In Progress
Action/Adventure, Drama
Set in Season 6

Disclaimers:

Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, The Sci-Fi Channel, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is written purely for my own entertainment, and that of anyone else who may happen to read it. No infringement of copyright is intended. It is not intended and should never be used for commercial purposes.

The original characters, situations and ideas contained within this work are the property of the author.

Author's Notes:

This story is the first of the four-parter Bushido, which continues in The Eye of the Storm and Stealth, Patience, Perseverance, and concludes in The Way of Honour.

Those Who Serve contains a handful of scenes cut from the revised version of Vows.

Acknowledgements:

All hail Sho; may she live for a thousand years.

Those Who Serve

Arcadia
P4G-128
Five months ago

Tor'c sat proudly before his accusers. He was afraid, looking at the blank, hard faces of his former friends, and saddened, but he was not ashamed of what he had done. For the most part, the young Jaffa who encircled him looked more disappointed than angry, although Fora'l clearly bore a grudge for the zat blast that had felled his betrothed, and Rya'c was a flame of pure rage.

"You betrayed us," Rya'c said, his voice deceptively flat and calm. "And you must answer for that."

"I wished you no harm," Tor'c replied.

"You shot Ker'nau!" Fora'l snapped. "Just for that I should kill you!"

"And you have the right," Tor'c agreed.

"Then you have nothing to say in your defence?" Trey'nod asked.

"Only this," Tor'c said. "I still consider myself to be your friend. Even when I turned on you in the teltac, had anything threatened you, I would have fought to the death to protect you all, and I would still do so now. If my death is what you require to make this right, then I offer my life freely."

"Why?" Ker'nau asked. "That is all I wish to know: Why did you turn on us? Or did you plan to betray us from the start?"

"I did not betray you," Tor'c replied. "I never wanted anything but the best for you, and the best was Astarte. I know that you and your families left the Goa'uld because they abused our people, but Astarte...She was different. My Tal ma'te's dream was to forge an alliance of Free Jaffa under Astarte's governance. Our Goddess sought to instigate a new form of Goa'uld rule with the Tau'ri; we hoped to bring her a new kind of Jaffa army to make that possible.

"We would have been free," he assured them. "She saw the greatness in the Jaffa, and she would have been a true leader to our people. Under Her guidance, we would have overthrown the System Lords, and forged a new Dynasty in which our place was recognised and appreciated. Such was our hope," he finished, sadly. "Our dream."

Rya'c sat in silence, his anger draining away at the sight of Tor'c, defeated and dejected. He heard Meyn'auc's words echoed in Tor'c's, and he realised something. "We do not need her," he said at last. "But I am grateful that now I can understand you."

"What shall we do with him?" Dilg'a asked.

"He will share the fate of his people," Rya'c replied. "Unless any of you feel otherwise." No-one spoke. "Fora'l? You do have the right of vengeance."

Fora'l looked at Ker'nau, who smiled thinly. "If Ker'nau does not wish for vengeance, who am I to insist," the young man replied.

"Thank you," Tor'c said, wearily. "I..."

Rya'c held up a hand to silence him. "We understand you now," he said. "We know why you did what you did, and I now think that I understand why Meyn'auc did what she did. But although we understand, we do not forgive. You have lost our trust, Tor'c, and it will not be easily regained."

Tor'c inclined his head in acceptance.

"It will be hard to regain our trust," Ker'nau agreed. "But you will have to work harder still if you wish to earn from Neh'al even such forgiveness as we have given you."

Tor'c hung his head. "I would have come for her," he said.

Rya'c shrugged his shoulders. "This you will have to say to her."

The former servant of Astarte nodded his understanding. "Rya'c," he added. "You must make sure that these people understand; that Goa'uld was not here for us. He came to this planet for a reason and while we may have bloodied his nose, he will be back." He shook his head, sadly. "Because we bloodied his nose, he will be back. I saw the fury in his eyes when we resisted him; he will return to avenge his humiliation.

"Warn them, Rya'c," Tor'c repeated. "You must warn them."

*

Now

Ever since the success of the rebellion against the Goa'uld Circe, Damia of Malios had cursed her own pivotal role in the proceedings. As she sat in her well-appointed office, her back to a large window overlooking the main courtyard of the New Parliament Building, she cursed herself once more. It was not that she wished that her world was still in the grip of a Goa'uld; it was simply that the rewards of her actions – heroic deeds, others called them, although they had not felt it at the time – had proven more burden than blessing.

Her schedule for the rest of the day was packed. As Junior Minister for Internal Security, Damia was responsible for settling what her critics compactly referred to as ‘the Jaffa issue' and it took up almost all of her time. The framed iconograph of her family was the nearest she had come to seeing her husband Echthonus and their adopted son Ion in days. Her clothes – a thigh-length chiton-blouse and a pair of loose trousers in the Tau'ri style – were fresh on this morning, but she already felt as though she had been wearing them for three days without bathing.

Damia checked her schedule, today's page crowded full of her secretary's tiny, neat handwriting. At least the next meeting on her list was with someone she quite liked, and if she could run it on long enough it would force her confrontation with the Master of the Temple Merchants' Guild closer to lunchtime. Ordinarily she would simply work through lunch, but the Guild Master liked his victuals too much for that and the meeting would end at the stroke of noon so that he could be certain to avail himself of the finest that the Parliament refectory had to offer.

The door of Damia's office opened and her secretary shimmered in. Damia's secretary was an impeccably neat young man with what Damia considered an indecently organised mind. He disliked change as a source of disorder, and still always dressed in a traditional, full-length Theban chiton.

"Yes, Phaedon?" Damia asked, although she knew full well why he had disturbed her.

"Rya'c of the Free Jaffa has arrived for his appointment, Minister," Phaedon replied, with an approving tone. Without checking her chronometer, Damia knew that Rya'c was precisely on time. He always was; that was why Phaedon liked him.

"Show him in, Phaedon," Damia instructed.

Phaedon turned aside to allow the young Jaffa to enter

"Tek ma'tek, Minister Damia," Rya'c said with a bow. He was dressed in a loose, Jaffa robe that resembled a chiton enough that Damia was beginning to feel underdressed. Phaedon made no effort to hide his admiration for the Jaffa's sense of propriety.

"Good morning, Emissary Rya'c," Damia replied, standing to return the gesture. "It is always a pleasure to see you here on Arcadia. How goes your cause?"

"The recruiting goes well," Rya'c replied. "The ranks of the Free Jaffa grow daily; it is a proud duty to further this cause, but I admit that it is always good to return to Thebes."

"I'm glad you find our land so pleasant," Damia said. "Now; won't you be seated. Can I offer you anything to drink? Coffee? Klah'c?"

"I will have coffee, thank you," Rya'c replied.

Damia nodded to Phaedon who drifted away.

"Your people produce a fine coffee," Rya'c went on. "However, their klah'c is truly appalling."

Damia smiled. "And some people wondered if you were cut out for diplomacy."

"My people have little time for dissimulation," Rya'c replied.

"So I understand. How are your people finding their new home?"

"Many have questioned the wisdom of remaining here," Rya'c admitted. "They feel that they should have moved on with the older Free Jaffa. The need to negotiate every access to the Chappa'ai individually reduces our effectiveness; we are unable to act as swiftly as we sometimes need."

"You understand our reasons though?" Damia asked. "The use of the Arcadian Stargate as a staging point creates a security risk which our military is ill-equipped to meet, and moving armed Jaffa through the countryside disturbs the people."

"Your office has received my recommendations on both matters," Rya'c pointed out.

"Indeed," Damia agreed.

"Even though the elders have left, we do have more experience of battle than any of your soldiers. The addition of Free Jaffa warriors would strengthen your military considerably."

"But also place a burden of duty upon us," Damia riposted. "We understand the benefits of awarding the Free Jaffa membership in the Arcadian Confederacy, but we are wary to accept any group who are already engaged in a war. Our peoples have only recently made contact with other worlds; the Confederacy does not have the strength to engage in interstellar conflict."

"We ask for no aid," Rya'c insisted, proudly. "The Free Jaffa will pursue their cause alone and defend your world with our lives if we bring it into danger."

Damia held up her hands in surrender. "I know," she assured him. "We are covering old ground and there are other matters I wish to discuss with you."

Rya'c nodded. "Astarte's Jaffa."

"Indeed," Damia agreed. "This is an issue which refuses to go away and the Presidents do not wish us to keep the Jaffa imprisoned indefinitely; not even in so open a prison. There are also further security issues: I do not believe that the garrison would be capable of holding the stockade should the Jaffa seek to escape..."

"They would not. You would be best advised to send Astarte's Jaffa through the Chappa'ai instead of seeking to keep them here."

"So the Presidents believe," Damia agreed. "However, the SGC and the Tok'ra are lobbying the Confederation to hold them and the Spartii agree. With the support of the Scavengers we could overrule the objections, but there is another difficulty: The Jaffa do not wish to leave."

Rya'c blinked, owlishly. "They do not wish to leave?"

"They do not wish to leave," Damia re-echoed. "Two days ago, Emissary Tor'c presented the Presidential Private Secretary with an application for membership in the Arcadian Confederacy on behalf of the Astartian Jaffa. They have also asked for permission to settle the unused and unoccupied land to the south of Mount Ophesta."

"Why have I not been told about this?"

"You have," Damia pointed out, undaunted by the Jaffa's anger. "From the Private Secretary to the Presidents, to the Minister of Defence to me; you are in total the sixth person to know this; not including the Astartian Jaffa and of course Phaedon. Thank you, Phaedon," she added, as he set a tray on the desk. Rya'c started a little.

"Will there be anything else, Minister?" Phaedon asked.

"No thank you, Phaedon."

"I should not like to invade a land where such men live," Rya'c told Damia. "He moves as silently as any Jaffa."

"He would be flattered by the comparison," Damia assured Rya'c, pouring the coffee. "The reason why I asked you here is to solicit your advice before the Astartian and Free Jaffa applications are put before the Confederate Special Committee for Jaffa Integration tomorrow. We already know what the reaction of the SGC and the Tok'ra will be, but Chargé d'affaires Rede and Ambassador Carter-Selmak are present on the Committee in a purely advisery capacity. It is the Confederacy members that will make the decision.

"I can tell you that the Presidents are in favour of accepting the applications from both Jaffa groups. The Scavengers usually follow the Tau'ri, and Ward Master Tuplo has informed me that they are in favour of the Free Jaffa application at least, but they are less certain. I have not spoken to Ambassador Trajan but I believe that the Spartii will oppose the applications in order to strengthen their position before accepting under terms. They may, however, go along with the Tok'ra recommendation and again they have not reached a firm decision.

