Allies Alphabet Soup
My thanks to the 23 authors who made Allies Alphabet Soup a reality: 11am_street, Campylobacter, Colls, Cowardly Lion, Delphia, Dennydj, Eilidh, Elder Bonnie, Fig Newton, Gategremlyn, Greenbirds, Ivorygates, Jedibuttercup, Lokei, Magistrate, Rinkafic, Roeskva, Sid, Skieswideopen, Splash the Cat, Thothmes, Traycer, and Wonderland. An extra warm welcome to our new Soup cooks, Cowardly Lion and Dennydj, and special thanks to the seasoned chefs who keep coming back for more -- especially Sid and Eilidh, who gave us two servings each!
Enjoy over 23,000 words of Allies Alphabet Soup! Ratings range from G to PG-13, with spoilers throughout the series. Allies referenced here include Thor and the Asgard, various Jaffa (including the Sodan), various Tok'ra, the Ancients, the Tollan, Lya, the Land of Light, Madrona, Byrsa, Langara, Alaris, Edora, Colonel Chekov and other Russians, Harry Maybourne, Malikai, Martin Lloyd, and even the Furlings!
Due to LJ posting constraints, only very short fics are posted in full here; the others are excerpted, with links to the full story at the author's journal. The complete and unabridged anthology is on Dreamwidth, including artwork from Eilidh for her two fics.
Readers are encouraged to leave continued for the authors in their respective journals.
A is for Allies
by roeskva
"You were trespassing on my domain!" the Goa'uld on the throne exclaimed, angrily. He glared at the four people kneeling in front of him, his First Prime standing beside them with a painstick in his hand.
The Goa'uld on the throne was a youngish looking man, with short, dark hair, and piercing black eyes. His face was regular, and he was quite handsome, even though his cold expression detracted some from his appeal. He was dressed in the Egyptian style, as was another man - probably also a Goa'uld - standing a few steps behind him. That man's fiery red hair and green eyes made him look oddly out of place, though the lack of a cynical expression did that in any case. His look was more blank than evil.
"Sorry," O'Neill said, not looking like he meant it. "Didn't know it was yours. Maybe you should put up a sign? Who are you, by the way?"
"Insolence! I am Lord Hu! How can you not know my greatness?" He motioned at the nearest Jaffa, who gave O'Neill a hard blow on the shoulder, making him cry out and fall forward. Hu smirked. "Of course, the Tau'ri, know little of what happens in the Galaxy. SG-1! Yes, I recognize you! Heru'ur shall be most pleased with me when I present you as my gift!"
O'Neill picked himself up from the floor, and looked at the Goa'uld. "Huh? Really? That's your name?"
"That is enough!" Hu roared, furious over the insulting way O'Neill was behaving. "You will tell me why you are here, and then Heru'ur shall get you. You are going to regret your insolent behaviour, human!" He turned to his Jaffa. "Kree! Show the human what happens when you disobey your god!"
The Jaffa immediately jammed a painstick against O'Neill's neck, causing him to fall forward again, and the light to shine strongly from his mouth and eyes.
Before the interrogation could continue, a nervous man entered the room, bowing very deeply. "I... I apologize, my Lord, but you have a visitor. He is most insistent."
Hu looked at the man with such anger, that the already nervous man paled and seemed close to fainting. Hu turned to the man standing behind him. "Thopar. Handle it."
"At once, my Lord." The underling bowed and left.
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B is for Byrsa
by rinkafic
For many years, the red shine of the Ring of the Ancestors had warned the people of Byrsa that it was time to flee, lest they be taken as hosts for the Goa'uld. They had sheltered in their caves until the danger passed them by and it was safe to emerge.
The Tauri had come, and they had forged an alliance with them. The Goa'uld did not come as frequently as they once had. Life was better, the children did not live in fear of the activation of the Ring.
Then the Ori came. The people of Byrsa heard that the people of other worlds were given a choice to accept a new master or to die. This was unacceptable. They did not wish to live in fear again.
And so, they did the only thing they could think of to protect themselves.
They pulled down the Ring of the Ancestors and buried it. They might be cut off from other worlds, but they would no longer be terrified of what might come through the Ring.
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C is for Circumstance
by sg_wonderland
Circumstance -- events or conditions beyond someone's control (The Microsoft Encarta Dictionary)
"Hey."
Colonel Chekhov squinted at the figure lounging in the infirmary doorway. "O'Neill. I hope you have news. They will tell me nothing."
"Well," Jack rolled a stool over and took a seat at the bedside. "I might be able to answer a few questions."
Chekhov grunted. "The Korolev?"
"What do you remember?"
"We took hit from Ori ship."
"Worse than a hit, I'm afraid." Jack looked him in the eye. "I'm sorry, but they blew her out of the sky."
"Korolev was destroyed?" The idea was more than he could imagine.
"Completely. Someone got you to the rings and down to the Odyssey."
"How...how many survivors?"
"Counting you? Six."
The breath left Chekhov's body in a rush.
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D is for Destiny
by traycer_
The Legacy
They asked for so little, yet gave so much. Theirs was a legacy that would benefit future generations of the fifth race, even as that race slowly found ways to destroy themselves. Still, it was the Asgard's hope that the heirloom of knowledge passed down through the friendships they made would surely build a stronger bond in hopes of preserving the future. It was their greatest wish.
Not only their greatest wish, but also their legacy. Because even though they had the superior technological advances they acquired over the centuries, they still couldn't find a way to deliver their own salvation. They had come to terms with their fate as they faced their final enemy. They had fought death by cloning, and death had won anyway.
And when the end was near, their demise came swiftly with only a few hours to prepare, although many of them knew for years that their time would come. It had been their destiny, shaped by the cloning process they had put so much hope into, as well as the final desperate act to save themselves from the pain and degradation of diseases that plague their kind. There was no turning back now that the mistakes were made, only death. And the Asgards embraced it for they knew there was no other way.
Silence filled the rooms and hallways as they waited for Thor and the technicians to return from the Tau'ri ship. A calming silence that eased some of the apprehension a few felt, despite their anxieties. Even when Thor finally appeared with the others, no words were spoken, for there was nothing to be said. They stood silent while some closed their eyes, others clasped hands, and only the reverberations of the blast disturbed the quiet solidarity of their existence.
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E is for Edora
by sg_fignewton
Three men and two women sat quietly at the table, awaiting the delegation from Earth. There was no need for them to speak; they had already discussed the day's topics in great detail and were more than ready for the coming encounter.
Footsteps in the corridor alerted them, and the councilors rose to their feet as SG-9 filed into the room.
"Fair day, Major," said Erain, the council's designated speaker.
"Fair day, Erain. Councilors," Major Kovacek replied, nodding to each one in turn. The other members of SG-9 echoed the greeiting.
"Be seated, please," Erain invited.
"Thank you." Kovacek and the rest of SG-9 moved to their regular seats. As chairs scraped and folders were placed on the table, Erain considered Earth's diplomatic delegation and thought about how far they'd come.
At their first formal meeting several days ago, he had observed a quick flash of disappointment, hastily concealed, when Kovacek realized that he would be dealing with strangers. Of course, it would have been politically unwise for the Edorans to allow anyone who had been in close contact with the SGC to conduct these negotiations. It didn't matter whether such people had been those who had sheltered on Earth after the fire rain strikes, or simply a member of the village nearest the Stargate who had befriended Jack O'Neill during his time on the planet; there would have been an unavoidable undercurrent of debt to the SGC for saving lives and restoring their people. Erain, like everyone else on Edora, deeply appreciated Earth's assistance, of course. But trying to create a treaty from a position of weakness could only leave Edora vulnerable to exploitation, even if the SGC had no such deliberate intentions.
Erain hadn't been dismayed by Kovacek's chagrin. After all, any good diplomat automatically seeks to gain the greatest possible advantages. Erain would have been almost insulted if the SGC had sent inexperienced men to form a treaty with Edora. It was enough that Kovacek recognized that the Edorans were wily enough to avoid unnecessary weakness. The first careful steps of the intricate dance of negotiation had begun.
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F is for Favorite
by sidlj
Lya doesn't play favorites. Her impartiality is a watchword among even the Nox themselves.
But that doesn't mean she doesn't have favorites. She sees the hope and goodness in young Daniel Jackson, the intellect and the compassion of brave Samantha Carter, the determination to save his people and the desperate need for redemption of the mighty Teal'c. She sees the cynicism, the scars, and the deep-buried faith of loyal Jack O'Neill.
She will always do the right and the fair thing, which always, so far, has turned out to be the thing that helps those she cares about most. One day she knows that might change.
On that day, faces will no longer light up when they see her. Smiles will not spring to lips, eyes will cease to shine with delight.
Lya will lose her position as everyone's favorite ally.
So be it.
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G is for Weather Gauge
by jedibuttercup
La Moor had spoken to ambassadors from Earth many times since their people had first walked through Madrona's Stargate, but she had seldom had occasion to frown at them since they had returned the stolen Touchstone and thus begun their long and fruitful alliance.
"You are certain?" she asked, pausing just outside the entrance of the Temple to confirm the Major's words. "We had already begun to allocate space and supplies; I assure you, it would be no trouble to house and feed your friends for as long as may be necessary."
It would not be the first time La Moor's people had taken in refugees from other allies of Earth beset by conquering armies or natural disasters; with a perfectly controlled climate and a history of protection rather than domination, Madrona boasted a large population that wanted for little. She had learned much in the years since her people's first eventful introduction to the worlds beyond the Stargate, first as her uncle's heir and then as his successor, and knew they were in a rare position; Earth did have other friends, some just as peaceful and many more powerful, but very few had such resources to spare. They had begun to trade much of their excess since the awakening of the Stargate, but the Touchstone allowed them to cultivate as much land as they had hands to spare. And there were always hands to spare among those new come to her world's great gardens.
