his head and looked down. "Ya got me there…." He turned away from the view of the stargate to throw his hands up at Daniel, at a loss. "But… how can they be better than the Goa'uld? They're still snakes, they still need hosts."

"I don't know," Daniel answered, and it was clear he was at a loss. "We'll have to ask Loki in the next round of talks."

"That'll have to be one of many things we ask tomorrow," Sam piped up, and indicated the catalog. "The price for leasing these ships are… weird."

The men all arched their brows as one, and the Colonel waved his hand at her to follow up on her prior statement.

"Well, look at what they want for the ha'tak." She held up the catalogue and pointed at the top, where a golden tetrahedron covered in hieroglyphs and surrounded by a black superstructure that extended far past the core section but didn't reach its base. "They want 'a three-phase plan to reveal the stargate to the general public within ten years at most'."

The Earth men looked at her with bewilderment, while Teal'c blinked slowly.

"A bit steep," the Colonel replied, flippant. "We might… need to haggle that down."

"Way down," Daniel followed up. He gestured at the catalogue, and nodded. "But yeah -- that's pretty weird, we probably shoulda followed up on that."

"As I recall," Teal'c cut in, "the talks regarding the Hankans took priority at the time."

"At least that's got a dollar value to it," the Colonel muttered. He squinted at the catalogue and stepped closer. "Oh wait. One of those alkshes straight up just has a dollar amount. Huh."

"Al'kesh, O'Neill."

"Yeah, whatever."

Sam set the catalogue down and shifted to the notes on the Hankans. "I'm not so certain that what Loki's proposed is a bad thing, Colonel. Yeah, it's expensive," she shifted around high-resolution pictures of an abandoned Army base, "but moving the Hankans here while their planet is fixed is probably for the best."

"All I said, was that I was glad something we talked about during that mess had a fixed cost, something we can budget for and plan around." The Colonel held up a finger at Sam as he clarified his position. "We give the Hankans a place to live, we give them an...almost excessive amount of money, Loki fixes their planet. Simple, right?"

"I believe you missed the 'estimated to take fifty years' part, but…" Sam shrugged. "What do you think they'd use the money for?"

"Cadillacs," the Colonel said without hesitation. "Just… hundreds of them."

"And at least one DeLorean," Teal'c commented with a completely straight face. He weathered the baffled stares of his team admirably, without signs of weakness.

"Which one of you," Colonel O'Neill started with an irate raised finger, "showed him Back to the Future?" He looked between the two other members of his team with a furious look. "We were supposed to watch it as a team."

Sam knew she hadn't done it, so her gaze snapped to Daniel right away.

"Oh don't you look at me like…," Daniel defended himself and then jumped back when the Colonel followed Sam's gaze. "I swear I didn't, Jack."

"Well, it had to be one of you!"

"Ahem." General Hammond made his presence known, having opened the door to his office without anyone's notice. He looked at each member of SG-1, then spoke to the Colonel. "Colonel, if it upsets you so much -- Teal'c watched it with me. Otherwise, the president is accepting of the progress we made today." He glanced at Sam, and sighed. "Dr. Weir, the president, and I would like to speak to each of you individually to get your perspective on what we're giving and getting with this. Captain Carter, he's asked for you first." The General stood aside in the doorway, and gestured for Sam to approach.

Sam hissed through her teeth and gathered her notes. "Wish me luck…" In moments she left the familiar team dynamic for a stressful call with her boss.

--

Pegasus galaxy, planet Asuras. 1998 CE.

The beige Asuran.

Niam soon found he couldn't narrow the possible assailants down past fifty or so individuals who all had roughly the same impurities in their nanites at assembly. With his network isolation -- he couldn't be sure where the people were, or which departments they'd been assigned. One of them, Koracen, he could safely remove from the list. Koracen had the same goal Niam -- that they should pursue ascension. He was a useful contact in the scientific production department -- whose Councilor did not care for Niam.

A sudden ping sounded from the communication channel he'd shared with Micrash -- which distracted Niam from his pondering about the assassin.