"As you can see," she concluded, "a lot will hang on the cases presented by the two Emissaries and on my own recommendations to the Committee."

"And how will the representative of the Theban Presidency be voting, if I may ask?"

"You may ask, but I won't tell you; in part because I haven't yet made up my mind. As I say, I wish to ask your advice; not as Emissary to the Confederacy or as the de facto leader of the Free Jaffa on Thebes but as a friend."

"And what would you ask of me?"

"Do you trust them?" Damia said. "Emissary Tor'c seems sincere in his wish to see his people settled here, but..."

"But a lot could depend upon your decision," Rya'c said. "I understand, Minister, but I should warn you that Tor'c and I have history."

"I understand that there is bad blood between you," Damia assured Rya'c. "But I believe that I am a good judge of character, and I believe that you will give me an honest and unbiased answer."

"I shall," Rya'c agreed. "However, I can not promise you that my advice will be sound. I do not think that the Astartian Jaffa would deceive you in this, but they have tricked me once before and so I can not trust my own judgement."

Damia nodded. "But you believe that they would be honest in this?"

"I do."

"I thank you for your candour, Rya'c," Damia said.

*

Tor'c felt the weight of the eyes on him as he walked along the street, followed by a trio of hoplites, who watched like hawks and nervously fingered the stocks of their pulse rifles. He knew that the Thebans considered three to be an excessive escort but their allies would not have been satisfied with less; as it was he was fairly confident that he could either elude or incapacitate all three of his guards. The group was led by a young woman with the rank of dekarchos – junior officer. She had potential, but no experience and only her ektatos, an ethnic Spartius but in Theban uniform, had seen real combat. It might be that the stares which greeted his passage were occasioned by the presence of his guards, but this was the country near to the Chappa'ai and hoplites were a common sight. It seemed more likely that the strange glances were drawn by the tattoo on his brow.

While many of the Free Jaffa had formed their own community around the pyramid which had once been the ha'tak vessel of the Goa'uld Helios. As did the Astartians, these Jaffa kept to themselves – although by choice instead of confinement – but a handful had evicted themselves from the company of their fellows. These few, perhaps wearying of their society, had made a home for themselves among the communities of the Thebans and the Scavengers, but they were few and far between. They were still strangers in the villages, however, and the marks on their brows were a source of great curiosity.

It was in order to visit one of these Jaffa that Tor'c had persuaded his keepers to allow him to leave the secured diplomatic quarters where he was held for the duration of the Committee meetings and come to this village. It was a new village, located on land that had once been the exclusive property of Helios, which was doubtless why the Jaffa had chosen it. Here no-one would really know anyone, and so here as much as anywhere on Arcadia she could fit in.

"Emissary," the dekarchos called, quietly. She seemed awkward, almost bashful addressing a senior diplomat, even one who was also technically her prisoner. "This is the house."

"Thank you," Tor'c said, looking up from the road for the first time.

The house was a small dwelling with walls of baked mud, a finely polished, wooden door and large, glassless windows. Fronds of greenery depended from its flat roof and the small yard was filled with growing things; small olive and orange trees showed that the garden was newly planted. Smoke curled from the chimney and the scent of cooking wafted from the windows. All seemed well and homelike, but although the nearest neighbour was less than twenty feet away, the little house had a loneliness about it; a sense of not belonging.

Tor'c took a deep breath and swallowed his fears before he walked down the small path to the door. The hoplites waited discreetly at the edge of the yard. Nervously, Tor'c raised his hand and rapped gently on the door.

After a moment that seemed to last forever, the door opened. The householder's eyes widened in surprise. "Tor'c?"

Tor'c studied the young Jaffa woman's face, drinking in the sight of her as he tried to gauge if she were glad to see him. There was a warmth in her eyes, but pain and anger as well.

"Neh'al. It is good to see you," he told her, honestly.

In a heartbeat the warmth was gone. "Why did you come here?" Neh'al demanded, angrily. "Why now, after five months?"

"I had to see you," he replied.

"Perhaps you should not have left me in the first place, then," she accused.

"I never meant to leave you," he swore. "I would have come for you."

"Liar!" She struck at his face, but he caught both her wrists in succession and held them gently. Neh'al scowled and settled for kicking him hard in the shin.

Reluctantly, Tor'c backed away. "I love you, Neh'al," he said.

"Do you expect me to take you back? Is that it? Now that your plans have failed you think that I am your way out of your prison?"

"I do not want to leave my people," Tor'c retorted, proudly, barely keeping his temper in check. "You are the one who has made that choice."

"So you want me to join you in captivity?" Neh'al hissed. "Oh, you are a true romantic, Tor'c."

"You loved me once."

"I thought that I did, but I learned that I did not even know you." Neh'al took a step backwards across the threshold.

Tor'c reached out to hold the door open. "Neh'al, please..."

"No!" Neh'al thrust Tor'c backwards so hard that he tripped and fell onto the path.

The three hoplites started up at the commotion and half-raised their rifles, but a glower from Neh'al stopped them before they could pass her gate.

"I was accused of treachery!" Neh'al snarled. "I was shamed before my family and friends and humiliated before the leaders of the Free Jaffa. You think I chose a life away from my people, but how could I live among them when they knew that I was a dupe and a...trollop?"

Tor'c erupted. "If anyone says that of you...!"

Her beautiful eyes flashed in anger. "It is not your concern anymore, Tor'c!"

The two Jaffa stood, fuming, for a long moment, before the rage began to bleed out of them.

"You should have told me."

"I did not want to ask you to lie to your people," Tor'c replied. "I thought that once they saw Astarte they – you – would understand. I thought that..."

"You should leave now, Tor'c," Neh'al said, coldly.

"There is one more thing," he said. "After that I shall go." He reached into his robe and drew out a gold-and-lapis necklace. "I took this for you in Rya'c's hek'tet," he told her. "Why would I have done so if I did not intend to return?" He pressed the necklace into her hand. "I want you to have this," he said. "If you do not think you can ever love me again then dispose of it. Sell it, smash it, melt it down, throw it in the river; I care not. But if there is a chance...Keep it safe; and when you forgive me, wear it. I swear to you, if I am free or a captive or a slave, I shall never trouble you again unless I see this bauble at your throat."

Neh'al scowled, but closed her hand over the necklace. "I understand why you lied, but I loved you. I do not know if I can ever forgive you for that. You should leave now," she repeated, but without the venom of a moment before.

"I..."

The air was split by a thunderous crack and a cloud of black smoke appeared in the sky to the east of the village.

"What in the world is that?"

"A warning flare," Neh'al replied, alarmed. "The Chappa'ai is attacked."

At the end of the path the hoplites were in a dither, looking backwards and forwards between Tor'c and the smoke signal.

"Go!" Tor'c told them. "I give you my word I shall not try to escape."

"We are to stay with you," the dekarchos replied, uncertainly.

Tor'c was suddenly very aware that the woman was only a little older than he was; as a human she must therefore be incredibly young to serve as even a junior officer. He turned his gaze from her frightened face to the Spartian ektatos. "Go," he said again.

"Ma'am," the ektatos said, voice heavy with meaning.

"I...Just stay here," the young woman told Tor'c. She led her warriors from the village at a run.

Tor'c was torn, but his indecision lasted only a moment. As soon as the hoplites were out of sight, Tor'c made for the garden gate himself.

"Stop!" Neh'al ordered.

Tor'c turned and saw a Theban pulse pistol aimed at his heart. By tradition a Jaffa woman would carry a zat'nik'tel to defend her home, but he supposed that she was deliberately distancing herself from Jaffa tradition.

"Neh'al..."

"If you try to run, I will kill you," she warned.

"You know that I have to go, Neh'al."

"You swore you would stay here."

"I was ordered to stay here," he corrected. "I promised not to escape. Those...children will die without me; I can not let that happen."

Neh'al looked him in the eyes for a long moment. At last she approached and held out her pistol, reversing it with a sudden movement to proffer the grip. "I want this back," she told him.

"You shall have it," he promised. "Neh'al..."

"Go!" She insisted and she refused to meet his eyes.

*

The defence of the Stargate on Arcadia had not been arranged without thought. There was a guard of fifteen, comprising Theban and Spartian hoplites and Scavenger warriors, well-equipped and provisioned with basic fortifications. When the Gate opened unexpectedly the soldiers took up their positions in shallow trenches behind earthen banks, pulse rifles at the ready. The officer of the watch, a young Theban named Iaol, sent a standard challenge on both Tau'ri and Tok'ra frequencies. "No response," he muttered. "Terc."

Iaol's NCO, a grizzled Scavenger sergeant, narrowed his eyes at the event horizon. "Stand ready!"

The Gate rippled and a small, metal globe bounced out.

"Cover!" Terc cried, pulling his dilochitès down as the shock grenade went off. Even through closed eyelids and two feet of earth the light was dazzling and the sergeant's vision was blurred. The thunder of hooves filled the air.

Terc rose to a kneeling position behind the bank and fired, bleary-eyed at the first horseman. He counted at least seven attackers, but from the sound there could be at least twice that number. "Fire the flare!" he ordered.

There was a desperate scrabbling across the ground as two hoplites tried to reach the trench which housed the signal flare. At first Terc did not know why, but then he realised that the three soldiers in that trench had been incapacitated by the grenade.

"Command! This is the Stargate!" Iaol yelled into the radio. "We are under attack. I repeat..." The young man broke off as a staff blast smashed the radio and scorched the flesh of his left arm.

Terc swung around, realising belatedly that the fast moving enemy had already moved around or over the line to flank the low fortifications. "To me!" he yelled, desperately trying to regroup the guards. "To me!" A plasma blast baked the earth beside his head. He returned the shot and moved; the cover was now useless and he knew that his defence lay in movement. "To me!" He called again. His vision clearing, the ektatos made out about a dozen horsemen and perhaps eight of the guards still standing. "Open circle! On the move!"

With a whoosh the flare launched and exploded overhead. The guards began to obey the sergeant but the horsemen were now all around them; only six soldiers made it to the circle. They took a heavy toll on their enemies, who in return fired wildly from the saddle, but the numbers and the guards' disorientation told in the end. Terc fell from a hit to his leg and the last two soldiers broke. One of the horsemen slid his staff weapon into a long scabbard on his saddle and took off in pursuit of the fleeing guards.

Iaol watched in horror, struggling to move through the shock from his wound as his command was decimated. Once the field had quietened, one of the horsemen climbed down and approached. Desperately, the wounded dilochitès drew his pistol but the warrior kicked it from his grip. The young Theban stared up at the terrible figure standing over him.

The warrior wore a massive helmet with a snarling, black faceplate and great, curling horns. His body was covered by a heavy, lacquered cuirass with flaring shoulder-guards and he carried a pair of curved swords in his belt. The armour made him look much broader than he was and the mask was a hideous sight. He clearly knew the fear that he evoked and revelled in it, as he drew the longer blade with every show of relish.