Many of the refugees would leave again, when the disaster was over; they always did, returning to their homes or building anew on uninhabited worlds. But many would also stay, contributing their strengths to the harmony of Madrona. Whatever resources might be spent on sheltering these Langarans, La Moor was certain her people would only benefit in the long term.
But the Major only shook his head. His hat, removed earlier in respect for the Temple, had been tucked under his arm; the bright summer sun struck warm highlights in his dark hair, reminding her of the still uncomfortable weight of the formal priests' headdress pressing down on her brow.
"And they were very grateful for your offer, Princess; but they have chosen not to take advantage of it at this time. There is still a chance they may be able to save their world, and they have decided to devote all their energies to that end," he said, measuring his words carefully.
That was only half-truth, she judged, though prettily spoken.
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H is for Harry's Hat
by delphia2000
Harry stepped out into the bright DC sunlight and paused at the top of the stairs to adjust the brim of his hat against the glare. God, he missed being in uniform. He missed his hat.
Of course, this wasn't his uniform. He probably could have found one of his own in one of his many safe houses, but he needed a non-com's uniform. Nobody ever looked at a non-com's face, just the uniform and the salute. It was very important no one should recognize him today. He'd added some glasses and adopted a slack-jawed, vacant look just to help the disguise along. That, and turning his head whenever he neared a location he knew was covered by video cameras.
It was entirely possible his face would show up in any camera recordings he didn't know about, but by the time the corrupted Trust saw the tapes, he'd be off-world. Or at least he hoped so. He had a scroll and a device that would let him into a protected place, a planet sanctuary, free of the Goa'uld. It would take a little doing to get himself through the Gate, but he was certain he could manage that.
Especially since he'd just ensured the Stargate program would continue.
There was no telling how far the infestation had spread, but there had been at least one Goa'uld-ed congressman on the Finance Committee and it was undoubtedly trying to shut down the program, to make Earth vulnerable to attack in spite of the Asgard treaty. There had been a Goa'uld; there wasn't now.
The NID had stolen some of the parasite suppression drugs used by the Tollan and Harry had stashed some he'd stolen from the NID. It had taken some doing to get an appointment with the congressman and to slip him the drugs, but they worked and would continue to work long enough to ensure the program's funding. Eventually, the congressman would have run out of the drugs and the Goa'uld would have taken over again, but Harry had added another ingredient to the drugs and it was killing the symbiote. When it died, it would take the host with it.
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I is for Ideology
by sg_fignewton
"The first time we met the Tau'ri," Ledora said thoughtfully, "we assumed they were gods. Surely only the divine could travel through the Light."
Drey'auc's mouth twisted. "So it has been with us, for too many generations." Her right hand drifted from the small potter's wheel and stole to her belly, unconsciously stroking the skin above the creature that suckled at her life force. "We believed Apophis was divine because of the tools he wielded. We did not see that we were his tools, and too often the source of his might."
Ledora politely averted her gaze from Drey'auc's curse, even as her people had always shown mercy for the Touched by sending them away to spare them from others' stares of pity or disgust. "The Tau'ri insisted they were not divine, but I did not believe them until I saw that they, too, could be Touched by our curse. They cured Doctor Jackson and all of our afflicted brethren, but their ability to heal proved only knowledge, not godliness." Her own fingers moved with casual skill, shaping wet clay into graceful curves. "How did your people discover the truth?"
Drey'auc bent her head over the wheel again, and Ledora allowed the delay as the woman gathered her thoughts. "Teal'c might say with you that it was the Tau'ri and their actions," she said at last.
"But you would not?"
"No." Drey'auc suddenly straightened, and Ledora saw the gleam in her dark eyes. "I do not dismiss the Tau'ri, for they have indeed done much. But their goals are not ours."
Ledora frowned, uncertain. "They seek to battle those that would be gods, as you do."
"Yes."
"And they offer aid."
"Oh, yes." Drey'auc's lip curled. "They are most generous."
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J is for Justified
by ivorygates
When she was seven years old, Shau'nac of the Red Hills was taken to the Great Temple of Apophis to receive the mark of the god upon her forehead. Now I am a woman, she thought. She was old enough to move from her mother's rooms in the House of Increase to her own room in the House of Promise. For the first time, she could approach the God's shrine and light its lamps. Her prayers would be heard by the God Himself.
When Shau'nac was ten years old, there was a great ceremony. She returned to the Great Temple, and the priestess of Apophis opened Shau'nac's pouch for the first time and placed the body of a god within her flesh. Now she was Prata.
It was a glorious thing to know she now served the God Apophis directly. She loved the new strength and power that came with his favor, the freedom from the weakness of the human cattle. She loved being able to go to the temple, to hear the praise-songs of the God Apophis in person, not just over the vo'cuum. She loved to walk through rooms and know that He had walked through the same ones, had seen with His own eyes the same sights she beheld. She knew she could never serve Him in His glorious battles with his brother Gods, but she began to hope with all her heart she could serve Him in her own way.
When Shau'nac was thirty years old, she said goodbye to her lover and went to the temple to train to become a priestess. Teal'c had tried to talk her out of it. He swore to her that he would become the greatest of the God Apophis's Jaffa. That he would win such honor in battle that the God would grant him the boon of a wife. And he would come to her and they would wed.
And Shau'nac said: no. The life of a Jaffa warrior was uncertain. The path to the God's favor was long.
And she did not want to wait to serve.
When Shau'nac was thirty-five years old, she saw the God Apophis in the flesh. He came to the Temple to speak to the High Priestess, for a Choosing was to be held, and the Temple would preside over the ceremony in which the Gods were made flesh. He was a glorious figure in golden armor: noble, wise, all-seeing. He smiled at her as he passed, and his eyes glowed with the divine fire.
That image warmed her heart for a very long time.
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K is for Kite
by chattycatsmeow
M'zel recognized the need for administrative meetings but had never enjoyed them. The Tau'ri had a phrase which summed them up perfectly - necessary evil. That phrase was one of the few things from the Tau'ri which he found useful. The meetings were less so, especially with the Tau'ri in charge. They did things differently, less efficiently, but wrongly believed their ways to be superior to those of the Jaffa. The Tau'ri were soldiers, not warriors, and it irritated him to be under their command.
The inclusion of the Tok'ra to the alliance had not improved matters any. While the Tau'ri yoke chafed him, the Tok'ra presence galled. Even more so than the System Lords, the Tok'ra were secretive. Master manipulators. Devious in the extreme. Above all, they were Goa'uld just like the System Lords they claimed to oppose.
M'zel had seen it before. One god supplants another and becomes the very same as the tyrant that had been deposed. The Tok'ra professed benevolence and fairness now, but once the balance of power shifted, once the Tok'ra held sway, how long would that benevolence last?
The Tau'ri said to trust the Tok'ra and he did. He trusted the Tok'ra to betray them all. The only question was how soon.
Colonel Reilly dismissed them and M'zel left the command hut, ruminating on the changes just outlined. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Major Green.
"I'm heading to lunch but I'd like to discuss item four if you have time," said Green.
M'zel readily agreed. As they discussed the proposed changes to perimeter checkpoints and sentry rotation, M'zel considered the man beside him.
As one of the senior officers of the Tau'ri, Green had many people directly under his authority. Green was neither fierce nor stern, but despite these shortcomings, his people performed well and seemed loyal to him. M'zel generally found him to be reasonable and less perplexing than some of the other Tau'ri. Green was, in the Tau'ri parlance, an okay guy.
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L is for Loss
by dennydj
"You can't heal me, can you?"
"I am still trying, Elliot."
"It's taking all of your strength just to keep me breathing."
"If I can keep you alive until Selmac and Doctor Jackson arrive--"
"That's a big 'if'."
Elliot's eyes turned to watch Major Carter as she paced a few feet away, P-90 gripped tightly as she waited for the colonel and Teal'c to return, hopefully with her father and Doctor Jackson.
"She's the reason you're trying so hard." Elliot could tell he'd surprised Lantash; the Tok'ra hadn't meant to let his thoughts slip. "You didn't just want to tell her how you felt, you wanted to be with her again."
"I meant what I said. I've come to love her as much as I once loved Jolinar."
"So I'm what--just a life preserver?" He could feel Lantash's bristle at the remark, which was an odd sensation.
"Would you not have done the same thing if your only other option was death?"
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M is for Merlin
by 11am_street
Looking at the schematics, he kept thinking of the crime he was willing to commit. Could he do it? Should do it? Could he really continue with the creation of a weapon that will extinguish the life of millions? It wasn't in his character to do harm; however, he knew too much, had seen too much.
He closed his eyes and thought back to his days in the Alteran Home Galaxy when his kind and the Ori coexisted. He knew without a doubt he must do what he must. There was no choice; there was no turning back. If not him, then who would take on his mantle and see his plan through?
He breathed in and as he exhaled, he thought, she would. She had tried before, and nearly succeeded. Always she sought his demise, he thought bitterly. She, just like the others, did not understand, could not understand the depth of horror he had seen, that has been in existence for far too long.
He continued downloading the plans for his weapon into the Repository of knowledge. He couldn't enact his plan, but perhaps, perhaps one day he would find a man with the same desire, the same strength and willpower. A man willing to sacrifice all, including his own life, to achieve the ultimate goal: the destruction of the Ori and the freedom of his former galaxy.
He felt a slight chill on the nape of his neck. He had no need to turn around to know who was behind him.
"Have you come to stop me yet again, Ganos Lal?" he said not bothering to even slow down a moment from his eminent task.
There was a long pause and the slight shuffling of feet. Merlin felt a hand rest upon his shoulder. The touch was cold at first and then slowly warmed to a natural human touch. Though Merlin knew the woman standing behind him was anything human.
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N is for Nondisclosure
by draegonhawke
Kianna's Goa'uld had been incisive, precise, detailed in her reports, and punctual to a fault -- a model researcher, with the twin exceptions of her taking a Kelownan scientist hostage and her intention to seize the research and enact a coup. Kianna herself had never trained herself into the military discipline that seemed to be required of the people at the Institute, but in the interests of not making a worse impression on her superiors than the Goa'uld had, she was making an effort; she arrived for her first appointment with the First Minister only a couple minutes late.