'Hey!' Micrash sent through the channel. 'It took some work, but I managed to get this working again.'

'I'm so glad to hear from you!' Niam sent back. 'Someone attempted to assassinate me while you were gone -- I'm trying to figure out whom, so that Oberoth can't interfere in our second attempt to make you a body.'

'You're a real pal, you know? A friend worth keeping. I hope, after you ascend, you don't change like these guys did. Turned all nasty.'

Niam nodded, though he doubted Micrash was there to see it. 'They're Lanteans. It's the truth of their character laid bare.'

'I'm surrounded by them, so I can't talk too much smack. But I put this together to warn you -- they're plotting something. Keep an eye out.'

"Everyone's plotting something," spoke a voice to Niam's left. The Asuran jumped and turned to look -- and there was a curious figure in the room. A simian life-form, covered in blue hair, dressed in long pants, a long shirt, a leather coat, and pink glasses. "Even your friends. Even people who barely know you." The monkey man waved his hand, which made Niam instinctively glance down. Yep, handsfeet. "I'm Micrash Lokison. Thought we should talk face to face."

Niam looked from the monkey to the communication channel and back again, utterly bewildered. "Um. You're an ascended being?"

The monkey man grinned enough to bare fang, and nodded.

At a loss, he gestured at the communication channel. "But… I was told there were rules about interaction with lowers."

The second Micrash's grin faded. "Don't call yourself that. It's a vile word, with a lot of bad history." He stepped around to the opposite side of Niam's desk and sat in a guest chair.

"Yes, you ah… you told me that." Niam frowned, confused, and glanced at the communication channel. "I recall you telling me it was a rude term codified in the law?"

"Funny, we've never talked before." The second Micrash raised his eyebrows and adjusted his pink glasses. "I'm here, because I'm told that you are leading a group interested in ascension?"

"Yes -- I am." Niam was properly confused, and a bit suspicious. He swatted the air in front of him -- to check for an interface hand -- and found nothing. "Um. This is all very confusing, I hope you understand…."

"I imagine it is. The Lanteans have something of a grudge against your species -- it's all really complicating." The second Micrash rolled his eyes. "But… I have a proposal. Something the Lanteans up top are willing to sign off on. I'll descend to teach you some stuff -- on the provision that you and everyone like you who wants to ascend pull a good old-fashioned schism."

Niam frowned. Then he glanced at the last message he got from the original Micrash, about their plot, and narrowed his eyes at the new Micrash. "This is a trick, isn't it?"

"Yes," the monkey man readily admitted with a nod.

Niam blinked in utter surprise. "I… I don't think you're supposed to admit that."

"Says who?" The second Micrash looked around, as if they would pop out from behind some piece of furniture to announce themselves. "Yes -- this is quite blatantly an offer being made to you so that you don't suss out who the descended Lantean is among you. Because then you'd be able to break their control of your entire species."

Niam blinked rapidly, and began to swat at the air in front of his face incesantly. "This is a farce," he snarled. "Someone has interfaced with me and is tormenting me with these visions while they access my overrides."

"A farce needs to be funny," Micrash said and threw his leg over the other knee. "I don't see you laughing. And I'm definitely not. Maybe ask Jim, see if he's getting a chuckle out of this." He gestured to the communication channel open on Niam's desk. When Niam just stared at him, the monkey man sighed. "The exact terms of the proposal are that you and everyone interested in ascension create a new network, you pile into a ship or through the gate, and get thee gone from Asuras."

"Just like that?" Niam snapped his fingers. "They'd let us go?"

"Oh no, they'll try to get everyone involved killed at least four times to give voice to that 'how dare you survive after we tried to kill you' grudge." He looked over his shoulder like someone had shouted his name, and bit his thumb in that direction. "Hey, I'm the one biting the bullet to clean up your mess -- no back seating." He focused on Niam, then swung his head around to the invisible force again with an accusatory finger. Finally he genuinely turned his attention back to Niam. "The deal's being offered in bad faith -- but you have an outside party, c'est moi," he bowed his head and spread his arms wide, like a performer, "to punch back. And I have no problem telling you the words you need to string together if they get too heavy-handed."