"Pathetic," the warrior said, disgustedly.

"You will never take Arcadia," Iaol gasped.

The warrior laughed. "Spread out," he ordered his riders. "Kill everything within a mile of the Chappa'ai and..."

With a wild cry, Iaol drew his dagger and thrust it into the warrior's ill-protected leg. The warrior bellowed in pain and raised his sword. He stabbed the blade down into Iaol's back, gave a sharp twist and wrenched it free again. The young man fell backwards and the warrior swept the head from the Theban's shoulders with a single stroke.

"Finish the wounded," he said, turning awkwardly back to his warriors. He gave a grunt of pain but otherwise gave no notice to the dagger in his thigh. "Count the dead and..."

A pulse charge took the warrior in the throat, just below his faceplate, while a second caught his shoulder. A third shot was aimed at a different horseman, felling him. The surviving riders turned and saw Tor'c's guards emerging from the woods.

With their leader dead, another of the horsemen took charge at once. "Kill them!"

Two riders spurred their horses towards the hoplites, aiming to ride them down. They fired as they came, forcing the soldiers to keep down until the riders were on top of them.

The first rider swung his staff like a club and knocked a Theban soldier flying. He reversed the weapon for a killing shot but the ektatos grabbed at the weapon and pulled the warrior from his seat. The rider was both quick and strong, however, and the two men went down in a desperate tangle.

The second rider levelled his weapon at the young dekarchos, who threw herself at his steed, waving her hands and yelling desperately. The horse bucked and screamed in panic. The rider dropped his staff weapon then struggled to wrestle the animal back under control. He drew his sword, but before he could use it a pulse charge cut him from the saddle. The sword toppled down and stuck in the soft earth.

Tor'c ran past the stunned officer and dragged the blade from the earth. He slashed it through the spine of the warrior fighting the hoplite sergeant, then cut the legs from under the horse so that it fell down. The staff blasts fired by the remaining horsemen hit the thrashing beast, raising a foul smell of burned hair and meat.

The rider who had pursued the fleeing soldiers rode slowly along the wooded trail as he drew his sword, pushing his horse just enough to overtake the hindmost of his quarry. He swung his sword low then looped it around into a thrust, slicing off the hoplite's head and then impaling it on the tip of his blade. With a flick of his wrist he sent the head tumbling after the faster hoplite, tangling his feet.

The hoplite tripped and fell. He struggled to rise and saw a pair of boots in front of his face.

The horseman pulled his steed to a halt at the sight of the newcomer. The man was tall and powerfully built, with the telltale silhouette of armour beneath his Theban chiton, but armed only with a bronze-headed cane. He seemed inappropriately confident, but that gave the rider pause only for a moment. He spurred his horse on again, raising his sword for the killing blow. The big man lifted his cane and waited, while the hoplite scrabbled out of the way.

At the last moment, the Theban stepped with surprising agility to one side. The sword whistled past his ear as he swung the cane and struck the rider in the abdomen. Sparks exploded from the bronze globe and horse and rider tumbled in a heap.

The rider staggered to his feet, limbs numbed by the debilitating blast of the adapted hunting goad. Suddenly the woods beside the trail were full of hoplites; he was outnumbered and his sword was lost in the bracken.

"You will not take me alive," the rider spat.

"What makes you think we care?" The big man asked, calmly.

The rider snatched the shorter sword from his belt.

"Stop him!" The Theban cried, but too late.

The rider thrust the short, curved blade into his own abdomen and dragged it sideways. He fell to the ground, a thick, purplish ooze mixing with his blood where he lay.

"Jaffa," the Theban said, angrily.

Tor'c and his two escorts were pinned down behind the horse, sporadically returning fire on their enemies, when they heard the welcome sound of an approaching engine.

"Kree-ah!" The leading rider called. "Ah kree!"

The weight of suppressing fire from the enemy Jaffa redoubled and moments later the Stargate whooshed into life. There was a sound of brakes, then the sustained, oscillating hiss of a repeating pulse-rifle. Tor'c put his head up and saw that a Theban half-track with a mounted repeater and two dozen hoplites on board had arrived and was driving the riders back through the Gate.

Tor'c sank down and rested against the horse.

"You saved our lives," the young dekarchos gasped, slumping exhaustedly alongside him.

Tor'c gave a thin smile and held out the staff weapon to her.

"I have a rifle," she said.

"As your prisoner, I am not supposed to be armed."

"Oh. Of course." The young woman blushed, but took the staff and handed it to her ektatos. "Thank you, Emissary," she said.

"Tor'c," he insisted.

"Nyssa," she replied. "Ektatos; will you check on Lias, please? Their leader said that they would finish the wounded, but I will search for other survivors."

She began to stand, but Tor'c caught her by the arm. "You might want to let your friends know you are here before you stand up," he cautioned.

Nyssa nodded, gratefully. "Ho there!" She called out.

"Who goes there?" came the challenge in a gruff voice.

"Dekarchos Nyssa, Internal Security Phalanx."

"Stand and be known, Dekarchos."

Nyssa stood, slowly, and looked out onto the scene of carnage. The hoplites from the half-track were busily securing the Gate and checking on the fallen. Thankfully more than half of the watch seemed to be still moving. Even though he was half-dead, Sergeant Terc had managed to cross to Dilochitès Iaol's side and had arranged his officer's body in a dignified pose.

The eparchos who led the newcomers approached Nyssa, a look of suspicion on his face. "What brings you so far from the city, Dekarchos?"

"I was leading the escort for Emissary Tor'c," Nyssa replied.

"And where is the honoured Emissary?"

"I am here, Eparchos," Tor'c said, standing. "While questions are being asked, I might enquire where you and your men were that it took you longer to reach this position from the garrison by half-track than it did for the dekarchos to arrive on foot."

The officer's face turned bright red. "I am not answerable to you, Jaffa!"

"But his question is a good one." From the woods, the big Theban walked down, favouring one leg very slightly and leaning on his cane.

"Defence Minister Palmys," the eparchos gasped.

Palmys inclined his head in impatient acknowledgement. "Well?"

"I...We...We attempted to raise the officer of the watch and ascertain the nature of the emergency before we responded. He did not answer."

Palmys narrowed his eyes, his massive body quivering with rage. "Well why don't you ask him now!" He hissed.

The eparchos' gaze strayed towards the body of the young dilochitès. "Minister..."

"See to the injured, Eparchos!" Palmys snapped. "We shall secure the Gate." Behind him a troop of soldiers were emerging from the woods, accompanied by a red-haired Tau'ri.

"Yes, Minister," the eparchos mumbled.

"Now, Dekarchos," Palmys said, more gently. "See to your troops. I shall keep an eye on your prisoner."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Emissary Tor'c; would you lend me the benefit of your experience?"

"Of course, Minister," Tor'c replied.

The big Theban stepped around the charred corpse of the horse and knelt beside the body of the slain rider, heedless of the mud and gore staining the hem of his robe. He reached out and pulled away the faceplate of the helmet, then removed the massive dome of the helm itself.

Tor'c frowned and picked up the discarded faceplate. The eyes were filled by viewing devices similar to the ones in any Jaffa helmet, but there was no way that the receptors could have been housed in such a thin space. He picked up the helm and found that, sure enough, when in place the faceplate was connected to a network of sensors in the brim and horns.

"This is...extraordinary," Tor'c said, the furrows of his brow deepening. "The mechanisms are archaic, yet the construction is new."

"Do you recognise the design?" Palmys demanded, clearly uninterested in Jaffa industrial history.

"Of the helmet? No. But I have seen these Jaffa before." Tor'c crouched alongside Palmys and reached out to trace the line of the tattoo on the dead man's brow. The mark showed a circle, partially occluded by a three-lobed cloud. "This mark was worn by those who served on the ship that attacked our ha'tak vessel in orbit around Arcadia; those in the command of the Lord Niningi. They're coming," he concluded.

Palmys snagged the arm of a passing hoplite. "Contact the garrison. I want every soldier available dispatched here at once with support weapons and mines; I want construction gear and engineers; and I want the skywatchers on full alert."

"Yes, Minister."

"And contact Minister Damia and Strategos Echthonus; tell them I wish to meet with them at the garrison in one hour."

"Yes, Minister."

"Chargé d'affaires!"

The red-haired Tau'ri looked up, but finished tying a bandage around a wounded hoplite's arm before hurrying over. "Minister Palmys?"

"Miss Rede; please would you ask Ambassador Carter to join us here. I would also appreciate it if you could arrange a consultation with your leaders. Arcadia is not accustomed to the fighting of wars and I fear that before long we shall need the aid of those who are."

The young woman nodded, seriously. "Of course, Minister. If I may use the dialling device?"

"By all means." The big man leaned heavily on his cane, rubbing his leg, ruefully. "I'm afraid the Committee meeting may be delayed," he told Tor'c. "You had best return to your people."

"I would rather remain in my diplomatic quarters," Tor'c admitted. "Although I should like the opportunity to consult with my commander?"

"As you prefer," Palmys allowed, distractedly. "Wait over there; I shall assign an escort as soon as possible."

"I have some training in the treatment of battle injuries," Tor'c pressed.

After only a moment's hesitation, Palmys nodded. "Thank you, Emissary."

Tor'c lifted Neh'al's pistol by the barrel. "Would you hold this for me, Minister?" He asked. "I must return it to its owner, but it might not be appropriate..."

Palmys took the weapon with a grunt that might have been impatience or might have been understanding. "Go to it, boy," he instructed.

*

"Susanowa."

"Gesundheit," Jack Rede said.

Selmak gave the young woman a look of weary tolerance. "These are the Bushi of Lord Susanowa of Yomi; Niningi's overlord," he added.

"Why have they come here?" Palmys asked. "More importantly, will they return?"

"I'm afraid so," Jacob sighed. "Susanowa and his underlings subscribe to a very ancient code of battle; in some matters he is utterly predictable. This was a test of your defences, nothing more; Niningi will attack in force in three days time."

Palmys looked dismayed. "We're not ready." He looked to Echthonus, Damia's expatriate Spartius husband and commander of the Theban forces, as though hoping to hear a rebuttal of his assessment.

"The troops are willing, but inexperienced," Echthonus replied. "There are also issues of rank and precedence arising from the separate hierarchies of the three forces involved in protecting the Gate which complicate even the simplest commands. Our air defence is strong, but the space defences will not repel an assault by ha'tak vessel."

"They should not have to," Jacob assured the younger man. "The last attack from space met heavy resistance and resulted in serious damage to one of Niningi's motherships. He will not risk another orbital attack if he believes a ground assault through the Stargate can succeed."