Which was why she was surprised that the First Minister, a woman with a military sense of timekeeping herself, still had a visitor when she arrived.
Kianna couldn't see who it was through the heavy wood door, but she could hear First Minister Dreylock's voice. "Jonas, it would behoove you to realize that these people are not our allies, however much they might think--"
And Jonas's. "But they are our allies! Or they would be, if we let them be." He had that impassioned tone, that just-look-can't-you-see-the-evidence tone. Kianna was familiar with that tone. But right here, right now, it made her want to slink away into the back passages of the Institute and lose herself in the research materials she had until now only experienced secondhand.
"You can bring this up at the next Institute meeting," Dreylock said, which wouldn't mollify him. Kianna knew that much. The Institute meetings were theoretically a way to allow the researcher's voices to be heard, but served mostly as a way for the government to monitor sentiment. Investigations and quiet dismissals were a more common result than policy changes. "In the mean time, I understand your frustrations, but I do have a meeting. I have to end this one."
A pause. Then Jonas said "Right. Of course. Thank you for your time, First Minister," and there was the sound of papers being shuffled, and the door creaked open. Kianna stepped to one side.
There was the expected jolt of recognition when Jonas stepped out; the expected uncertainty, the expected unease.
"Kianna."
Kianna swallowed. "Jonas," she said, taking her cues from him -- still on a first-name basis, it seemed. Anything else, she suspected, would be too far one way or another; too much forced closeness, too much forced distance.
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O is for Odin
by eilidh17
They are as we once were.
Original?
Perhaps exceptional would be a wiser word choice.
Exceptional would tend to assume that we are no longer as good as we once were. Or perhaps there is a stage above perfection we have yet to name?
Originality is a template of sorts.
Ah. An untainted gene pool.
Do you always regard life in such simplistic terms?
I was not a scientist. Neither were you.
I have adapted. You are aware of what the humans regard our kind as?
I have heard rumors, but I am unsure of what the term 'little green men' refers to.
It is a common illusion of our kind. Doctor Jackson once stated that it was a phrase given by those who claimed to have seen us among their population. O'Neill would call it a term of endearment. It is not the opinion of those who have made it their place to protect their planet.
I see your fondness for the Tau'ri has not waned over the centuries.
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P is for Pournelle's Iron Law
B is for Bureaucracy
by splash_the_cat
Pournelle's Iron Law of Bureaucracy states that in any bureaucratic organization there will be two kinds of people: those who work to further the actual goals of the organization, and those who work for the organization itself.
Ja'tal often does not understand his Jaffa brothers. He is young enough that he has never carried a prim'ta, has never carried a staff weapon in anything but defense of his brothers and their allies, has never knelt in awe or fear of a god.
But most of all he does not understand why his elder brethren cannot be bothered organizing things properly. It is not as if Jaffa do not possess great or efficient minds: the oral sagas are always rich and detailed, and remembered perfectly. Battle plans and strategies are handed down for generations. Most free Jaffa are more than proficient at using the Goa'uld computers scavenged from ha'taks and the occasional al'kesh and repurposed to maintaining information and organizing communications.
But when it comes to the everyday mundanities, tasks and details of a rebellion, everyone single person has their own opinion, their own way of doing things, and it is slowly driving Ja'tal to madness.
He stomps through the chappa'ai and right into Master Bra'tac. Stumbling back from the collision, he lands with a humiliating thud on his backside. Ja'tal sucks in a breath, more at the sympathetic smile on Bra'tac's face than at the sting of impact. He has seventeen summers! He will not cry like a baby.
"Hold up, young son!" Bra'tac offers a hand, and snuffling back his anger and embarrassment, Ja'tal takes it, letting the old man pull him to his feet. "You look fit to start a storm, Ja'tal. What has happened to bring you back in this state?"
Ja'tal surreptitiously brushes the dirt from the seat of his pants and pulls himself straight and tall. "It is nothing, Master Bra'tac. My apologies for my inattention."
But his attempt to school his feelings apparently falls as awkwardly flat as he did, and Bra'tac sighs. "What has Dalna'k done this time?"
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Q is for Quacksalver
by sidlj
I have never laid any claim to being a scientist. Anise, of course, is a scientist, and a highly trained one at that. Unfortunately she can never seem to remember that her training is entirely in the area of ancient civilizations and cultures. She is constantly dragging me into situations that make me look and feel foolish. Much worse than that, other people have been endangered.
But what can I do about it? If I raise objections, she dismisses them, the same way she dismissed the concerns of the Tau'ri about the tests she wanted to perform using the Atoneek armbands. She kept insisting that Colonel O'Neill and his team would be all right, in spite of their physician's very vocal unease. In a way, Anise was correct. They would have developed antibodies, the armbands would have fallen off, and everyone would have been safe and healthy. If we hadn't convinced them to undertake that mission for us.
I share the blame for that. Their deaths would have been on my hands as much as... After all these years, I still find myself using phrases that are quite silly in our situation. There is only the one pair of hands, and one head for blame to be heaped upon. It does seem unfair that they should be mine, every time.
Anise is ingenious, there is no denying. She surmised the existence of the Zatarc mind-control technology, and, with a good deal of help, built a machine that uses a modified memory recall device to detect the presence of an implanted false memory. But once again, she believed so strongly in her theories that she overlooked other possibilities, such as the Tau'ri instinct to dissemble under certain circumstances.
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R is for Regrets
by skieswideopen
Haikon is the last of his people. The Tau'ri confirm it for him after they destroy the thing that used to be Volnek, but he'd already known.
The Tau'ri take him back to their world. He doesn't expect to survive, but their surgeons prove as skilled as Volnek reported, and he wakes from surgery to voices telling him that he'll be fine.
He spends his recovery reviewing his regrets. It's not a luxury he would have allowed himself in the days when he was Lord Haikon, leader of the Sodan. But now he's just Haikon, with too many hours and no purpose to guide his use of them, and his regrets have grown past counting. (If only he had been a better warrior. Fought harder. Brought Volnek down.)
The Tau'ri tell him there is nothing he could have done. His people were doomed the moment the Prior first made contact. (If only he had hidden them more effectively. Guarded them from the eyes of the Ori.)
"If you'd stopped Volnek, they would have tried something else," Mitchell says. "One way or another, they would have brought you down. They don't believe in taking 'no' for an answer."
"And yet here you stand, your world untouched," Haikon counters.
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S is for Syndication
by elder_bonnie
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon, fading as the sun rose. Caiman stood and stretched, smiling at the scene that was so familiar to him. He stepped carefully over the legs of Sergeant Haverdan, a member of SG-12 from Earth. Their team had been studying with his people for a while now and were scheduled for departure soon. Caiman was looking forward to showing them the ruins at the base of the ravine today. He started walking toward the woods, hoping to look at the Stargate, when he heard a noise like the growling of an alien beast. Caiman recognized it as coming from the gate and broke into a run, but by the time he reached the gate, it was already activating, surrounded by a strange webbing of energy-
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon, fading as the sun rose. Caiman stood and stretched, smiling at the scene that was so familiar to him. Sergeant Haverdan grunted and rolled over, nearly tripping Caiman as he moved past the group and started heading toward the Stargate. He was intent on studying its glyphs, intrigued by them and secretly hoping someday to travel through the ring. He began making his way through the woods when he heard a terrible roar begin in the distance. It was the gate! He began to run, but was clotheslined by a low-hanging branch. Caiman landed on his back with a thud, the wind knocked out of him-
The moons of Alaris sat side by side up on the horizon, fading as the sun rose. Caiman stood and began to stretch, but he lost his footing and fell backwards into the dying fire embers. His comical shrieks awoke the members of SG-12, who quickly pulled him out of the ashes and laughed as they dusted him off. But then they all heard the shriek of the gate and began to run to the Stargate's clearing, commanding Caiman to stay behind.
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon. Caiman was still asleep and slept through the whole loop.
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon. As Caiman was standing to stretch, he heard a soft whooshing from above. He turned in a quick circle, looking at the sky, but was unable to spot the golf ball before it hit his head.
The moons of Alaris began to peer over the edge of the horizon, illuminated by the last dying rays of the sun. The day had been a productive one, and the members of SG-12 were ready to head home. Caiman was sorry to see them go; they hadn't spent nearly enough time learning from each other. It wasn't until the team had the gate dialed up and ready to go that they all received word of what had happened -- a time loop had trapped their world along with a number of others, apparently causing them all to relive the same handful of hours again and again and again. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for them, their loop had begun shortly after they'd gone to sleep the night before. They had slept most of their loops away. Upon hearing all of this news, Caiman absently rubbed the back of his head, as though subconsciously feeling the pain from an injury he never received.
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T is for Troubled Minds and Traitor
by lokei
Troubled Minds
Travell doesn't think of herself as the sort of person who vacillates wildly. In her role, she can't afford to, after all. One doesn't become High Chancellor by looking indecisive or unprincipled.
SG-1 makes her head spin in ways she doesn't much appreciate, but then again, less technologically advanced societies do have a tendency to be more volatile than her own more regulated community. First, they insist on 'rescuing' the last team from Tollan, and then rescuing them again from their own government by contacting the Nox and engineering their escape. Next they attempt to disrupt the Triad and subvert a highly respected member of the Nox delegation, and somehow end up saving Tollana again. Yet a mere handful of weeks later, other Tau'ri are implicated in the theft of valuable technology from more than one set of allies. It is as if the humans of Earth are constitutionally incapable of acting in rational or predictable patterns, and they are all extraordinarily aggravating to Travell's sense of order.
Dealing with the Tau'ri is like grabbing on to the end of a wildly swinging rope and hoping it doesn't fray under your fingers and let you drop somewhere unpleasant.
Travell considers this, and clenches her fingers tightly around that invisible thread of hope, and bows to Tanith's demands.