The Asuran's face twisted in lack of comprehension. "But having control over the majority of my people is… not 'too heavy-handed'?"

"Well no, because they only think they have control. They're Lanteans, they're like that." The second Micrash shrugged. "And this is just an offer. You're not obligated to say yes." He glanced at the communication channel when it pinged with a message from the first Micrash. "But I'm not going to help you if you go with what Jim wants. That's a long, hard fight to end up… somewhere."

"From where I sit, it's not easier to go with you and end up… somewhere." Niam frowned, and looked the ascended being up and down. "If I and my followers go with you… can we ever return?"

"Yep. Once you've ascended -- there ain't anything the Lanteans can do to you. Not me. Not Jim." The monkey pursed his lips. "Well, maybe Jim. And some of the others. There's some bad neighborhoods topside."

Niam put his head into his hands, and tried to squish his cranium until the sudden series of events on previously quiet Asuras made sense. "Do other species have this happen to them? Lanteans which purposefully hold them back, and aliens which want to help."

"Yes, actually." Micrash's blithe reply made Niam look up and saw how pitying the alien's expression was. "The rules say that they can't accelerate the natural advancement of lower order beings… but there's nothing against slowing it down. And many do slow it down -- for a variety of reasons." He looked over his shoulder, at the apparently invisible ascended being who spied on them. "But some break from that tradition and speed things up, or thwart attempts at slowing things down."

Niam's eyes followed where Micrash's head was pointed, and he squinted. He swore he could almost make out a woman's shape, but every time he thought he'd found the edge of her figure the person vanished.

"If you want what I'm selling -- come to these coordinates." Micrash turned to him and snapped his fingers. A new communication channel opened up on Niam's terminal, with a stargate address inside. "Be there, or be square."

In the next blink of Niam's eyes the ascended being was gone. He was left alone, with just the communication channels and his paranoia. As he looked at the tabs, he returned to the first one and saw an inquiry from the first Micrash.

'Everything okay?' The message read.

Niam quickly typed up a response. 'Fine just… being toyed with, it seems. I have a question for you. Who is Jim?'

Seconds after he sent the message he received a notice that the probe had been destroyed again. While he processed that, he enabled his network connection to briefly send a message into his faction's group chat to meet with him and discuss what was going to happen. Naturally the production staff who were almost all members of his faction left their offices to join him in his.

"Please tell people to network isolate themselves as they arrive," he announced. "We have… sensetive topics to discuss."

---

This chapter's a bit shorter than usual. There was going to be a Daniel and Teal'c talk, but I figured that it would be better to shelve that and have it come up later. We want to start getting into some INFRASTRUCTURE and ADVENTURES, yeah?

 

[Stephenopolos]

Holy hell, jim? Fucking Jim showed up to these talks? Talk about a poisoned apple.

 

[Chairtastic]

Ch 7: Birth of Ideas

Milky Way galaxy, planet Earth. 1998 CE.

The vindicated Archaeologist.

"...and Loki described the weapon as a high-powered electrolaser," Daniel said to Sam as they both walked from the conference room to the elevators. "None of us knew what that meant, I was wondering if you could tell us…." He left it hanging.

Sam raised her eyebrows and nodded while she stared off to the side. "Electrolasers use gas and light to deliver an electric charge -- we already have really simple ones. So… if that's how they did it, it's a technology we already have but far more complex in its use." The Captain called for the elevator when they arrived, and looked up to watch the indicator approach them. "That's really cool -- and possibly something we could use in the field."

"Well, Jack would definitely sign off on lightning guns if that's how you pitch it." He could just imagine Jack on top of a pile of rocks, laughing maniacally as he fired lightning at a crowd of enemy Jaffa with his futuristic ray gun.

"But it's a combination lightning and laser gun," Sam responded with a wide smile. "Twice as good, you think?"