"Unfortunately he is probably right," Echthonus admitted. "We need more seasoned warriors; experienced commanders even more so."

"What about the Spartii?" Damia asked. "Ambassador Trajan has been demanding a stronger Spartian presence at the Gate for months. Could your people provide the veterans we require?"

Echthonus shook his head. "We're mostly used to fighting amongst ourselves or repelling Helios' raiding parties. Spartian troops would not know how to repel an assault in force any more than the Thebans. Moreover, it will take at least five days for Spartian reinforcements to arrive."

Palmys cleared his throat, loudly. "Perhaps we could focus a little less on the negative," he suggested. "Echthonus; I want the Gate made ready for an assault in three days time. You may requisition whatever materials and manpower you need; the Ministry will foot the bill. The Scavengers are least likely to panic, but they are few in number and we can not put all of their soldiers in the greatest risk. For now, place their seasoned warriors on the front line, but I'll have to clear that with Turaca and Setneb long-term."

"We will have to organise a second line," Damia said. "In case they break through at the Gate." She sounded reluctant; as though she was unwilling to raise the issue. "We shall also have to make certain that arrangements are in place to evacuate the villages in the area."

"You are right of course. You will see to that." Palmys sighed, visibly swallowing his pride. "Ambassador, Miss Rede; in the name of the Presidents of Thebes and of the Arcadian Confederacy I am formally requesting the assistance of the Tau'ri and the Tok'ra in this matter."

"The Tok'ra will lend their aid," Selmak promised. "But we can provide neither troops nor weapons without alerting Niningi to our presence. If a Tok'ra force were detected, this would serve only to intensify the assault against your world."

"I can't make specific promises for the SGC," Rede said. "But General Hammond is already sending an advisery team and is willing to provide weapons and supplies. We do not have the numbers to give you troops, but we might be able to supply those experienced officers you need."

"Well then; if that is all, we'd better..."

"Minister?"

"Damia?" Palmys asked.

"What about the Jaffa? I believe that the Free Jaffa will be willing to aid us – perhaps the Astartians as well – in return for consideration in their application. You said yourself that Emissary Tor'c showed great valour in the raid."

"You can't be serious!" Jacob protested. "The Astartian Jaffa can not be trusted. They abducted an officer of the SGC!"

"We are well aware of the situation," Damia assured him. "However, regardless of their intentions at that time, they repelled Niningi's first assault at great cost to themselves. As Minister for Internal Security I would rather have a force of experienced warriors on our front line than a group of experienced insurgents deep within my territory."

Selmak's eyes flashed. "Their sole desire is to serve the Goa'uld...!"

"Enough," Palmys said, firmly. "Damia, approach the Free Jaffa. We'll keep the option of dealing with the Astartians in reserve. I would remind you," he added, looking fiercely at Jacob and Rede, "while the opinions of the SGC and the Tok'ra Council are well known in this matter and will be respected and given due weight, the question of whether to tap that reserve will be a decision I leave to the Presidents, the Committee and the Confederate Security Council in Spartus Magna."

"The Tok'ra Council holds considerable influence with the Spartii." Selmak growled.

"We realise that we are here only as advisers," Rede hurriedly assured Palmys, laying a hand on Jacob-Selmak's arm. "Thank you for your time and consideration. We shall contact our peoples and inform you of what aid can be sent and how soon."

*

The Stargate activated, once more disgorging a group of alien warriors. This time, however, Minister Palmys walked straight toward their leader and smiled.

"Colonel O'Neill," he said, warmly.

"Archon Palmys," Jack replied, clasping the proffered arm.

"Minister Palmys," the Theban corrected. "Can you believe it? I'm a politician now."

"Well, I've been a diplomat," Jack pointed out.

"And look how that turned out." Palmys face darkened a little. "I was sorry to hear of the death of Daniel Jackson," he said.

Jack nodded and cleared his throat. "The tributes sent by your government were much appreciated by the officers and troops of Stargate Command," he said. "Please convey our thanks for their thoughts to your Presidents." He turned to look at Rede. "How'd I do?"

"Oh, fine," she assured him, kindly. "Right up to ‘how'd I do?'."

Palmys gave a soft laugh. "I am glad they sent you, Colonel," he said. "Your colleagues are so circumspect I never know what they are saying. With Miss Rede I am not sure what I am saying," he added, in a stage whisper.

"I like this place," Jack said. "Bad memories notwithstanding, I don't like the idea of anything happening to it." He stepped back a little, allowing Palmys to greet his team-mates.

"Teal'c."

"Minister Palmys." The two men exchanged bows of deep respect.

"And this is Jonas Quinn," Jack said.

"An honour, Minister."

"If the Colonel accepts you on his team then the honour is mine," Palmys assured him. "But that is all the time we have for greetings and pleasantries," he apologised. "Ambassador Selmak-Carter tells us that time is short. His daughter is not with you, once more?"

"She'll be along," Jack promised. "She's contacting the Asgard at present. We've more-or-less given up any hope of getting military aid from that quarter, but she thinks they can lend us an expert adviser."

Palmys nodded his understanding. "I take it that means your leaders have declined our request?"

"Sorry," Jack said. "The Pentagon won't okay the installation of an Earth-designed iris on any world vulnerable to assault from space. The risks if the Goa'uld were to capture it..."

"We understand," Palmys assured him. "The Scavengers have been working on a similar system, but they are currently encountering difficulties relating to the positioning of the device. Or some such thing," he added, with a vague wave of his hand.

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "It's...technical."

"So; what do you offer?" Palmys asked.

"Some weapons and static defences," Jack replied, gesturing to the FRED that they had brought with them. "All proven in battle against the Goa'uld. Dr Fraiser and her team will be following with a shipment of medical supplies."

"We shall be grateful for that," Palmys assured him.

"We can't offer much in the way of troops," Jack apologised. "But Teal'c and I are willing to pitch in; right buddy?"

"Indeed, O'Neill," Teal'c replied. "It will be our honour to defend your world with our lives."

Palmys looked at Jack. "Are all Jaffa that fatalistic? I wondered if it was just the ones we have here."

"This is nothing," Jack assured him.

"Speaking of our local Jaffa, I have arranged a staff car to take you to the Free Jaffa settlement, Teal'c. Your son will be there, speaking to his people."

"Thank you, Minister," Teal'c replied.

"Keep in touch, Teal'c," Jack said. "Let us know how Rya'c's boys are looking."

"I shall do so."

Jack nodded his acknowledgement. He waited for Teal'c to walk away, then turned back to Palmys and continued: "When Carter gets here she'll help the Tok'ra out with your systems and supervise the placement of our Claymores."

"Come back to the field headquarters," Palmys invited. "Echthonus and I would appreciate your assistance in preparing our strategy."

"Sure," Jack agreed. "Can we get someone to help SG-18 unload the FRED? I don't want to leave a trolley-full of munitions in the open but we probably can't get it over the..." He waved his hand at the soldiers working in front of the Gate.

"Of course," Palmys agreed, looking proudly at the half-completed earthworks. "We have fencing and armour-plates on the way, as well as a large quantity of conkers."

"Conkers?" Jack asked, confused.

"Horse chestnuts," Jonas replied.

"My question stands."

Rede cleared her throat, softly. "I explained the use of concrete in fortifications to Minister Palmys," she explained.

"Your engineers were good enough to supply the basic formula and we have been able to mix the substance ourselves."

"Cool," Jack said. "You know, of all the things we've invented, I never thought we'd be trading the secrets of concrete."

"That it streaks in the rain?" Rede asked.

Jack smiled, tolerantly. "Let's get down to planning," he suggested.

*

Jack was impressed by the advances made by the Thebans since their first contact with the SGC. Their neighbours, the Spartii, had been in contact with the Tok'ra for years but with little to show for it, while in less than three years the Thebans had developed from the technological level of Jonas' native Kelowna – and a feudal, Goa'uld-run social order – to the production of energy weapons and prototype inertial-drive aircraft, modelled on the technology left behind by their former masters. The arrival of the Scavengers – desperate for a home and willing to share the secrets of their own technological knowledge – had been a godsend, but it was a spirit of enterprise rising from the reordering of their state that had been their greatest asset.

"Our orbital defences are not up to much," Palmys explained, while Jack tried not to look envious that the Arcadians had orbital defences at all. "With the aid of the Scavengers we have modified some of the defunct systems from the Temple of Helios and with this crisis the Tok'ra have finally agreed to assist us in upgrading them."

"That's pretty big of them," Jack admitted. "The Tok'ra are usually pretty tight...with their buddies," he finished, as they entered the temporary HQ.

Echthonus was standing at a table in the prefab cabin, alongside Jacob Carter and two other Tok'ra. One was a patrician-looking man with iron-grey hair and a long scar down the left side of his face who looked every inch the hardened guerrilla warrior; the other was an almost ethereal blonde woman who looked every inch the consumptive Gothic heroine. Jack hastily closed the door once Jonas was inside, to banish the distracting certainty that the woman would blow away in a stiff breeze. The male Tok'ra fixed Jack with a suspicious, raptor's stare, while his female comrade's pale eyes seemed disconcertingly to be looking at something on the wall behind the newcomers.

Palmys smiled at Jack's discomfort. "Colonel O'Neill. Ambassador Carter-Selmak you know. May I present also Beren and Corana of the Tok'ra?"

"Is that both of you or just one?" Jack asked.

"Jack," Jacob cautioned. "We're all on the same side here."

"See, you say that, but sometimes I just don't feel it."

The male Tok'ra seethed. "Perhaps your arrogance causes you to resent coming to us for aid?" He suggested.

Jack shared a look with Jacob and after a moment they both broke out into snorts of laughter. Jonas gave a broad grin and even Corana smiled; although perhaps she just found the wall amusing.

"Like that time you helped us test the Atonik armbands?" Jack asked. "Or the time you helped us reprogram that space-mine? No, wait," he said. "That was us helping you. Then any time we need a bit of a hand it's all Tok'ra secrets and ‘nothing of interest to you'." He looked at Jacob and the older man rolled his eyes in sympathy.

"Selmak!" Beren snapped.

"Forgive me, Beren," Jacob's symbiote replied, contritely. "Colonel O'Neill; Beren and Corana have come to lend their aid. Please accord them the appropriate respect."

"Always," Jack promised, brightly. "So what've you fellas got to offer us this time?"

"As I explained," Palmys said. "The Tok'ra have graciously offered their assistance in upgrading our orbital defences. In addition, they have brought a substantial volume of intelligence material on Susanowa and Niningi."

"Unfortunately the data has not been collated," Jacob admitted. "We haven't had much cause to keep an eye on Susanowa – a very minor lord – let alone Niningi, so all we had was bits and pieces from other files. Corana simply dragged out everything we had which mentioned him and brought it along. It's...chunky."