Traitor
It's a hard label to bear on a daily basis. For all Nyan loves being Doctor Jackson's research assistant, plowing through the massive piles of books and notes that continually overturn everything Nyan thought he knew about the universe, every single page is also a reminder. Every penciled scrawl for transcription, every email heading, every gold-titled tome of folklore mutates under Nyan's gaze to a scarlet brand of betrayal, like that book he'd picked up in the on-base library. Yes, he is happy to be learning. Yes, he is happy to be alive. Yes, he did the right thing, helping SG-1 escape. Most days he is content with his status as political refugee, as a member of the SGC, as a scientist who put truth above belief.
But some days, he is a traitor to Bedrosia, and he can never go home.
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U is for Ultimately Unmoved
by thothmes
Long and long ago when the galaxy was much younger, and no modern human beings had yet evolved to walk the Earth, there were four great races that allied themselves. Although the Tau'ri were to assume later - and mistakenly - that these races allied to fight the Goa'uld, this was not so. At that time the Goa'uld were still confined to the swamps of a single backwater planet, and they were considered a curiosity, and a curse on the few Unas that were afflicted with them. It was only millennia later, when humans had evolved and some of the Unas had been taught the use of the stargates and had begun to wander the galaxy that the Four Great Races, already allied, turned their attention to the scourge that was the Goa'uld, and because defeating the Goa'uld had never been the reason for their alliance, merely yet another of the paths that they explored in their attempts to better the universe, they did not - as a body - feel that they needed to see that task through.
They had banded together because they were each intelligent, space faring, curious races, and the universe is a vast place and evil was as strong and as dangerous back then as it is in our time. They were stronger together than individually, and thus they allied themselves, to share knowledge, to share resources, and to pool their questions about the nature of the universe. A dying race, still older than any of their own and the possessors of great wisdom, passed on to them the prediction that a Fifth Race would arise and walk amongst them all, and this race would be the one to defeat the Goa'uld, once and for all. Then that race, whose name has vanished into time, came to an end, taking their vast wisdom with them, a bitter development for the Asgard, who had hoped to benefit from it.
The first to drift away of the Four were the Ancients. They were always an overweening and outward-turned race, seeding the universe with stargates and with races created in their own image, using their stargates to spread the most successful mutations as they evolved far and wide throughout the universe. They studied time and learned to travel through it when the spirit or necessity moved them, and eventually they grew so mighty and had reached so far beyond their corporeal forms, and were so wracked by a great schism, that they passed beyond the ken of the other three races, ascending or becoming the gods of the Ori, depending on which side their loyalties lay.
The Nox were next. Though they had discovered many beauties and wonders out on the other worlds of the galaxy, the technology that they used to reach out to the stars had badly damaged the ecology of their planet. The Ancients had given them a stargate, enabling them to travel the stars by other means, but the Nox looked at the ruins of their native planet and they felt great sadness and great shame that their selfish quest for the wonders beyond its bounds had led them to abuse the other organisms that they shared the planet with. Their thirst for knowledge ceased to lead outward, and instead focused on finding the best ways to undo what they had done, and learning how to live in harmony with the environment they would cultivate and restore. They were, alas, not wise enough to be able to fully recreate all that had been lost. Some things, once broken, cannot be regained, but it would have been difficult for outsiders to see this. They tended their garden and worked to perfect the ability to live in harmony with all things.
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V is for Vodka
by colls
Martin groaned as he tried to open his eyes. His head was pounding and the room was swaying slightly, so he closed them again and buried his face in the pillow. He didn't remember how he got into bed, but he did know he didn't want to get out just now.
Moments later, the alarm clock on the night stand began blaring out an obnoxious tune. Martin struggled to turn it off, cursing and nearly crying in frustration. Mission finally accomplished, he sat at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, wondering who had tuned the clock radio to a pop station. The housekeeping staff? Probably. He hated this hotel, but it was closest to the movie set.
He made his way to the bathroom in search of water. On the sink was a bottle of Tylenol, three bottles of water and a bottle of Gatorade. Attached to the mirror was a hand written note.
Martin;
It seems we need to discuss boundaries and rules once again. Please keep this in your wallet and refer to it as needed.
1) Do not phone Jack O'Neill except in cases of emergency EXTREME emergency.
2) 50's night at the local karaoke bar is NOT an emergency.
3) Your date thinking that you're weird does not mean she suspects you to be an alien. You're just weird.
4) You are not refer to back home as 'on your planet'. If you find yourself in a bind, say you're from Canada.
5) Under no circumstances are you allowed to drink vodka again.
Signed;
Jack O'Neill
P.S. I've asked the local sheriff to drop the drunk and disorderly charges, but she's put you on notice. "No more shenanigans!!" (her words) She's also left her number, apparently she's a 50's fan and thinks you have a nice voice.
Do not EVER put me in a position of having to hear a sheriff say something like that about you EVER again. Do you understand me?
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W is for Wile
by eilidh17
Anise was a fool; a child among the most junior of the Tok'ra, despite her many centuries among their ranks. Sure, she had the promise of becoming one of their most exceptional scientific minds, but she also had a naivety that meant most of her 'brilliant' work was clouded by her reputation for stumbling, sometimes blindly, upon solutions to problems.
One of her other shortcomings was her love for the tactile feeling of handwriting. Tallan looked at Anise's open journal, to the details of her latest creation and its' unpromising results. He smiled smugly, noting the errors she had made with her calculations and how swayed her hypothesis was because she simply believed she was right.
None of this mattered now that his plan was slowly unfolding. Anise was crucial to his next move. He shadowed her from time to time, as any good teacher would--backing up her theories with his practical wisdom, borne from more than a millennia of life studying the sciences--and encouraging her research down a path that would lead to particular results. All the while, blinding her to the minuscule flaws in the device she had created.
Tallan was not Tok'ra. He guessed, if he had to define his being, he would regard himself as a Goa'uld spy, for that was exactly what his purpose among the Tok'ra was. He had lived with them for most of his considerably long life: waiting, watching, and only feeding back to his master the most crucial of information. He slotted in perfectly with their society. No one knew of his ruse, of how one of his former hosts had been captured by his master, and how he had taken that Tok'ra's place and never allowed the host to surface again. Each subsequent host was silenced with equal ease.
In one corner of Anise's laboratory sat the very device she had developed to counter the latest threat to the Tok'ra. It was innocuous looking, and it was also defective... to a degree. There was no way Tallan could let the device work exactly the way Anise suggested it would. Fortunately for him, several members of the Tok'ra had already been exposed to this device, with a range of results that left Per'sus and the rest of the High Council in two minds over its effective use.
Of course, what no-one on the High Council knew was that the technology to turn someone into a za'tarc was of Tallan's making. And that the device itself was safely in the hands of his master and awaiting its next target.
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X is for Xабаровск
by greenbirds
It's December 30th when they bring Ganya home to Khabarovsk.
[Aminev, GennadyIvanovich. Captain. Born 10 October 1971. Killed in action 10 December 2003, at an undisclosed location. Posthumously awarded Hero of the Russian Federation for conspicuous gallantry.]
The river is thick with ice. The marshallers on the airstrip are bundled up to their eyebrows and wearing fur hats that are quickly collecting their own snowdrifts. Andrei Chekov, in his own fur hat and muffler, his only distinguishing marks a general's wool greatcoat and the stars on his shoulders, is waiting on the tarmac when they carry Ganya off the plane.
The weather is nothing new to Chekov. Khabarovsk was his first posting. He was nineteen. He remembers the drafty little shed at the edge of the airstrip, and the tiny oil heater whose only function seemed to be convincing rawboned boys that it couldn't possibly be as cold inside the marshallers' hut as they thought it was. When they sent him off to Cuba three years later, he praised the God he wasn't supposed to believe in.
There's no honor guard waiting when they carry the little pine box draped with the Russian flag off the plane; none but the blowing snow and the marshallers with their beacons and a general several years past his prime.
Chekov thinks of state funerals that will never happen, of parades honoring fallen heroes that would mean admitting state secrets, of cosmonauts whose names are etched in history (Gagarin, Tereshkova) for going a millionth as far from earth as Ganya went. He says a prayer to the God he still doesn't believe in for the soul of a fallen hero.
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Y U No Pants
by campylobacter
"Bring me pants."
"My Lord, you are wearing them."
Lord Yu doesn't bat an eyelash. "I desire the pants with the red and gold dragons."
Yu's First Prime rues that day he was forced to assume the duties of the late lo'taur Jarran; domestic chores added to military command in His Lordship's service have become exhausting. "Are the pants you are wearing with the red and gold dragons not the ones you desire, my Lord?"
"You are clever, Oshu," Yu says as he rises from the sarcophagus. "These are the pants I desire. I am the oldest of the system lords; my wants are simple. Those younglings assume that the voices and memories crowding their minds make them great, make them gods."
"My Lord?"
"I am not great because I am a god, but am a god because I am great. I listen to the only voice in my head: my own."
Oshu begins to wonder if Yu has lost the only other voice he could have heard in his mind: that of the host. Yu's reposes in the sarcophagus have become less effective in restoring mental acuity. "My Lord, you are wise in all things."
"Why then have you not brought me pants?"
Oshu stifles a sigh. Where was an ambush by Ba'al when you needed one?
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Z is for Zenith
by gategremlyn
They are more than an irritant; they interfere with his plans. SG-1, peaceful explorers so they claim, are not welcome here, not now, not when he's so close. Malikai stands before the altar and--with the power of the Stargate at his command--prepares to change the flow of time. He will be with his wife, gone now these twelve long years. He will hold her hand, touch her face, and hear her voice.
He will give anything, do anything, to conquer the past. One more minute and then all minutes will turn back and give him the thing he desires most...
...if they will ever leave him alone.
Malikai is a scholar still. Once, he stepped through the Stargate to find the wonders of long-dead civilizations. He deciphered mysterious writings on temple walls. He learned of ancient beings whose technology was there to be discovered. Then at the height of his anguish and pain, he found this--a time travel machine which would take him back to her.