"Oooh, that's a good point," Daniel flicked his pointer finger at her to indicate the point to her. "Yeah, if we can figure that out, Jack will want one." He fought the urge to admit that he wanted one too, and lost as Sam's elevator arrived. "I kinda want one too. Make it a Christmas present?"

"I'll try." Sam then stepped onto her elevator and left the scene.

He took a deep breath, to brace himself for what he had to do next. First he had to get the the elevator which went down to the personnel quarters, and then go to Teal'c's room. A knock and an invitation inside later, Daniel found himself in a room lit entirely by candles while Teal'c sat cross-legged on the floor. "I didn't interrupt your kelno'reem, have I?" The Jaffa didn't need sleep like humans, they meditated deeply and it provided the same benefits.

"I have not yet begun," Teal'c replied. He indicated a space opposite him, against the wall of his room -- apparently a spot for guests.

Daniel took the hint and sat down opposite Teal'c, with a few candles between them. "I… have something of a heavy question for you, Teal'c. If it's not something you want to talk about -- I'll respect that."

The Jaffa's eyebrow rose high. "I was unaware that the Tau'ri had determined questions have variable weight."

"...what I mean," Daniel started after he tried to parse where he had gone wrong with his previous comment, "is that the question is of a serious nature. And today's been… a bit of a trial for everyone."

"I understand. Ask me your question -- I will tell you if it is too much."

Daniel nodded, and worked up the courage to speak the words. "On Loki's ship… they said that we could possibly convince Amaunet, the…," he struggled with the words until he could force them out, "thing in Sha're. Can you tell me why they'd think that?"

Teal'c frowned and averted his eyes. "This… is a heavy question indeed." He looked up at Daniel with his eyes tilted downward -- pitying. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yeah. For better or for worse… I want to know." That was a lie, and Daniel knew it. From the way Teal'c's expression didn't shift even the slightest, Daniel figured Teal'c did too.

"The official name for Apophis' queen," Teal'c started off slowly, like he was being careful with his words, "is Amaunet the thirty-eighth." He paused while he watched Daniel digest the information. "As is the custom with all Goa'uld queens in the modern empire, they are denied the use of the sarcophagus, thus they die when their hosts do, after two hundred years."

"I… don't understand." Daniel adjusted his glasses, and blinked rapidly as he tried to process. "Hathor was found in a arcophagus."

"She was from a time when a Goa'uld queen could hold the rank of system lord in their own right. But it is no longer so." Teal'c looked down, into the flames of the candles. "Sometime in the thousands of years since, Goa'uld culture shifted from treating queens equally, to as barely above an underlord." He raised his eyes back up to Daniel's. "As First Prime, I outranked Apophis' queen. But this is not the norm among Goa'uld. However, queens may not have their own Jaffa, they may not have their own worlds, and they may not choose which of their spawn is granted a host, or their names." He left his mouth open as he held Daniel's eyes, but he snapped it shut with a surge of conviction. "I remember, with the previous Amaunet, that Apophis would cycle between periods of adoration of her and burning hatred wherein he would strike her with his hand, or the ribbon device."

Daniel's mind was assaulted with images of his wife tossed around by an angry Apophis, all while trapped by the Goa'uld equivalent of a battered housewife. He didn't like the information, he didn't like the sudden surge of pity he felt for the snake in his wife. But it was as Loki had said -- there was a chance to get a Goa'uld on their side in the situation.

A question lingered in his mind, however. "Teal'c… you said that Apophis' queens all die with their hosts, yeah?"

"Indeed."

Daniel wet his lips before he asked the final questions. "So… this Amaunet… she's new, yeah?"

"Indeed. She had only recently matured enough to take a host when Apophis bade us search for one."

"Is… she the previous queen's daughter?"

"I'm not certain." Teal'c averted his eyes. "In truth, I do not know how the Goa'uld obtain their queens. Their presence is deemed a requirement for admission to the system lords, but they're looked down upon."

Daniel's mind immediately brought up the history of human monarchies and their varied treatment of queens. "Yeah, I… sorta see how we could spin that to turn Amaunet to our side."