"Wonderful," Jack sighed. "Jonas; you're up."

"Am I looking for anything in particular?" Jonas asked.

"Wait," Beren insisted, drawing a Tok'ra writing pad towards him, defensively. "We can attend to the intelligence data."

"I'm sure you could," Jonas agreed. "But I can't work on the orbital defences; plus I read very quickly."

"It only took him three hours to read the Lord of the Rings," Jack confirmed.

"Really?" Jacob asked, impressed.

"Including all of the appendices," Jonas confirmed.

"I do not know this ‘Lord of the Rings'," Beren scoffed.

"There you go then," Jack quipped. "Jonas; let me know what you find. Oh, and the Tok'ra of course."

"Of course."

"Selmak..."

"Beren?" Jacob asked, pointedly.

"We shall begin work on the orbital defences as soon as possible," the other man groused. Clearly Jacob had pulled Selmak's rank on Beren.

"Great," Jack agreed. "When we're making plans we'll count on a fully functioning system then. Jacob; can you fill us in on what that's worth?"

"We'll let you know. I'm going to help with the fortification of the Gate," Jacob added. "I...may be able to see better than the hoplites what tactics Susanowa's Bushi would use."

"Oh! And won't your daughter be arriving soon."

Jack looked around, confused, trying to see who had spoken and so accurately echoed his own, unspoken, thoughts. With some surprise he realised that the speaker was Corana, or rather her host. The wraithlike woman caught his startled gaze and gave him a wicked smile. She immediately shot into the top five of Jack's all-time favourite Tok'ra hosts; damning with faint praise though that was.

"Yes. That too," Jacob confessed. He turned to Jack. "So much for oldest and wisest. I liked the way my subordinates in the Air Force treated me better."

"You can always come back," Jack pointed out.

Jacob gave a lopsided smile. "I really can't."

*

The Free Jaffa settlement was in uproar. Damia had come to call on Rya'c with the Presidents' request for aid and after she had left he called a council of the senior Jaffa. Unfortunately it seemed that with the elders gone, everyone in the village now considered themselves senior enough to join the crowd in the meeting hall. The council had become a moot and Rya'c had to shout from the high platform to make himself heard over the babble of discussion and debate. At last he had had enough; he fetched a hunting horn and blew two short blasts.

"The question before us is simple," he said in the silence that followed. "We can lend our aid to the Thebans or we can leave this world."

"Why should we die for these people?" A woman asked.

"This is not our fight!" A young man agreed.

"If we wish to live in this world then this must be our fight," Rya'c replied. "There is no place for Free Jaffa on a world ruled by a false god and make no mistake; if we do not fight, then Lord Susanowa shall conquer Arcadia."

"Will the Council grant our request if we fight?" The man asked.

Rya'c shook his head. "No promises have been made, but this can only reflect well on us when the Committee meets to decide whether our request should be granted."

"They ask us to fight and die for them but they do not want us to live alongside them!" Another young Jaffa accused.

"They are afraid of us!" Cried a fourth.

"And so they should be!"

A babble of voices took up the disgruntled rumblings and Rya'c could not deny that part of his heart agreed with them. Why should they simply accept the suspicions of the Committee without complaint. The Free Jaffa could offer the Confederacy much that they currently lacked. They should be glad to have such a ready-made fighting force offered to them for the price of a few hundred acres of land.

But Rya'c's heart felt misgivings as well, and these were at last articulated by a young warrior named Quan'ac, who called out: "Why do we ask them for land? We are stronger than they are; we should simply take what we want."

"No."

The room fell silent again and all heads turned towards the speaker; a young warrior with a shock of bright red hair. Dilg'a did not speak often, but when he did his words had power. Rya'c envied the man that power, but Dilg'a was also his best friend. The two men were bound by their devotion to the cause of Jaffa freedom and by shared heartache. Both men had found love with enemies of their people; with the pious servants of false gods.

"Why not?" Quan'ac demanded.

Dilg'a just looked to Rya'c for the answer, clearly considering his part done with that single word.

"Because that is the way of the Goa'uld," Rya'c replied. "To take without asking, by force, simply because you can; that is the way that we have left behind us. What good does it do us to abandon our false gods if we seek to impose our wills on other races? If we become that which we have professed to despise? Tell me, Quan'ac; why do you fight the Goa'uld?"

"Because they enslaved my kin," Quan'ac replied. "Because they have used my people as their slaves for generations."

Rya'c nodded, slowly. "I know that some of you will agree with Quan'ac's reasons," he said. "I am one of them. But there are other reasons as well. I have left the armies of the Goa'uld because I will not be a slave; I fight them because I will not stand and let any other become a slave in my place. If I fight to keep the Goa'uld from subjugating others, then how could I countenance overthrowing the people of Arcadia myself? How can you?" He glared around the meeting hall, fixing his eyes at last on Quan'ac, who could not meet his gaze. "Are we fighting to be free of the Goa'uld? Or to become them?"

Rya'c was silent for a long time. "Anyone who believes that we should use our strength to rule over others; anyone who believes that we have that right; I ask that you leave this world by sunset. The Presidents of Thebes have offered free passage to any Jaffa wishing to leave Arcadia: Any Jaffa who would take another's home by force should take advantage of this offer, for they are my enemy and the enemy of those who hold with me."

A movement at the door caught Rya'c's eye and he hid a smile. "So speak now. Does anybody wish to leave?"

The crowd of Jaffa was silent.

Rya'c nodded. "Then gather your arms. We march at dawn."

He stepped down from the platform and made his way through the crowd to the door.

"A fine speech," the newcomer said.

Rya'c flushed with pride. "Thank you, father."

*

As Echthonus had reminded Palmys, the hierarchical structure of the Confederate forces who guarded the Arcadian Stargate was complex. In theory everything was simple; each of the three armies providing troops had nine ranks – loosely; regular soldier, leading soldier, sergeant, subaltern, junior officer, company officer, senior officer, command officer and general – and command precedence was determined by rank. Unfortunately, matters were complicated by the relative functions of the different officer grades. The Theban officer grade of dekarchos was functionally indistinguishable from that of enoomotarchès, but a Spartian taxiarchès led a force almost twice the size of that commanded by a dilochitès. The Scavengers, meanwhile, ordered their entire force according to their heritage as a resistance group. Their titles thus gave equal tribute to the roles of battlefield command and logistics and many Spartii veterans found that it chafed to serve under a senior officer bearing the rank of Quartermaster.

This complication was compounded by the unprecedented scale of the operation. In preparation for the expected assault the entire Confederate garrison had been moved from their fort to the Stargate, along with another three companies of Theban hoplites, some barely out of basic training, who were all that could be swiftly mustered. Between the troops and various work teams more than two hundred backs were being bent to the task of fortifying the Stargate, with three hundred rifles to cover them; not many by some standards, but a lot for Arcadia.

The overall commander of the garrison was Hypèrètes Glycon, a Spartian veteran who was one of a small number of Arcadians to have fought alongside the Tok'ra on worlds other than his own. Very rarely one of the Tok'ra would seek to raise an army from allied worlds and ten years ago Glycon had led a company of hoplites against the forces of Cronos, the ultimate ruler of Arcadia. Selmak knew and respected Glycon; Jacob was amazed the man would stand side-by-side with the Tok'ra ever again.

"They called us the Damned," Glycon explained, standing resplendent in a suit of armour in a style that fused Tok'ra design with the functionality of Jaffa battle gear. He must have painted the yoke of the shoulders black himself. "We walked into death with our eyes open. Of those who left to go to war under Jolinar's banner, only I came home, and that was more than any had expected."

"Why go?" Jacob asked.

"Without the risk of death, life has no savour," Glycon replied. "The Spartii live hard lives and die young, but we live well and we die free."

Jacob shrugged his shoulders. "I've heard worse philosophies," he admitted.

The Stargate thundered into life. Immediately the diggers in the trenches and the builders working on the fortification walls dropped their tools and fell back. A line of fifty Spartian veterans came forward and crouched behind their hoplons, pulse rifles jutting between the interlocking shields. A second line of seventy-five inexperienced Theban hoplites moved in behind the Spartii and levelled their rifles over the heads of their allies while the remaining troops took to the trenches. Two repeaters with shields fixed around their barrels had been set up on tripods in temporary dugouts and a number of Scavenger skirmishers waited on the wings.

"Well, this is going to be a warm welcome, Sam," Jacob muttered to himself.

"Better to present arms to a friend than to open your arms to a foe," Glycon replied.

The Stargate whooshed open. Almost at once, staff blasts shattered the calm of the event horizon and slammed into the hoplite line. Wood and bronze flew up from the shields like chaff from a thresher.

Jacob and Glycon ducked down behind a turf bulwark. Glycon picked up a pair of rifles and handed one to Jacob.

"Will the hoplons hold?" Jacob asked, concerned by the flurry of splinters.

"For a while," Glycon replied. "What you see is a design feature; the surface shatters to protect the soldier from the blast."

The weight of fire falling on the shields slackened. Although blasts still emerged from the Gate most flew over the line or struck the ends of it. No shots came from the centre.

"They're coming," Jacob realised.

"Ready!" Glycon bellowed. "Aim for the clear water! Give fire!"

As the first Jaffa emerged from the Gate – on foot – the hoplites opened fire, a line of pulse blasts striking in perfect synchronisation. The Thebans fired while the rifles of the first line cycled, then the Spartii fired again. The principles of the defence were sound, but the effect was limited. The Jaffa came on. Thirty came forth before the Gate closed, and they would not fall.

These were not the outriders who had attacked before, Jacob saw; these were élite warriors, unhorsed but bearing swords and bladed staff weapons. Long cloaks flowed out behind them like shadowy wings. Their helms rose high above their shoulders, patterned like scales. They were topped by the snarling, whiskery faces of Japanese dragons, and as they advanced the line of Jaffa gave voice to a terrible roar. Pulse charges seemed to splash harmlessly from the massive breastplates of the Jaffa's armour, and Jacob knew that the ablative hoplons would not survive long.

From the wings the Scavengers began to fire. Skilled snipers, they aimed for eyes of the masks and the joints of the armour, causing several of the Jaffa to stumble and falter, but not to halt. Jacob fired a shot at the chest of the lead Jaffa, at the weakest point of the armour between the mantle and the abdominal shield; it barely made a scratch.

Glycon, finding his shots similarly ineffective, called out: "Formidable armour! Our weapons are useless."

"Not even a Jaffa could carry so much protection," Selmak replied. "They must restrict weight somewhere. They will be weak in the flanks and rear."