He understands Daniel Jackson even as he tries to drive him away. But Doctor Jackson cannot have what Malikai has been denied. There will be no joy, no hope, no love of knowledge without his wife by his side. When he shoots, he has no regrets.
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Enjoy over 23,000 words of Allies Alphabet Soup! Ratings range from G to PG-13, with spoilers throughout the series. Allies referenced here include Thor and the Asgard, various Jaffa (including the Sodan), various Tok'ra, the Ancients, the Tollan, Lya, the Land of Light, Madrona, Byrsa, Langara, Alaris, Edora, Colonel Chekov and other Russians, Harry Maybourne, Malikai, Martin Lloyd, and even the Furlings!
Due to LJ posting constraints, only very short fics are posted in full here; the others are excerpted, with links to the full story at the author's journal. The complete and unabridged anthology is on Dreamwidth, including artwork from Eilidh for her two fics.
Readers are encouraged to leave continued for the authors in their respective journals.
A is for Allies
by roeskva
"You were trespassing on my domain!" the Goa'uld on the throne exclaimed, angrily. He glared at the four people kneeling in front of him, his First Prime standing beside them with a painstick in his hand.
The Goa'uld on the throne was a youngish looking man, with short, dark hair, and piercing black eyes. His face was regular, and he was quite handsome, even though his cold expression detracted some from his appeal. He was dressed in the Egyptian style, as was another man - probably also a Goa'uld - standing a few steps behind him. That man's fiery red hair and green eyes made him look oddly out of place, though the lack of a cynical expression did that in any case. His look was more blank than evil.
"Sorry," O'Neill said, not looking like he meant it. "Didn't know it was yours. Maybe you should put up a sign? Who are you, by the way?"
"Insolence! I am Lord Hu! How can you not know my greatness?" He motioned at the nearest Jaffa, who gave O'Neill a hard blow on the shoulder, making him cry out and fall forward. Hu smirked. "Of course, the Tau'ri, know little of what happens in the Galaxy. SG-1! Yes, I recognize you! Heru'ur shall be most pleased with me when I present you as my gift!"
O'Neill picked himself up from the floor, and looked at the Goa'uld. "Huh? Really? That's your name?"
"That is enough!" Hu roared, furious over the insulting way O'Neill was behaving. "You will tell me why you are here, and then Heru'ur shall get you. You are going to regret your insolent behaviour, human!" He turned to his Jaffa. "Kree! Show the human what happens when you disobey your god!"
The Jaffa immediately jammed a painstick against O'Neill's neck, causing him to fall forward again, and the light to shine strongly from his mouth and eyes.
Before the interrogation could continue, a nervous man entered the room, bowing very deeply. "I... I apologize, my Lord, but you have a visitor. He is most insistent."
Hu looked at the man with such anger, that the already nervous man paled and seemed close to fainting. Hu turned to the man standing behind him. "Thopar. Handle it."
"At once, my Lord." The underling bowed and left.
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B is for Byrsa
by rinkafic
For many years, the red shine of the Ring of the Ancestors had warned the people of Byrsa that it was time to flee, lest they be taken as hosts for the Goa'uld. They had sheltered in their caves until the danger passed them by and it was safe to emerge.
The Tauri had come, and they had forged an alliance with them. The Goa'uld did not come as frequently as they once had. Life was better, the children did not live in fear of the activation of the Ring.
Then the Ori came. The people of Byrsa heard that the people of other worlds were given a choice to accept a new master or to die. This was unacceptable. They did not wish to live in fear again.
And so, they did the only thing they could think of to protect themselves.
They pulled down the Ring of the Ancestors and buried it. They might be cut off from other worlds, but they would no longer be terrified of what might come through the Ring.
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C is for Circumstance
by sg_wonderland
Circumstance -- events or conditions beyond someone's control (The Microsoft Encarta Dictionary)
"Hey."
Colonel Chekhov squinted at the figure lounging in the infirmary doorway. "O'Neill. I hope you have news. They will tell me nothing."
"Well," Jack rolled a stool over and took a seat at the bedside. "I might be able to answer a few questions."
Chekhov grunted. "The Korolev?"
"What do you remember?"
"We took hit from Ori ship."
"Worse than a hit, I'm afraid." Jack looked him in the eye. "I'm sorry, but they blew her out of the sky."
"Korolev was destroyed?" The idea was more than he could imagine.
"Completely. Someone got you to the rings and down to the Odyssey."
"How...how many survivors?"
"Counting you? Six."
The breath left Chekhov's body in a rush.
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D is for Destiny
by traycer_
The Legacy
They asked for so little, yet gave so much. Theirs was a legacy that would benefit future generations of the fifth race, even as that race slowly found ways to destroy themselves. Still, it was the Asgard's hope that the heirloom of knowledge passed down through the friendships they made would surely build a stronger bond in hopes of preserving the future. It was their greatest wish.
Not only their greatest wish, but also their legacy. Because even though they had the superior technological advances they acquired over the centuries, they still couldn't find a way to deliver their own salvation. They had come to terms with their fate as they faced their final enemy. They had fought death by cloning, and death had won anyway.
And when the end was near, their demise came swiftly with only a few hours to prepare, although many of them knew for years that their time would come. It had been their destiny, shaped by the cloning process they had put so much hope into, as well as the final desperate act to save themselves from the pain and degradation of diseases that plague their kind. There was no turning back now that the mistakes were made, only death. And the Asgards embraced it for they knew there was no other way.
Silence filled the rooms and hallways as they waited for Thor and the technicians to return from the Tau'ri ship. A calming silence that eased some of the apprehension a few felt, despite their anxieties. Even when Thor finally appeared with the others, no words were spoken, for there was nothing to be said. They stood silent while some closed their eyes, others clasped hands, and only the reverberations of the blast disturbed the quiet solidarity of their existence.
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E is for Edora
by sg_fignewton
Three men and two women sat quietly at the table, awaiting the delegation from Earth. There was no need for them to speak; they had already discussed the day's topics in great detail and were more than ready for the coming encounter.
Footsteps in the corridor alerted them, and the councilors rose to their feet as SG-9 filed into the room.
"Fair day, Major," said Erain, the council's designated speaker.
"Fair day, Erain. Councilors," Major Kovacek replied, nodding to each one in turn. The other members of SG-9 echoed the greeiting.
"Be seated, please," Erain invited.
"Thank you." Kovacek and the rest of SG-9 moved to their regular seats. As chairs scraped and folders were placed on the table, Erain considered Earth's diplomatic delegation and thought about how far they'd come.
At their first formal meeting several days ago, he had observed a quick flash of disappointment, hastily concealed, when Kovacek realized that he would be dealing with strangers. Of course, it would have been politically unwise for the Edorans to allow anyone who had been in close contact with the SGC to conduct these negotiations. It didn't matter whether such people had been those who had sheltered on Earth after the fire rain strikes, or simply a member of the village nearest the Stargate who had befriended Jack O'Neill during his time on the planet; there would have been an unavoidable undercurrent of debt to the SGC for saving lives and restoring their people. Erain, like everyone else on Edora, deeply appreciated Earth's assistance, of course. But trying to create a treaty from a position of weakness could only leave Edora vulnerable to exploitation, even if the SGC had no such deliberate intentions.
Erain hadn't been dismayed by Kovacek's chagrin. After all, any good diplomat automatically seeks to gain the greatest possible advantages. Erain would have been almost insulted if the SGC had sent inexperienced men to form a treaty with Edora. It was enough that Kovacek recognized that the Edorans were wily enough to avoid unnecessary weakness. The first careful steps of the intricate dance of negotiation had begun.
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F is for Favorite
by sidlj
Lya doesn't play favorites. Her impartiality is a watchword among even the Nox themselves.
But that doesn't mean she doesn't have favorites. She sees the hope and goodness in young Daniel Jackson, the intellect and the compassion of brave Samantha Carter, the determination to save his people and the desperate need for redemption of the mighty Teal'c. She sees the cynicism, the scars, and the deep-buried faith of loyal Jack O'Neill.
She will always do the right and the fair thing, which always, so far, has turned out to be the thing that helps those she cares about most. One day she knows that might change.
On that day, faces will no longer light up when they see her. Smiles will not spring to lips, eyes will cease to shine with delight.
Lya will lose her position as everyone's favorite ally.
So be it.
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G is for Weather Gauge
by jedibuttercup
La Moor had spoken to ambassadors from Earth many times since their people had first walked through Madrona's Stargate, but she had seldom had occasion to frown at them since they had returned the stolen Touchstone and thus begun their long and fruitful alliance.
"You are certain?" she asked, pausing just outside the entrance of the Temple to confirm the Major's words. "We had already begun to allocate space and supplies; I assure you, it would be no trouble to house and feed your friends for as long as may be necessary."
It would not be the first time La Moor's people had taken in refugees from other allies of Earth beset by conquering armies or natural disasters; with a perfectly controlled climate and a history of protection rather than domination, Madrona boasted a large population that wanted for little. She had learned much in the years since her people's first eventful introduction to the worlds beyond the Stargate, first as her uncle's heir and then as his successor, and knew they were in a rare position; Earth did have other friends, some just as peaceful and many more powerful, but very few had such resources to spare. They had begun to trade much of their excess since the awakening of the Stargate, but the Touchstone allowed them to cultivate as much land as they had hands to spare. And there were always hands to spare among those new come to her world's great gardens.
Many of the refugees would leave again, when the disaster was over; they always did, returning to their homes or building anew on uninhabited worlds. But many would also stay, contributing their strengths to the harmony of Madrona. Whatever resources might be spent on sheltering these Langarans, La Moor was certain her people would only benefit in the long term.
But the Major only shook his head. His hat, removed earlier in respect for the Temple, had been tucked under his arm; the bright summer sun struck warm highlights in his dark hair, reminding her of the still uncomfortable weight of the formal priests' headdress pressing down on her brow.