Though, in hindsight, he missed the time before he learned those things about the life of a Goa'uld queen. He missed being able to hate Amaunet blindly for what she'd done to his wife -- but there was no going back. Knowledge once learned, cannot be unlearned.

He'd have to adjust.

--

Darkspace, Discenna asteroid. 1998 CE.

The descended Fool.

Where no stars cast their light, there was a rock between two distant galaxies. Not a perfectly round, planetary rock, but an irregular and dusty rock. It looked cobbled together, like a garbage heap, with grows from particularly large additions giving it an uneven and inelegant look.

But inside the core of the rock there was a city. Preserved by a dome of pearl-white energy, a snowflake-shaped structure from which dozens of towers rose up rested. Inside, the city was just as it had been when it came to rest between the galaxies -- dead, quiet, fuzzy masses of crimson tissues grown over long-vanished corpses and strung along the walls with hanging tendrils. The usual stuff.

Once a sterling city of glittering towers, polished metal structures with patterns embossed on the walls, and angular glass windows, most of it was covered with the fuzzy crimson growths. The largest of such growths lay outside the main structure, out on the surface of one of the city-ship's piers. It was impressively large, a stargate-sized central mass around which a plethora of tentacles grew like a grove of trees. They were covered in long cilia, and their tops were marked by feather-like fronds which twisted and felt around for reasons unknown.

All of a sudden, the central mass pulsed, and a golden glow from within lit up, turned orange, and faded entirely. Squishy and moist, the central mass pulsed again, and lit up once more. But on the second lighting up, something was revealed by the light -- small angular shapes. The same disgusting drama played out a third time, and the shapes had become a skeleton and begun to drift towards one of the tentacles.

The tentacle which had been selected saw its feather fronds fold onto each other in a spiral shape as the skeleton continued its way towards it. On the fourth pulse, the figure inside appeared to have begun growing organs and muscle tissues. The pulses continued, until the tentacle in question contorted and swole as something traveled from its base to its top.

The tentacle bent down to the fuzz-covered pier and ejected its fronds along with the contents it had worked up.

Covered in red liquids, a blue simian figure was splayed out on a bed of the aforementioned feather fronds. "Okay," Micrash muttered as he sat up and winced at the sticky noise that the action produced. "That was... easily the fourth most disgusting experience I've ever had." He snapped his fingers, and the feather fronds began to lift off the ground and wrap themselves around him. Once he wasn't nude, the Furling stood on the fuzzy mass and felt it with his prehensile feet. "Huh. Like shag carpeting. Just when I thought the biological equivalent of the replicators couldn't get grosser."

The mass pulsed again, as the previously used tentacle began to grow new fronds.

"Don't you take that tone with me," the simian said and wagged his finger at the mass. Micrash's tail formed itself into a spring, which he then fell onto like it was a stool. "Okay, going to need to get this… organic network making sense. A few million years of your own devices hasn't let you develop a personality, or awareness of your base code, so I'll have to add something of my own." He rubbed his chin in consideration. "The text on the page says I should start by structuring you into a smaller mass for observational purposes. The page between the text says…." Micrash clapped his hands and pointed upward. "Monkey factory! Begin production!"

The central mass pulsed once more. After a moment it pulsed again with the hints of another skeleton inside.

"Uh-huh, I'm awesome," the descended Furling said as he did a victory dance. "Uh-huh, I swiped root access before Jim could swing on by, oh yeah." He suddenly sagged, and let his arms hang. "Victory dancing sucks when you don't have music to back it up." He looked up at the mass, and frowned. "Hmm, wonder if I can get you to manufacture a keyboard or something…."

The mass pulsed once more, with many cat-sized skeletons revealed.

"Let's start with something simpler, after all these monkeys. Maybe a tambourine. Or some cymbals."

--


Milky Way galaxy, planet Earth. 1998 CE.

The banished Liesmith.

Loki looked over the Americans' proposals and signaled to Thorbjorn to agree.

"Loki has agreed to the amendments you've put forth regarding the issue of production of future warships and technologies. While an off-world production facility is still advised…," Thorbjorn smiled and shrugged, "the majority of your infrastructure is here."