Sure enough, as the Jaffa advanced into the repeaters' fields of fire the shots began to tell, burning through cloaks and into the ill-protected flesh of their sides. The centre pressed on, however, until the lead Jaffa were almost in striking distance of the hoplites and the repeaters were forced to cease fire.

"Melee!" The officer on the line ordered.

Rifles went down and the Spartii drew their pistols. As the first Jaffa attacked with the bladed end of his staff weapon, the officer blocked the blow on his shield, pressed close, thrust his pistol up behind the Jaffa's head and fired.

The dragon-helmed Jaffa roared again and threw themselves into the press, staff weapons slashing and tearing at weakened hoplons. The Spartii were skilled, but the heavier troops pressed on until they began to overrun the line by dint of sheer mass. Some of the Thebans broke, and those who held found their shots ineffective even at point-blank range.

"They'll be run down!" Jacob cried.

"Not while I command here," Glycon declared. "First reserve! Forward and assault the flanks!"

The hypèretès leaped up, leading by example. He swept around the left of the Jaffa, thirty hoplites at his back. Inspired and ignoring Selmak's protests, Jacob drew his zat'nik'tel, scrambled up and joined the second reserve as they lapped around to the right.

Perhaps taken aback by the enemy's refusal to scream and run, the dragon-warriors were slow to respond to this new tactic, and the reserves cut into the Jaffa force like a scalpel. As Selmak had predicted, from behind the Jaffa were soft targets and they fell like wheat before a scythe. At the last, a few rallied enough to face the new threat, but they were too few. Isolated and surrounded, they had no chance of escape, yet they would not yield and in their desperate defiance they took a bloody toll on the defenders.

After the last Jaffa had fallen, the Gate opened again. The hoplites struggled back to their positions, but no further enemy emerged.

"If they had won through, the Jaffa would send a signal," Jacob told Glycon. "Without that signal Susanowa will not come yet."

"I hope you are right," the Spartius replied. "You are hurt."

"It's nothing, I..." Jacob looked down at his side, and saw that what he had taken for a bruise was nothing of the kind. His tunic and the lightweight armour beneath had been ripped open by a sword cut and he was bleeding copiously. "Ah, hell."

I told you that was a bad idea, Selmak reminded him, as they sank to the ground.

*

By the time Jack arrived on the scene, all traces of the second battle at the Gate had been removed and the first of the concrete defences were being set in place. The defensive line had been doubled; two ditches, two banks, two lines of spikes and caltrops. A second set of defences were being erected behind the Gate to house snipers and support weapons where they could strike at the weaker side of the dragons' armour. A number of the wickedly sharp stakes which lined the ditches gleamed with the dull silver of trinium steel; spears to pierce the hardest armour. The Scavenger engineers were hastily refitting a number of their compression pistols as harpoon launchers to a similar end.

"Crude, but effective," one of the Scavengers commented, catching Jack's curious gaze.

"When in doubt, go back to basics," Jack agreed. He located the garrison commander and went over. "Glycon?"

The man nodded. "Colonel O'Neill."

"Any sign of further trouble?"

"Nothing since the last attack."

"Good to know," Jack said. "Although I'm worried if he knows the defence is getting stronger, Ninny Guy will attack that much sooner."

The Stargate powered up once more.

"Me and my big mouth," Jack muttered, hurrying to join the hoplites on the line.

"Steady!" Glycon ordered, as the event horizon stood, undisturbed.

"Sierra-Golf Niner; this is Nightingale-1."

Jack smiled at the voice from his radio. "Go ahead, Nightingale-1," he replied

"We're coming through with the first supply shipments," Janet went on.

"Roger that," Jack said. "Hyperats...Hyperatty...Ah; Glycon?"

"Stand down!" Glycon ordered. "It is Hypèretès," he added. "But Colonel will suffice."

Jack nodded his gratitude. "Come on through, Nightingale."

The event horizon rippled, disgorging a long column of personnel and FREDs. The four marines of SG-5 led the way, followed by Janet, her number three, Dr Mark Lawton, and five USAF trauma nurses. The four field remote expeditionary devices carried further munitions and precious medical supplies. Last, but by no means least, Sam Carter emerged from the Gate, accompanied by a slender Japanese woman in a dark russet flight suit with a long plait hanging over her shoulder. The Japanese wore a silver bracer around her left arm and a short, straight-bladed sword at her left hip; she carried a small case in her right hand.

A young Scavenger woman approached the convoy. "Dr Fraiser?"

"That's me," Janet replied, regarding the girl with curiosity. She did not look as though she could be much more than twenty, but her eyes were old and tired and her hair – the most vivid natural shade of red Janet had ever seen – was streaked with premature grey.

"My name is Megan," the Scavenger replied. "Quartermaster in charge of medical logistics. If you'll come with me, please. I'm afraid we need your team in place as soon as possible."

"Of course," Janet said. "There was another attack," she realised.

Megan nodded. "All casualties are being attended to, but that has taxed our available resources to the limit. We are bringing more doctors and medics from the countryside and from Spartia as quickly as we can, but our supplies are limited. We desperately require sterile bindings, antiseptics and antibiotics."

"We've brought a good supply," Janet promised, "and there should be more to follow. We also have a gift from the Asgard," she added.

"A gift?" Megan asked.

"Medical nanites," the Japanese explained, proffering her case. "Only a limited number of uses and they die out quickly, but a single ampoule of medical nanites will restore health to almost any person within days and stabilise a dying man in minutes. Only advanced cellular or genetic damage is beyond their aid."

Megan bowed, reverently. "We thank you for this gift, friend of the Haskar."

"I wish it were possible to do more," the woman replied. "Your aid to the Asgard has not been forgotten; unfortunately, the resources of the Asgard fleet are more than merely taxed at present."

"What there is will suffice," Megan promised. "I shall see to it."

As the medical teams departed, Jack arrived at the Gate. "Yukio," he greeted the Japanese, before turning to his 2IC. "Carter..."

"Colonel. Why the long face, sir?" Carter asked, concerned.

"It's your father," Jack replied. "He was badly wounded in a Jaffa attack a few hours ago."

Sam's face grew pale. "Is he...?"

"We don't know yet. Selmak is working on it. Jack Rede had the bright idea of moving him to Mount Ophesta; apparently the mineral springs will help him recover faster or something."

"Colonel; I..."

"Granted," Jack interrupted. "Go up through the camp; there's a car waiting for you."

"Thank you, Sir." Sam fumbled a sloppy salute and departed with great haste.

Jack watched until Sam was out of sight, then turned back to the Japanese woman. "Yukio," he said again.

"Colonel O'Neill." Nekai Yukio placed her cases beside Sam's, then bowed from the waist. The long plait swung with her motion, and Jack realised that it was weighted with a heavy jet bauble, set with a spray of wicked barbs. This lethal approach to accessories was not entirely a surprise; the woman was after all a ninja, who had once claimed to have never gone unarmed since her seventh birthday. "My thoughts are with Major Carter and her father," she said.

"I'm sure all our thoughts are," Jack agreed, "but meanwhile we have other problems. This latest attack was made by élite Jaffa in heavy armour."

"Dragon Guards," Yukio said at once. "The Claws of the Storm God; Susanowa's finest killers." She turned to address herself to Glycon. "I was born and raised on his home world and I have been battling his Bushi since I could walk."

The commander inclined his head, respectfully. "We shall appreciate your counsel."

"Good," she said. "Then first of all you need to abandon these fortifications and set up a second line fifty yards back."

"What!"

"The first wave of the true attack will be made by da'natra suicide bombers," Yukio explained. "What you have built so far will be useful, it will slow and confuse the enemy and keep the Divine Wind from your true defences. We can probably mine it as well to inflict additional casualties. However, anyone manning this line would be killed in the blasts, or at least stunned and swiftly overrun by the Dragon Guards who followed the bombers."

"These Dragon Guards showing up," Jack asked. "Is that a bad sign?"

"Actually, a good one," Yukio replied. "In one sense at least. Their presence shows that Susanowa has now taken a personal interest in this world. He will send his finest troops, but he must obey his own rules of engagement to the letter. As he has taken personal command of the assault, he must send his own advance team – as he has done – and then wait until he has completed the three days of formal preparation before committing his main force."

Glycon snorted. "That is good to know, if we must recommence our preparations."

"I have brought a few Asgard tools – lascutters and fusion welders – which can be used to speed the preparations," Yukio told him. "I will demonstrate their use to some of your foremen."

"What about the Spartii?" Jack asked. "Will those three days help us out?"

"At the earliest they will arrive at the same time as the Jaffa," Glycon replied.

"This will be difficult, then," Yukio said.

"I don't suppose you've brought any Asgard weapons along with those tools?" Glycon asked.

Yukio shook her head, apologetically. "The Asgard have few weapons that would be useful to you in this situation, and too obvious a presence would only fuel Susanowa's desire to overthrow you. But if we have the will, we shall prevail. Now; show me your troops."

*

Sam's driver was good, and they reached the foot of Mount Ophesta in what she felt sure must be record time. She thanked the man, briefly, before she flew from the car and through the great opening in the rock. The lintel of the entrance still bore its enigmatic inscription, Terribilus locus est, but Sam did not spare it a thought. She ran down through the galleries of the temple of the goddess Ophesta, past the images of the Goa'uld and her Pythonesses towards the inner sanctum. The holy of holies, the pool of Ophesta herself, had been sealed when the ‘goddess' – at that time going by the name Astarte – had been laid to final rest there two years ago, but there was a second mineral pool nearby and that was where Sam went.

The cavern which housed the second pool was less spectacular than the shrine of the Pythoness. The stalagmites and stalactites were smaller and the light that filtered through the deep shafts in the rock fell in a less dramatic fashion, but it was still a place of great natural beauty. None of that mattered to Sam of course; all she cared about was seeing if her father was alright.

And he was.

He was fine.

In fact, he seemed better than fine.

"Dad!"

Jacob started up, releasing the woman in his arms. He flushed bright red and failed to meet Sam's gaze. Jack Rede looked startled by Sam's sudden arrival, but she kept her expression under control and stepped calmly back from Jacob, out of Sam's – metaphorical – line of fire.

"Dad!"

"Sam..."

"They...They told me you were hurt," Sam offered.

"I am," Jacob replied, weakly. "Or I was, anyway."

"You were...you and Rede were...were..."

"Kissing?" Jacob prompted.

Sam was momentarily lost for words.

"I'll go," Rede suggested.

"No," Jacob told her. "You can stay."

Rede smiled. "I know; but I really should go. Trust me on this," she advised. "I am a trained diplomat." She turned, nodded a brief acknowledgement to Sam and left.

"Dad!" Sam tried again.

"Sam...I can explain," Jacob promised.