"And they were very grateful for your offer, Princess; but they have chosen not to take advantage of it at this time. There is still a chance they may be able to save their world, and they have decided to devote all their energies to that end," he said, measuring his words carefully.
That was only half-truth, she judged, though prettily spoken.
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H is for Harry's Hat
by delphia2000
Harry stepped out into the bright DC sunlight and paused at the top of the stairs to adjust the brim of his hat against the glare. God, he missed being in uniform. He missed his hat.
Of course, this wasn't his uniform. He probably could have found one of his own in one of his many safe houses, but he needed a non-com's uniform. Nobody ever looked at a non-com's face, just the uniform and the salute. It was very important no one should recognize him today. He'd added some glasses and adopted a slack-jawed, vacant look just to help the disguise along. That, and turning his head whenever he neared a location he knew was covered by video cameras.
It was entirely possible his face would show up in any camera recordings he didn't know about, but by the time the corrupted Trust saw the tapes, he'd be off-world. Or at least he hoped so. He had a scroll and a device that would let him into a protected place, a planet sanctuary, free of the Goa'uld. It would take a little doing to get himself through the Gate, but he was certain he could manage that.
Especially since he'd just ensured the Stargate program would continue.
There was no telling how far the infestation had spread, but there had been at least one Goa'uld-ed congressman on the Finance Committee and it was undoubtedly trying to shut down the program, to make Earth vulnerable to attack in spite of the Asgard treaty. There had been a Goa'uld; there wasn't now.
The NID had stolen some of the parasite suppression drugs used by the Tollan and Harry had stashed some he'd stolen from the NID. It had taken some doing to get an appointment with the congressman and to slip him the drugs, but they worked and would continue to work long enough to ensure the program's funding. Eventually, the congressman would have run out of the drugs and the Goa'uld would have taken over again, but Harry had added another ingredient to the drugs and it was killing the symbiote. When it died, it would take the host with it.
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I is for Ideology
by sg_fignewton
"The first time we met the Tau'ri," Ledora said thoughtfully, "we assumed they were gods. Surely only the divine could travel through the Light."
Drey'auc's mouth twisted. "So it has been with us, for too many generations." Her right hand drifted from the small potter's wheel and stole to her belly, unconsciously stroking the skin above the creature that suckled at her life force. "We believed Apophis was divine because of the tools he wielded. We did not see that we were his tools, and too often the source of his might."
Ledora politely averted her gaze from Drey'auc's curse, even as her people had always shown mercy for the Touched by sending them away to spare them from others' stares of pity or disgust. "The Tau'ri insisted they were not divine, but I did not believe them until I saw that they, too, could be Touched by our curse. They cured Doctor Jackson and all of our afflicted brethren, but their ability to heal proved only knowledge, not godliness." Her own fingers moved with casual skill, shaping wet clay into graceful curves. "How did your people discover the truth?"
Drey'auc bent her head over the wheel again, and Ledora allowed the delay as the woman gathered her thoughts. "Teal'c might say with you that it was the Tau'ri and their actions," she said at last.
"But you would not?"
"No." Drey'auc suddenly straightened, and Ledora saw the gleam in her dark eyes. "I do not dismiss the Tau'ri, for they have indeed done much. But their goals are not ours."
Ledora frowned, uncertain. "They seek to battle those that would be gods, as you do."
"Yes."
"And they offer aid."
"Oh, yes." Drey'auc's lip curled. "They are most generous."
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J is for Justified
by ivorygates
When she was seven years old, Shau'nac of the Red Hills was taken to the Great Temple of Apophis to receive the mark of the god upon her forehead. Now I am a woman, she thought. She was old enough to move from her mother's rooms in the House of Increase to her own room in the House of Promise. For the first time, she could approach the God's shrine and light its lamps. Her prayers would be heard by the God Himself.
When Shau'nac was ten years old, there was a great ceremony. She returned to the Great Temple, and the priestess of Apophis opened Shau'nac's pouch for the first time and placed the body of a god within her flesh. Now she was Prata.
It was a glorious thing to know she now served the God Apophis directly. She loved the new strength and power that came with his favor, the freedom from the weakness of the human cattle. She loved being able to go to the temple, to hear the praise-songs of the God Apophis in person, not just over the vo'cuum. She loved to walk through rooms and know that He had walked through the same ones, had seen with His own eyes the same sights she beheld. She knew she could never serve Him in His glorious battles with his brother Gods, but she began to hope with all her heart she could serve Him in her own way.
When Shau'nac was thirty years old, she said goodbye to her lover and went to the temple to train to become a priestess. Teal'c had tried to talk her out of it. He swore to her that he would become the greatest of the God Apophis's Jaffa. That he would win such honor in battle that the God would grant him the boon of a wife. And he would come to her and they would wed.
And Shau'nac said: no. The life of a Jaffa warrior was uncertain. The path to the God's favor was long.
And she did not want to wait to serve.
When Shau'nac was thirty-five years old, she saw the God Apophis in the flesh. He came to the Temple to speak to the High Priestess, for a Choosing was to be held, and the Temple would preside over the ceremony in which the Gods were made flesh. He was a glorious figure in golden armor: noble, wise, all-seeing. He smiled at her as he passed, and his eyes glowed with the divine fire.
That image warmed her heart for a very long time.
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K is for Kite
by chattycatsmeow
M'zel recognized the need for administrative meetings but had never enjoyed them. The Tau'ri had a phrase which summed them up perfectly - necessary evil. That phrase was one of the few things from the Tau'ri which he found useful. The meetings were less so, especially with the Tau'ri in charge. They did things differently, less efficiently, but wrongly believed their ways to be superior to those of the Jaffa. The Tau'ri were soldiers, not warriors, and it irritated him to be under their command.
The inclusion of the Tok'ra to the alliance had not improved matters any. While the Tau'ri yoke chafed him, the Tok'ra presence galled. Even more so than the System Lords, the Tok'ra were secretive. Master manipulators. Devious in the extreme. Above all, they were Goa'uld just like the System Lords they claimed to oppose.
M'zel had seen it before. One god supplants another and becomes the very same as the tyrant that had been deposed. The Tok'ra professed benevolence and fairness now, but once the balance of power shifted, once the Tok'ra held sway, how long would that benevolence last?
The Tau'ri said to trust the Tok'ra and he did. He trusted the Tok'ra to betray them all. The only question was how soon.
Colonel Reilly dismissed them and M'zel left the command hut, ruminating on the changes just outlined. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Major Green.
"I'm heading to lunch but I'd like to discuss item four if you have time," said Green.
M'zel readily agreed. As they discussed the proposed changes to perimeter checkpoints and sentry rotation, M'zel considered the man beside him.
As one of the senior officers of the Tau'ri, Green had many people directly under his authority. Green was neither fierce nor stern, but despite these shortcomings, his people performed well and seemed loyal to him. M'zel generally found him to be reasonable and less perplexing than some of the other Tau'ri. Green was, in the Tau'ri parlance, an okay guy.
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L is for Loss
by dennydj
"You can't heal me, can you?"
"I am still trying, Elliot."
"It's taking all of your strength just to keep me breathing."
"If I can keep you alive until Selmac and Doctor Jackson arrive--"
"That's a big 'if'."
Elliot's eyes turned to watch Major Carter as she paced a few feet away, P-90 gripped tightly as she waited for the colonel and Teal'c to return, hopefully with her father and Doctor Jackson.
"She's the reason you're trying so hard." Elliot could tell he'd surprised Lantash; the Tok'ra hadn't meant to let his thoughts slip. "You didn't just want to tell her how you felt, you wanted to be with her again."
"I meant what I said. I've come to love her as much as I once loved Jolinar."
"So I'm what--just a life preserver?" He could feel Lantash's bristle at the remark, which was an odd sensation.
"Would you not have done the same thing if your only other option was death?"
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M is for Merlin
by 11am_street
Looking at the schematics, he kept thinking of the crime he was willing to commit. Could he do it? Should do it? Could he really continue with the creation of a weapon that will extinguish the life of millions? It wasn't in his character to do harm; however, he knew too much, had seen too much.
He closed his eyes and thought back to his days in the Alteran Home Galaxy when his kind and the Ori coexisted. He knew without a doubt he must do what he must. There was no choice; there was no turning back. If not him, then who would take on his mantle and see his plan through?
He breathed in and as he exhaled, he thought, she would. She had tried before, and nearly succeeded. Always she sought his demise, he thought bitterly. She, just like the others, did not understand, could not understand the depth of horror he had seen, that has been in existence for far too long.
He continued downloading the plans for his weapon into the Repository of knowledge. He couldn't enact his plan, but perhaps, perhaps one day he would find a man with the same desire, the same strength and willpower. A man willing to sacrifice all, including his own life, to achieve the ultimate goal: the destruction of the Ori and the freedom of his former galaxy.
He felt a slight chill on the nape of his neck. He had no need to turn around to know who was behind him.
"Have you come to stop me yet again, Ganos Lal?" he said not bothering to even slow down a moment from his eminent task.
There was a long pause and the slight shuffling of feet. Merlin felt a hand rest upon his shoulder. The touch was cold at first and then slowly warmed to a natural human touch. Though Merlin knew the woman standing behind him was anything human.
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N is for Nondisclosure
by draegonhawke
Kianna's Goa'uld had been incisive, precise, detailed in her reports, and punctual to a fault -- a model researcher, with the twin exceptions of her taking a Kelownan scientist hostage and her intention to seize the research and enact a coup. Kianna herself had never trained herself into the military discipline that seemed to be required of the people at the Institute, but in the interests of not making a worse impression on her superiors than the Goa'uld had, she was making an effort; she arrived for her first appointment with the First Minister only a couple minutes late.
Which was why she was surprised that the First Minister, a woman with a military sense of timekeeping herself, still had a visitor when she arrived.