"However," Loki added as they set the papers down. "The scale of production capacity growth you'll need will be noticeable. Even if the general public don't see the diverted funds, arms manufacturers will notice that the United States suddenly starts producing their own arms again."

General Hammond smiled thinly at the pair of them. "That's our issue to solve, as it becomes necessary." His sentiment was passively mirrored in the expressions of Colonel O'Neill and Captain Carter.

Dr. Weir cleared her throat, and spoke up. "We had some questions about the Tok'ra, and hoped you could fill us in."

"Specifically in how they differ from the Goa'ulds," Colonel O'Neill cut in. His expression hadn't changed from earlier, despite Doctors Weir and Jackson both growing a bit uneasy.

Loki blinked slowly and sat up a bit straighter. "The Tok'ra are a recognized nation of the Goa'uld species, a cultural group organized in opposition to the system lords. The difference lies primarily in the political, economical, and social values." Most would assume that the Goa'uld didn't have an economy -- but each system lord was akin to a province within the Goa'uld Empire, currently leaderless. Internal trade existed, at least.

"So they don't take hosts?"

"No, they form relationships with their hosts." Loki watched their expressions as they talked. "As was their species' design, they form a symbiotic relationship where both gain."

Colonel O'Neill shook his head slowly. "I'll need some more convincing."

"You would be best served by directly asking a Tok'ra about the process," Thorbjorn said, cutting into the situation eagerly. "And my friend has told me they have a possible contact for you."

"You might not like it, though," Loki muttered and looked off to the side.

Dr. Weir's face was hard as stone when they turned back to face the American side of the table. "You say we need someone trained in Goa'uld technology before you'll let us lease the ships, and we need those ships and as much as you're willing to share personally to just survive against the Goa'uld. Whether or not we like it, it's what we have to do."

Loki nodded. "I'm glad you're pragmatic enough to see that. Jolinar of Malkshur is a prominent Tok'ra liesmith." Loki placed a stone on the table, which projected a screen into the space between the two sides. On it was a gate address, notes about the planet, and a picture of a man with tattoos near his eyes. "Her previous host was captured by the System Lord Cronus, she escaped into this man where she is in a state of hibernation. An ashrak has been deployed to find her, and kill her."

Teal'c arched his brow and turned in his seat to address his side. "An ashrak is an assassin of the highest order. Dangerous, and clever."

"Indeed. Offer Jolinar sanctuary, long enough for her trail to go cold, and it would be the start of an excellent relationship with the Tok'ra."

The thought didn't sit well with the Americans. They hadn't expected it to.

"Goa'uld technology is a better fit for Earth at the moment because naquadah is significantly more common than the neutronium which is the basis for Asgard technology." Loki stood from the table and paced along the windows while they talked. "Earth has potential naquadah trading partners already -- Abydos, for instance. The best way to learn it is from a technically inclined Goa'uld." They stopped and rested their hands on the back of their chair while they looked over the American side of the discussion. "I'm not asking any of you to become Jolinar's next host -- but that would be the absolute best way to start a relationship with the Tok'ra…." Their eyes lingered on Dr. Jackson. "There are other… reasons to allow Jolinar to remain on Earth for a time."

Dr. Jackson looked confused for a moment before his face lit up with realization. "Sha're…."

"Jolinar has the Tok'ra's latest intelligence on Amaunet, who has vanished from Apophis' court."

"Daniel," Colonel O'Neill said and turned slightly to him. A soft reprimand, to not allow his friend to be distracted by anyone who dangled his wife in front of him like a carrot on a stick.

"Under the agreed terms," General Hammond said, as if the past moment of side-tracking had not occurred, "you would be held personally responsible for any damages or loss of life that occurs as a result of this Jolinar's stay on this planet." He held Loki's gaze with steel in his eyes. "If that's agreed, we could arrange something."

"General," the Colonel started again, more annoyed, but was silenced with a look from the General.

"I accept that arrangement," Loki told the General. "With that said, I think we're good to proceed to the final draft?"