*

The Theban high command had gathered in Palmys' tent to discuss strategy, with Yukio, Jack and Glycon in attendance.

"We won't hold, will we?" Damia asked.

"Don't be such a fatalist, beloved," Echthonus chided.

"She is correct," Yukio said. "Your army is too small, too ill-equipped and under-trained. Your fortifications are solidly built and well-planned but your warriors are not drilled in their use. Reinforcements will not arrive in time to save you and by all accounts your air support is woefully inadequate. The Stargate will fall within three days."

Palmys turned to Jack. "Well, Colonel; thank you for bringing us an expert adviser. We should have been sorry not to have this important strategic guidance."

"Don't rush me," Yukio said, patiently; her rueful smile told Jack that the ninja shared his opinion of the straight-talking Palmys. "I am merely starting with the bad news. The Gate will fall, but you have three strong points in the defence of this planet, of which this is but one," she explained. "The others are the pyramid and the city. The Stargate will fall within three days, by which time you can have the city readied for a siege, especially with the aid of the Spartian reinforcements. Susanowa will have no choice but to leave a large part of his force to surround and capture the city; he can not leave a substantial enemy presence behind him if he wishes to advance on the pyramid, and nor can he ignore the pyramid, with its landing fields and orbital weapons. He will be forced to divide his forces and if you can hold these two points, then you may have a chance of repelling the invasion."

"What about the rest of Arcadia?" Glycon demanded. "Spartus Magna will not fall without a fight!"

"Actually, it will," Yukio replied. She gestured at the map. "With these three objectives taken and their occupants and those of their protectorate enslaved, Susanowa will be able to bring constructors through the Gate and begin assembling gliders and troop carriers. With the pyramid taken he can also bring ha'tak vessels into orbit and transport vessels to ground level with impunity. You must hold him at the city and the pyramid, or he will take your world from space."

"And do we have enough strength to do that?" Glycon demanded.

"Barely. You must hold until he grows weary of the effort of attacking you..."

"How long?" Palmys asked.

"A year, maybe two. Your first task must be to hold long enough for Spartian reinforcements to arrive. Alternatively, you must strike back at him and cripple his forces. If he feels himself threatened, personally, then he will retreat."

"We have neither the forces nor the training for an attack against a Jaffa battalion," Palmys replied.

"Minister," Damia said, pointedly.

Palmys nodded, slowly. "Speak to the Emissary," he agreed. "If the Presidents give the go-ahead you'll be in charge of negotiating with the Astartian Jaffa."

"The Astartians?" Jack asked.

"We need the numbers," Damia replied, defensively. "We need their experience. If the SGC won't provide soldiers we must look where we can and the Jaffa are willing to help."

Jack held his hands up in surrender. "I don't have a problem with it," he assured her. "Rehetep's a good man; a family man. I love him like a brother, albeit a brother who joined a cult then did jail time. But do you really think they're serious about this."

"Absolutely," Damia said, with perhaps more conviction than she felt. "Now if you'll excuse me I'll get on my way."

*

Teal'c and his son walked through the Jaffa settlement. All around them the Free Jaffa were preparing for battle, donning their armour and readying their weapons. Fully half of them had replaced one or both parts of the traditional Jaffa armament of staff weapons and zat'nik'tels with plasma crossbows and accelerated particle pistols and many had daubed their armour with paint to break up the distinctive decorations of the various armies they had left. Others wore robes or ponchos to cover the most visible sign of their former allegiances.

"They are not as other Free Jaffa," Teal'c noted.

"They are younger," Rya'c replied, "and not so bound by tradition." Despite his words, he still wore the unadorned armour of Apophis and fought with a conventional staff weapon.

"Why did you not go with the other warriors when they left?" Teal'c asked.

"The older warriors fight for their children," Rya'c explained. "We have no children. You fight so that we can live free, but we have never known freedom; we know no life but that of slavery and have no others to devote ourselves to. We have stayed here because we wish to build a place and a way of life for ourselves and for all Jaffa. We have stayed because it is not enough to be free; not if we have no life to live when we have our freedom."

"Are not the ways of your forefathers good enough for you, my son?" Teal'c asked.

Rya'c looked shocked. "How can you ask me that, father? The ways of the Jaffa are those dictated to our ancestors by the Goa'uld; they are the ways of slavery! We have no traditions! We have no customs of our own! We have only a liturgy of obedience and servitude."

"You dishonour your ancestors," Teal'c accused.

"We mean no disrespect to you or our ancestors, father," Rya'c replied. "Nor do we wish to abandon all of our martial practices or philosophies. However, the path that the Jaffa have walked is no road for a free people."

"That is most certainly true," Teal'c agreed. "However, you should take care, my son; change for the sake of change is as much a cage as tradition for the sake of tradition."

"I understand," Rya'c assured his father, soberly. "But there are reasons for our choices. The weaknesses of our traditional weapons were made clear by your own companions, after all."

"Indeed," Teal'c agreed. "May I ask why you then carry a staff weapon still?"

"Because it is your weapon of choice, father," the boy replied, with a blush.

Teal'c clapped a hand on Rya'c's shoulder. "It is a difficult weapon to master, but it is not without its strengths."

"I hope to one day be as good as you," Rya'c said.

"Perhaps battle is not your destiny," Teal'c said. "It may be that you have a higher calling."

"What calling can a Jaffa have that is higher than that of a warrior?" Rya'c asked.

Teal'c smiled. "You still live very much in our people's past," he told his son.

Rya'c smiled, fondly. "But what destiny do you speak of?"

Teal'c squeezed his son's soldier. "I speak of peace."

*

Jonas sat in the Parliamentary Archive in the Council Hall of Thebes, reading through the Tok'ra reports on Susanowa's activities. A stack of Goa'uld writing tablets sat on his left, and on his right a laptop on which he recorded his findings, sparse as they were.

"Launched a vicious attack on Cronus to avenge an insult to his wife," he read. "Destroying one of Cronus' lesser strongholds for the loss of one hundred Jaffa and five thousand levies. Charming," he muttered, dryly.

A young woman, barely more than a girl, approached the table at which Jonas was working. "Have you found anything of worth, Dr Quinn?"

"It's just Mr Quinn," Jonas replied, distractedly. "And no, I..." He jumped suddenly to his feet. "Madam President," he said. "Forgive me, I was distracted."

Zoë, the former Pythoness and now Philoic President – the co-President with responsibility for domestic affairs – of Thebes, waved away Jonas' apologies. "Please be seated," she said, taking a seat herself.

"Thank you," Jonas replied. "Can I help you, Madam President?"

The young woman waved her hand again. "Zoë," she told him. "My part in the Presidency is purely symbolic. The people were still afraid when we drafted the new constitution; they wanted their Pythoness. But my association with the old priesthood is an increasing embarrassment to the new order. The role of co-president will be phased out before long. The Philoic and Xenoic offices will be combined and I'll just...fade into the background. To be honest I'll welcome it and I know Theos will be jealous of me."

"What if the electorate choose you to be the single president?" Jonas asked with a smile.

"It will not happen," Zoë assured him, "and it will be good to have some time to devote to the College."

"The College?"

Zoë smiled. "The Priesthood of which I was once head had become an anachronism with the fall of the Goa'uld," she explained. "However, we had long preserved many skills that were otherwise lacking in the Theban population. I have therefore been striving to transform our order into one of secular healers and scholars; to create a centre of study and learning. Shortly before his death, Daniel Jackson visited Arcadia to officially open our anthropology division." She sighed. "Of course, such a body has little role to play in a society at war."

"I doubt that Dr Jackson would have agreed," Jonas assured her.

Zoë nodded, sadly. "But I came here for a purpose," she reminded herself. "I wish to know who it is that seeks to destroy my people."

"His name is Susanowa," Jonas replied.

"Indeed," Zoë agreed. "But I wish to know him. Who is he? How does he make war?"

"Well...We don't know very much about him, I'm afraid. He's a traditionalist, a very martial System Lord who takes insults to himself or his wife very seriously indeed."

"I know it's probably hopeless," Zoë said, "But I don't suppose there's a chance that he can be reasoned with?"

"None," Jonas replied, sadly. "He doesn't recognise humans as intelligent beings, let alone as equals." He paused for thought. "And he never negotiates with those he does consider his equals."

"Does he not have better things to do than invade our world?"

Jonas shrugged. "That's the strange thing. There's nothing on this world that he could want. Attacking you is a...a frivolous act. I mean for him," he hurriedly assured her. "According to the Tok'ra intelligence he's embroiled in a war against another Goa'uld. It makes no sense."

"A war against whom?"

Jonas shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "There are reports of troop movements, but..." He froze, staring at the latest tablet in horror.

"Mr Quinn? What is wrong?"

"According to a report from one of the Tok'ra's human informants, Lord Susanowa recently concluded a treaty with Lord Yu Huang Shang-ti! How can they not have seen this?"

Zoë frowned. "I do not understand," she admitted.

"Lord Yu is the nearest thing that Earth has to an ally among the System Lords," Jonas explained. "He and Susanowa have always been implacable foes. If they have put aside their differences it must be in order for Susanowa to join Lord Yu's war."

"And with whom is Lord Yu at war?"

"With Anubis," Jonas replied, in bleak tones. "If we cripple Susanowa's forces, we're giving an advantage to Anubis."

"I see," Zoë said, quietly.

"Oh, we're not going anywhere, Madam President," Jonas promised. "We said we'd help and we will."

"Will your leaders be so quick to stand by a promise made so rashly?" Zoë asked.

"I think so," Jonas replied. "If not...Well, I'll stay at least; I doubt Colonel O'Neill will want to turn his back on Arcadia either."

"And the Tok'ra?"

Jonas shrugged. "Why would the Tok'ra leave you in the lurch?"

"If their enemy gains by our salvation...?"

Jonas grinned. "Maybe; but who's gonna tell them?"

"Thank you, Mr Quinn," Zoë sighed. "I really must get away from politics," she added. "I have grown so cynical and pessimistic that I sometimes forget that people occasionally do the right thing simply because it is the right thing."

*

"How did they get these, anyway?" Jack asked, rhetorically, as he walked around the base of the Theban space defence cannon. It was half as large again as a Tollan ion cannon, and rather rougher around the edges, with coils of wire and cooling vanes jutting from the bulbous barrel and the massive, barrel-shaped firing chamber.

"I'm not sure," Corana replied, her strange, lilting tones emerging like the voice of a ghost from a panel in the side of the weapon. "By the looks of this, they might have grown them."

"Huh?"

"The circuits are...well, they're like nothing I've ever seen before." There was a pause, and when she continued it was in the deeper cadences of the symbiote. "The weapon was clearly never designed," she opined. "It was simply built from scratch, cobbled together from scavenged components and cannibalised wiring. This is not a machine, it is a mess."