Kianna couldn't see who it was through the heavy wood door, but she could hear First Minister Dreylock's voice. "Jonas, it would behoove you to realize that these people are not our allies, however much they might think--"
And Jonas's. "But they are our allies! Or they would be, if we let them be." He had that impassioned tone, that just-look-can't-you-see-the-evidence tone. Kianna was familiar with that tone. But right here, right now, it made her want to slink away into the back passages of the Institute and lose herself in the research materials she had until now only experienced secondhand.
"You can bring this up at the next Institute meeting," Dreylock said, which wouldn't mollify him. Kianna knew that much. The Institute meetings were theoretically a way to allow the researcher's voices to be heard, but served mostly as a way for the government to monitor sentiment. Investigations and quiet dismissals were a more common result than policy changes. "In the mean time, I understand your frustrations, but I do have a meeting. I have to end this one."
A pause. Then Jonas said "Right. Of course. Thank you for your time, First Minister," and there was the sound of papers being shuffled, and the door creaked open. Kianna stepped to one side.
There was the expected jolt of recognition when Jonas stepped out; the expected uncertainty, the expected unease.
"Kianna."
Kianna swallowed. "Jonas," she said, taking her cues from him -- still on a first-name basis, it seemed. Anything else, she suspected, would be too far one way or another; too much forced closeness, too much forced distance.
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O is for Odin
by eilidh17
They are as we once were.
Original?
Perhaps exceptional would be a wiser word choice.
Exceptional would tend to assume that we are no longer as good as we once were. Or perhaps there is a stage above perfection we have yet to name?
Originality is a template of sorts.
Ah. An untainted gene pool.
Do you always regard life in such simplistic terms?
I was not a scientist. Neither were you.
I have adapted. You are aware of what the humans regard our kind as?
I have heard rumors, but I am unsure of what the term 'little green men' refers to.
It is a common illusion of our kind. Doctor Jackson once stated that it was a phrase given by those who claimed to have seen us among their population. O'Neill would call it a term of endearment. It is not the opinion of those who have made it their place to protect their planet.
I see your fondness for the Tau'ri has not waned over the centuries.
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P is for Pournelle's Iron Law
B is for Bureaucracy
by splash_the_cat
Pournelle's Iron Law of Bureaucracy states that in any bureaucratic organization there will be two kinds of people: those who work to further the actual goals of the organization, and those who work for the organization itself.
Ja'tal often does not understand his Jaffa brothers. He is young enough that he has never carried a prim'ta, has never carried a staff weapon in anything but defense of his brothers and their allies, has never knelt in awe or fear of a god.
But most of all he does not understand why his elder brethren cannot be bothered organizing things properly. It is not as if Jaffa do not possess great or efficient minds: the oral sagas are always rich and detailed, and remembered perfectly. Battle plans and strategies are handed down for generations. Most free Jaffa are more than proficient at using the Goa'uld computers scavenged from ha'taks and the occasional al'kesh and repurposed to maintaining information and organizing communications.
But when it comes to the everyday mundanities, tasks and details of a rebellion, everyone single person has their own opinion, their own way of doing things, and it is slowly driving Ja'tal to madness.
He stomps through the chappa'ai and right into Master Bra'tac. Stumbling back from the collision, he lands with a humiliating thud on his backside. Ja'tal sucks in a breath, more at the sympathetic smile on Bra'tac's face than at the sting of impact. He has seventeen summers! He will not cry like a baby.
"Hold up, young son!" Bra'tac offers a hand, and snuffling back his anger and embarrassment, Ja'tal takes it, letting the old man pull him to his feet. "You look fit to start a storm, Ja'tal. What has happened to bring you back in this state?"
Ja'tal surreptitiously brushes the dirt from the seat of his pants and pulls himself straight and tall. "It is nothing, Master Bra'tac. My apologies for my inattention."
But his attempt to school his feelings apparently falls as awkwardly flat as he did, and Bra'tac sighs. "What has Dalna'k done this time?"
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Q is for Quacksalver
by sidlj
I have never laid any claim to being a scientist. Anise, of course, is a scientist, and a highly trained one at that. Unfortunately she can never seem to remember that her training is entirely in the area of ancient civilizations and cultures. She is constantly dragging me into situations that make me look and feel foolish. Much worse than that, other people have been endangered.
But what can I do about it? If I raise objections, she dismisses them, the same way she dismissed the concerns of the Tau'ri about the tests she wanted to perform using the Atoneek armbands. She kept insisting that Colonel O'Neill and his team would be all right, in spite of their physician's very vocal unease. In a way, Anise was correct. They would have developed antibodies, the armbands would have fallen off, and everyone would have been safe and healthy. If we hadn't convinced them to undertake that mission for us.
I share the blame for that. Their deaths would have been on my hands as much as... After all these years, I still find myself using phrases that are quite silly in our situation. There is only the one pair of hands, and one head for blame to be heaped upon. It does seem unfair that they should be mine, every time.
Anise is ingenious, there is no denying. She surmised the existence of the Zatarc mind-control technology, and, with a good deal of help, built a machine that uses a modified memory recall device to detect the presence of an implanted false memory. But once again, she believed so strongly in her theories that she overlooked other possibilities, such as the Tau'ri instinct to dissemble under certain circumstances.
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R is for Regrets
by skieswideopen
Haikon is the last of his people. The Tau'ri confirm it for him after they destroy the thing that used to be Volnek, but he'd already known.
The Tau'ri take him back to their world. He doesn't expect to survive, but their surgeons prove as skilled as Volnek reported, and he wakes from surgery to voices telling him that he'll be fine.
He spends his recovery reviewing his regrets. It's not a luxury he would have allowed himself in the days when he was Lord Haikon, leader of the Sodan. But now he's just Haikon, with too many hours and no purpose to guide his use of them, and his regrets have grown past counting. (If only he had been a better warrior. Fought harder. Brought Volnek down.)
The Tau'ri tell him there is nothing he could have done. His people were doomed the moment the Prior first made contact. (If only he had hidden them more effectively. Guarded them from the eyes of the Ori.)
"If you'd stopped Volnek, they would have tried something else," Mitchell says. "One way or another, they would have brought you down. They don't believe in taking 'no' for an answer."
"And yet here you stand, your world untouched," Haikon counters.
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S is for Syndication
by elder_bonnie
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon, fading as the sun rose. Caiman stood and stretched, smiling at the scene that was so familiar to him. He stepped carefully over the legs of Sergeant Haverdan, a member of SG-12 from Earth. Their team had been studying with his people for a while now and were scheduled for departure soon. Caiman was looking forward to showing them the ruins at the base of the ravine today. He started walking toward the woods, hoping to look at the Stargate, when he heard a noise like the growling of an alien beast. Caiman recognized it as coming from the gate and broke into a run, but by the time he reached the gate, it was already activating, surrounded by a strange webbing of energy-
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon, fading as the sun rose. Caiman stood and stretched, smiling at the scene that was so familiar to him. Sergeant Haverdan grunted and rolled over, nearly tripping Caiman as he moved past the group and started heading toward the Stargate. He was intent on studying its glyphs, intrigued by them and secretly hoping someday to travel through the ring. He began making his way through the woods when he heard a terrible roar begin in the distance. It was the gate! He began to run, but was clotheslined by a low-hanging branch. Caiman landed on his back with a thud, the wind knocked out of him-
The moons of Alaris sat side by side up on the horizon, fading as the sun rose. Caiman stood and began to stretch, but he lost his footing and fell backwards into the dying fire embers. His comical shrieks awoke the members of SG-12, who quickly pulled him out of the ashes and laughed as they dusted him off. But then they all heard the shriek of the gate and began to run to the Stargate's clearing, commanding Caiman to stay behind.
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon. Caiman was still asleep and slept through the whole loop.
The moons of Alaris sat side by side upon the horizon. As Caiman was standing to stretch, he heard a soft whooshing from above. He turned in a quick circle, looking at the sky, but was unable to spot the golf ball before it hit his head.
The moons of Alaris began to peer over the edge of the horizon, illuminated by the last dying rays of the sun. The day had been a productive one, and the members of SG-12 were ready to head home. Caiman was sorry to see them go; they hadn't spent nearly enough time learning from each other. It wasn't until the team had the gate dialed up and ready to go that they all received word of what had happened -- a time loop had trapped their world along with a number of others, apparently causing them all to relive the same handful of hours again and again and again. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for them, their loop had begun shortly after they'd gone to sleep the night before. They had slept most of their loops away. Upon hearing all of this news, Caiman absently rubbed the back of his head, as though subconsciously feeling the pain from an injury he never received.
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T is for Troubled Minds and Traitor
by lokei
Troubled Minds
Travell doesn't think of herself as the sort of person who vacillates wildly. In her role, she can't afford to, after all. One doesn't become High Chancellor by looking indecisive or unprincipled.
SG-1 makes her head spin in ways she doesn't much appreciate, but then again, less technologically advanced societies do have a tendency to be more volatile than her own more regulated community. First, they insist on 'rescuing' the last team from Tollan, and then rescuing them again from their own government by contacting the Nox and engineering their escape. Next they attempt to disrupt the Triad and subvert a highly respected member of the Nox delegation, and somehow end up saving Tollana again. Yet a mere handful of weeks later, other Tau'ri are implicated in the theft of valuable technology from more than one set of allies. It is as if the humans of Earth are constitutionally incapable of acting in rational or predictable patterns, and they are all extraordinarily aggravating to Travell's sense of order.
Dealing with the Tau'ri is like grabbing on to the end of a wildly swinging rope and hoping it doesn't fray under your fingers and let you drop somewhere unpleasant.
Travell considers this, and clenches her fingers tightly around that invisible thread of hope, and bows to Tanith's demands.