The diplomats talked for a while about optics, and the legal challenges the treaty would face since technically congrees hadn't been informed of it yet, and Loki watched. As soon as the talks were officially concluded, the humans were chatting to each other -- Icelander and Americans alike.

Loki remained in their place, behind their previous seat, while Teal'c approached to speak.

He stared at the Asgard's disguised face for a moment before he bowed slightly. "You showed us the address where we would find Jolinar, without making it a condition to be negotiated. You could have kept it a secret until we agreed to your terms." Teal'c met Loki's eyes, a smidgeon of warmth therein. "You are more generous than you originally appeared when we began these talks."

"The text on the page says one thing," Loki replied, and arched their eyebrow. "The spaces between the letters say something else."

"Indeed." Teal'c glanced at the stargate in the windows beyond. "I… would like to ask…."

"About your wife and son?" Loki waited for Teal'c to confirm the request. "I can tell you this much right now -- the danger that they are in far outweigh whatever benefits you think they gain from being out there." Loki gestured to the stargate.

Teal'c frowned and looked downward. "I see. Could something be done?"

"Yes. You wouldn't even, strictly speaking, need my help. I can begin planning the operation -- as soon as my position in the SGC is introduced." Loki's mind began to string together possible mission plans for the task and sorted them by the ones most likely to work. "Would you prefer them to come here, to Earth, or move to another world?"

"If possible, I would prefer them to come here." Teal'c lifted his eyes to meet Loki. "But there are many missions which must be undertaken, and I understand that it may take time to mount a rescue."

Loki nodded. "I will place it on the schedule that I submit to the General for operations -- after contact with the Tok'ra, but before we make a move on Amun station. We will likely need pilots who could at least keep Chulak's glider force occupied, so train the people that are sent to you well."

The Jaffa had steel in his eyes, and left. Loki surmised that Teal'c had read what was in the 'space between the letters' of the Asgard's words, and knew what the operation would roughly look like when it came time.

'Let's hope that this time,' Loki thought to themself, 'that we send slightly fewer young people to die, hmm?'

---

The discrimination against Goa'uld queens is not explicitly canon, but it's what I've inferred from watching the way queens are treated across the series.

 

[Mastersgtjames]

Biological Replicators... Like Organites? I hope MC becomes VERY skilled in their use. He could keep adapting himself. Giving himself various abilities. Alteran mental/psychic abilities and longevity. Goauld Genetic memory/storage. Nox healing/psychic abilites. Not to mention being able to have a healing factor on the level of Wolverine/Deadpool or constantly improving everything about himself.

 

[Krazyfan1]

Great as usual.

I wonder if the Organic manipulation could give the Tokra more abilities?
turn them into a saner version of Marvels Symbiotes maybe?

 

[Chairtastic]

Great as usual.

I wonder if the Organic manipulation could give the Tokra more abilities?
turn them into a saner version of Marvels Symbiotes maybe?

Click to shrink...

It depends on how you're able to deal with the network, really. Imagine if you were spontaneously aware of every interaction your cells were having, every communication, every immune system update, every instance of mitosis.

 

[demonitter]

The requirement of hosts for Tokra is a fundamental issue, transferring all living Tokra to new independant bodies would be the most ethical solution. The goauld species is inherently problematic and should be fazed out by with a combination of gentle genocide and bodyswapping. Not every parasitical or symbiotic species needs to stay that way just to keep some precious status quo.

 

[Chairtastic]

The requirement of hosts for Tokra is a fundamental issue, transferring all living Tokra to new independant bodies would be the most ethical solution. The goauld species is inherently problematic and should be fazed out by with a combination of gentle genocide and bodyswapping. Not every parasitical or symbiotic species needs to stay that way just to keep some precious status quo.

Click to shrink...

It would have to be their choice, because otherwise it becomes unethical in its own right. The Tok'ra, at least, are doing what they were designed to do while the Goa'uld are a mutation. There are net benefits to being a host/symbiote relationship though -- it improves communication and makes isolationism much harder to carry out in practice.