Traitor
It's a hard label to bear on a daily basis. For all Nyan loves being Doctor Jackson's research assistant, plowing through the massive piles of books and notes that continually overturn everything Nyan thought he knew about the universe, every single page is also a reminder. Every penciled scrawl for transcription, every email heading, every gold-titled tome of folklore mutates under Nyan's gaze to a scarlet brand of betrayal, like that book he'd picked up in the on-base library. Yes, he is happy to be learning. Yes, he is happy to be alive. Yes, he did the right thing, helping SG-1 escape. Most days he is content with his status as political refugee, as a member of the SGC, as a scientist who put truth above belief.
But some days, he is a traitor to Bedrosia, and he can never go home.
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U is for Ultimately Unmoved
by thothmes
Long and long ago when the galaxy was much younger, and no modern human beings had yet evolved to walk the Earth, there were four great races that allied themselves. Although the Tau'ri were to assume later - and mistakenly - that these races allied to fight the Goa'uld, this was not so. At that time the Goa'uld were still confined to the swamps of a single backwater planet, and they were considered a curiosity, and a curse on the few Unas that were afflicted with them. It was only millennia later, when humans had evolved and some of the Unas had been taught the use of the stargates and had begun to wander the galaxy that the Four Great Races, already allied, turned their attention to the scourge that was the Goa'uld, and because defeating the Goa'uld had never been the reason for their alliance, merely yet another of the paths that they explored in their attempts to better the universe, they did not - as a body - feel that they needed to see that task through.
They had banded together because they were each intelligent, space faring, curious races, and the universe is a vast place and evil was as strong and as dangerous back then as it is in our time. They were stronger together than individually, and thus they allied themselves, to share knowledge, to share resources, and to pool their questions about the nature of the universe. A dying race, still older than any of their own and the possessors of great wisdom, passed on to them the prediction that a Fifth Race would arise and walk amongst them all, and this race would be the one to defeat the Goa'uld, once and for all. Then that race, whose name has vanished into time, came to an end, taking their vast wisdom with them, a bitter development for the Asgard, who had hoped to benefit from it.
The first to drift away of the Four were the Ancients. They were always an overweening and outward-turned race, seeding the universe with stargates and with races created in their own image, using their stargates to spread the most successful mutations as they evolved far and wide throughout the universe. They studied time and learned to travel through it when the spirit or necessity moved them, and eventually they grew so mighty and had reached so far beyond their corporeal forms, and were so wracked by a great schism, that they passed beyond the ken of the other three races, ascending or becoming the gods of the Ori, depending on which side their loyalties lay.
The Nox were next. Though they had discovered many beauties and wonders out on the other worlds of the galaxy, the technology that they used to reach out to the stars had badly damaged the ecology of their planet. The Ancients had given them a stargate, enabling them to travel the stars by other means, but the Nox looked at the ruins of their native planet and they felt great sadness and great shame that their selfish quest for the wonders beyond its bounds had led them to abuse the other organisms that they shared the planet with. Their thirst for knowledge ceased to lead outward, and instead focused on finding the best ways to undo what they had done, and learning how to live in harmony with the environment they would cultivate and restore. They were, alas, not wise enough to be able to fully recreate all that had been lost. Some things, once broken, cannot be regained, but it would have been difficult for outsiders to see this. They tended their garden and worked to perfect the ability to live in harmony with all things.
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V is for Vodka
by colls
Martin groaned as he tried to open his eyes. His head was pounding and the room was swaying slightly, so he closed them again and buried his face in the pillow. He didn't remember how he got into bed, but he did know he didn't want to get out just now.
Moments later, the alarm clock on the night stand began blaring out an obnoxious tune. Martin struggled to turn it off, cursing and nearly crying in frustration. Mission finally accomplished, he sat at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, wondering who had tuned the clock radio to a pop station. The housekeeping staff? Probably. He hated this hotel, but it was closest to the movie set.
He made his way to the bathroom in search of water. On the sink was a bottle of Tylenol, three bottles of water and a bottle of Gatorade. Attached to the mirror was a hand written note.
Martin;
It seems we need to discuss boundaries and rules once again. Please keep this in your wallet and refer to it as needed.
1) Do not phone Jack O'Neill except in cases of emergency EXTREME emergency.
2) 50's night at the local karaoke bar is NOT an emergency.
3) Your date thinking that you're weird does not mean she suspects you to be an alien. You're just weird.
4) You are not refer to back home as 'on your planet'. If you find yourself in a bind, say you're from Canada.
5) Under no circumstances are you allowed to drink vodka again.
Signed;
Jack O'Neill
P.S. I've asked the local sheriff to drop the drunk and disorderly charges, but she's put you on notice. "No more shenanigans!!" (her words) She's also left her number, apparently she's a 50's fan and thinks you have a nice voice.
Do not EVER put me in a position of having to hear a sheriff say something like that about you EVER again. Do you understand me?
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W is for Wile
by eilidh17
Anise was a fool; a child among the most junior of the Tok'ra, despite her many centuries among their ranks. Sure, she had the promise of becoming one of their most exceptional scientific minds, but she also had a naivety that meant most of her 'brilliant' work was clouded by her reputation for stumbling, sometimes blindly, upon solutions to problems.
One of her other shortcomings was her love for the tactile feeling of handwriting. Tallan looked at Anise's open journal, to the details of her latest creation and its' unpromising results. He smiled smugly, noting the errors she had made with her calculations and how swayed her hypothesis was because she simply believed she was right.
None of this mattered now that his plan was slowly unfolding. Anise was crucial to his next move. He shadowed her from time to time, as any good teacher would--backing up her theories with his practical wisdom, borne from more than a millennia of life studying the sciences--and encouraging her research down a path that would lead to particular results. All the while, blinding her to the minuscule flaws in the device she had created.
Tallan was not Tok'ra. He guessed, if he had to define his being, he would regard himself as a Goa'uld spy, for that was exactly what his purpose among the Tok'ra was. He had lived with them for most of his considerably long life: waiting, watching, and only feeding back to his master the most crucial of information. He slotted in perfectly with their society. No one knew of his ruse, of how one of his former hosts had been captured by his master, and how he had taken that Tok'ra's place and never allowed the host to surface again. Each subsequent host was silenced with equal ease.
In one corner of Anise's laboratory sat the very device she had developed to counter the latest threat to the Tok'ra. It was innocuous looking, and it was also defective... to a degree. There was no way Tallan could let the device work exactly the way Anise suggested it would. Fortunately for him, several members of the Tok'ra had already been exposed to this device, with a range of results that left Per'sus and the rest of the High Council in two minds over its effective use.
Of course, what no-one on the High Council knew was that the technology to turn someone into a za'tarc was of Tallan's making. And that the device itself was safely in the hands of his master and awaiting its next target.
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X is for Xабаровск
by greenbirds
It's December 30th when they bring Ganya home to Khabarovsk.
[Aminev, GennadyIvanovich. Captain. Born 10 October 1971. Killed in action 10 December 2003, at an undisclosed location. Posthumously awarded Hero of the Russian Federation for conspicuous gallantry.]
The river is thick with ice. The marshallers on the airstrip are bundled up to their eyebrows and wearing fur hats that are quickly collecting their own snowdrifts. Andrei Chekov, in his own fur hat and muffler, his only distinguishing marks a general's wool greatcoat and the stars on his shoulders, is waiting on the tarmac when they carry Ganya off the plane.
The weather is nothing new to Chekov. Khabarovsk was his first posting. He was nineteen. He remembers the drafty little shed at the edge of the airstrip, and the tiny oil heater whose only function seemed to be convincing rawboned boys that it couldn't possibly be as cold inside the marshallers' hut as they thought it was. When they sent him off to Cuba three years later, he praised the God he wasn't supposed to believe in.
There's no honor guard waiting when they carry the little pine box draped with the Russian flag off the plane; none but the blowing snow and the marshallers with their beacons and a general several years past his prime.
Chekov thinks of state funerals that will never happen, of parades honoring fallen heroes that would mean admitting state secrets, of cosmonauts whose names are etched in history (Gagarin, Tereshkova) for going a millionth as far from earth as Ganya went. He says a prayer to the God he still doesn't believe in for the soul of a fallen hero.
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Y U No Pants
by campylobacter
"Bring me pants."
"My Lord, you are wearing them."
Lord Yu doesn't bat an eyelash. "I desire the pants with the red and gold dragons."
Yu's First Prime rues that day he was forced to assume the duties of the late lo'taur Jarran; domestic chores added to military command in His Lordship's service have become exhausting. "Are the pants you are wearing with the red and gold dragons not the ones you desire, my Lord?"
"You are clever, Oshu," Yu says as he rises from the sarcophagus. "These are the pants I desire. I am the oldest of the system lords; my wants are simple. Those younglings assume that the voices and memories crowding their minds make them great, make them gods."
"My Lord?"
"I am not great because I am a god, but am a god because I am great. I listen to the only voice in my head: my own."
Oshu begins to wonder if Yu has lost the only other voice he could have heard in his mind: that of the host. Yu's reposes in the sarcophagus have become less effective in restoring mental acuity. "My Lord, you are wise in all things."
"Why then have you not brought me pants?"
Oshu stifles a sigh. Where was an ambush by Ba'al when you needed one?
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Z is for Zenith
by gategremlyn
They are more than an irritant; they interfere with his plans. SG-1, peaceful explorers so they claim, are not welcome here, not now, not when he's so close. Malikai stands before the altar and--with the power of the Stargate at his command--prepares to change the flow of time. He will be with his wife, gone now these twelve long years. He will hold her hand, touch her face, and hear her voice.
He will give anything, do anything, to conquer the past. One more minute and then all minutes will turn back and give him the thing he desires most...
...if they will ever leave him alone.
Malikai is a scholar still. Once, he stepped through the Stargate to find the wonders of long-dead civilizations. He deciphered mysterious writings on temple walls. He learned of ancient beings whose technology was there to be discovered. Then at the height of his anguish and pain, he found this--a time travel machine which would take him back to her.
He understands Daniel Jackson even as he tries to drive him away. But Doctor Jackson cannot have what Malikai has been denied. There will be no joy, no hope, no love of knowledge without his wife by his side. When he shoots, he has no regrets.
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