"Does it work?"

"Without a doubt," Corana replied, once more in her host's voice. "But even if I can replace all of the key components with more efficient ones, in this and the other two guns, in the time we have available, the power they generate will be hard pressed to damage a modern teltac's shields before it can destroy the weapons."

"So what can we do?" Jack asked.

Corana leaned out of the side of the gun. "We could wire the shield generator from our teltac into the main deflector grid of the pyramid to protect it," she suggested. "It would be less powerful than a ha'tak shield; not enough to hold against more than a few hits, but it would give the guns a chance to do more damage. It might also draw fire from the city." She reached up, gripped one of the stronger cooling vanes and swung herself to the ground.

Jack was a little surprised that Corana dropped as fast as ordinary people. She looked as though she should drift.

"So what's your name?" Jack asked.

"Corana."

"Your host, I mean."

The Tok'ra smiled and wiped her oily hands. "Cora," she said. "My symbiote is Arana. Cora, Arana; Corana."

"That's...unusual."

"Hmm," Corana allowed. "Every Tok'ra negotiates a unique balance with their host. Or we are supposed to negotiate," she added, with a slight blush, unable to meet Jack's gaze. She retrieved her satchel from beside the gun mounting and made some notes on a writing tablet. "We'll need trinium," she said, turning to the neutral ground of business. "About one hundred pounds of high ductility trinium-steel alloy and fifteen of trilauric; that is a trinium-gold alloy used as a high-temperature conductor. I can supply you with the mix proportions for trilauric if you do not use it."

"Will you now?" Jack asked.

"The Tok'ra do not have a trinium source at present," she said. "If the SGC is serious about assisting the Thebans..."

"I'll send the request," Jack promised, with ill grace, taking the proffered tablet. "Why is it that your lot are helping, anyway?"

"Charity?" Corana suggested.

Jack gave her a sceptical look.

 "The Scavengers learned their craft from the Asgard, once upon a time," she admitted. "We also have an interest in the adapted fighter and scout craft that the Free Jaffa have been developing."

"Fora'l and Key'auc have the Tok'ra beat?" Jack asked.

"A most remarkable pair," Corana agreed. "Coupled with the space guns, the vessels they have built may just allow the defence of this world against a single ha'tak."

"How about providing air support?"

Corana shook her head. "They are designed for ship-to-ship combat, and specifically for attacking large vessels; we are trying to adapt some of them to a gunship role, but it is not an easy task, nor a swift one. There are also a few remaining gliders, but they would be highly vulnerable to defensive fire from Susanowa's forces and strafing runs in death gliders across a close-quarter battle are rarely a profitable exchange; their weapons are too imprecise"

"What about enemy gliders? You say there aren't enough pilots; what happens if a ha'tak launches an assault by air?"

"We should be in better shape for that," Corana allowed. "As well as our the Astartian gliders, the Theban anti-air defences are a more certain technology than these rather experimental space guns." She slammed a fist into the flank of the weapon beside her and it whined as though about to go off. Corana waited for a tense moment, then gently patted the machine in a conciliatory fashion. "Beren has inspected the ground-to-air weapons and they will hold for a while," she finished.

"And the Thebans' own aircraft?"

"Are you familiar with a vessel known as the...I believe Selmak said that it was called the ‘Kittyhawk'?"

"Oh boy," Jack sighed. "So how do you rate our chances?"

Corana shrugged. "I'm an engineer, not a strategist. I give us no more than even odds on finishing the work in time."

"Well, I'll leave you to it then," Jack said.

*

The Stargate was the scene of frenzied activity, people running to and fro like ants as they hurried to prepare themselves for the coming storm. Behind the front lines another level of order was emerging from the chaos as Janet and her team prepared the Theban medical teams and distributed the medical supplies they had brought from Earth.

Or rather, Janet thought as she watched the show, dizzily. We are standing around like lemons while a kid sorts everything out.

After the evacuation of Meyn'auc's ha'tak vessel, Janet had heard Teal'c comment with great approval on the efficiency of the Scavenger girl, Megan. Despite this forewarning, she had not been prepared for the whirlwind dynamism of the young woman, however, and she had certainly not realised that this super-admin was almost young enough to be her daughter.

"Dr Lawton, I was informed that you are a triage specialist," Megan said.

"That is correct," Mark replied. He looked almost as flustered as Janet felt.

"I will place you on the left flank, where the trenches emerge into the main staging ground. That will be where the worst injuries are brought out to be transported to the city."

"The city?" Janet asked. "We shouldn't be transporting the injured so far. Will there be a field hospital?"

Megan shook her head. "We are working on two assumptions; that the defences here will fall in days and that the Bushi will destroy anything in their path. We can not afford to try and evacuate a hospital when the dam bursts. We have however arranged to use two of the teltacs as ambulances; their flight is smoother than the passage of a car," she explained.

"Well, that's something," Janet agreed.

"If you don't mind, I'd like you to be at the hospital, coordinating the work there."

"My place is on the field," Janet insisted.

Megan shook her head. "I don't agree," she said. "My information tells me that unlike Dr Lawton you are not only trained in battlefield triage, but are also a qualified emergency room physician with some surgical experience. Is this correct?"

"It is," Janet admitted.

"We have a shortage of such expertise, and those physicians we have who work in such an area are not skilled in the use of the terrestrial equipment that you have supplied over the past two years. The garrison does however have a large number of people skilled in triage; Spartian hoplite medics, Thebans trained to treat those injured on safari, and our own Scavenger healers of course."

"I don't work well in other people's hospitals," Janet admitted.

"They will not crowd you," Megan promised. "They are quite in awe of Tau'ri medical expertise and will be quite eager to learn from you."

"Wonderful," Janet groused. "A hospital full of medical students. Alright," she relented. "I'll do it."

*

Yukio stood in front of an assembly of the Arcadian officers and sergeants and surveyed them with a critical eye. Many of them were young, most of them were inexperienced, and the larger part of the group were probably going to die in the next three days. She could see in their eyes that they were the kind of leaders who would argue for hours over who got to hold the line in the event of a retreat; they would be slaughtered by the dozen to ensure that their soldiers made it to the second line.

"You will be fighting against some of the deadliest hand-to-hand combatants in the galaxy," she told them, without preamble. "Unlike most Jaffa, the Bushi do not carry staff weapons as a matter of course, preferring to fight at close range.

"Once the da'natra have cleared the way, the lines will be drawn before the Stargate. While they remain at a distance, the Bushi will rely on support from their archers, but even with trinium-tips, their arrows will not pierce your bulwarks. Keep your heads down when the archers fire and you will be safe from those. Slingers will also throw shock grenades. Try to kill anyone you see readying a grenade, but when they come over they must be smothered. A human will be killed if they attempt to absorb the energy burst with their body, but the engineers are preparing sandbags laced with depleted naquadah dust which will do the job. Just don't use the same bag twice or you'll blow your whole trench to Yama.

"When you return fire, your weapons will have minimal effect on the front armour of the Dragon Guards and it will be they who will lead the advance. They may be mounted, in which case you must shoot the horses from under them. Otherwise, focus your shots on the archers and the more lightly armoured Bushi, leaving the Dragons until the flanking lines can fire on their unprotected sides."

There was some dissatisfaction among the troops; as an honourable warrior class they did not much care for the idea of a fight which involved ducking behind a wall and shooting someone in the back.

"The Bushi will close with swords and spears," Yukio went on, causing the crowd to warm to the subject a little more. "They will all have trained in hand-to-hand techniques since childhood and the bulk of them will be older than any of you will ever be. If you try to take them in single combat they will kill you, but as they breast the defences you will have the advantage of numbers and position. As they come over the bulwarks they will raise their daito – their long swords – above their heads for the Falling Heaven Strike. Those of you to the right hand side of each attacker will have an opportunity to strike under their arms which you must take; otherwise the warrior in front of the Bushi will die, for there is no way to parry the Falling Heaven.

"The Dragon Guards will be the most dangerous. You will know them by their dragon blades." Yukio raised one of the razor-bladed staff weapons above her head for the soldiers to see. "This you must understand: Not one of these warriors has trained for less than forty years and they are fanatics of the highest order. They are deadly in battle and utterly committed; they will die before they will surrender, and they will never break and run. They must be slaughtered to the last man before they will stop the fight and there is not a man among you who can match them one-on-one."

"Then why do we even bother!" one of the Thebans called out. The Spartii tried to hush him, but Yukio raised her hand.

"He makes a good point. Why fight a battle against such a mighty foe?" She turned her gaze directly on the man who had spoken. "You fight because if you do not then the Dragons will march unopposed to your homes. If that happens, then those who die will be envied by the living." The man hung his head. "We will be fighting to buy time; time for the city to be readied for a siege; time for the villages to be evacuated; time for skirmishers to prepare booby traps and ambushes for the enemy. When the time comes that this line can not be held we shall fall back to the city and the pyramid, and we will fight again there. They are mightier than you, I can not deny that, but this is your home. If you have the will, they will never take it from you!"

Yukio finished her speech with a defiant cry and punched the air with her fist; she might not be one of these people; she might never think like them; but she knew their kind and how to rouse them. The Arcadians responded with gusto, voicing their collective valour in a chant of ‘Victory! Victory!'

Yukio stepped down to allow Glycon to take the stand and begin addressing issues of squad detail and specific tactics. She passed the table where the Arcadian commanders were gathered and slipped through a flap into an armoury tent.

"Looking for a little peace and quiet?" Jack asked.

"Something like that," Yukio replied, showing no surprise. Either she had known that he was already lurking in the shadows or she had nerves of pure steel.

"Nice speech," Jack said. "Little long for my tastes."

"I had to give them the information that they need, but I could not leave them in despair."

Jack nodded his understanding. "It's tough at the top," he agreed. "That's a nasty-looking piece of gear," he noted, gesturing to the dragon blade that Yukio still held in her hands.

"Yes," she agreed. "I have lost a great many friends to such weapons." She spun the weapon around, the blade flashing in the light from the flap. She finished the kata by levelling the weapon across her shoulder. The blade pointed backwards and the bulb at the foot of the weapon popped open to reveal a single firing array.

Jack reached out a hand and gingerly pushed the weapon so that the emitter pointed away from his second-favourite face. "Don't those things normally have four tubes inside?" He asked.

"By using only a single emitter, the staff weapon's firing systems can be more easily balanced with the blade," Yukio explained. "It does, however, reduce the weapon's rate of fire as the emitter must be purged of plasma after each shot, before it can fire again."

Jack nodded, recognising the basic principals of the rotary cannon at work in an ordinary staff weapon.

"As the long range function of the dragon blade is of secondary consideration, Susanowa has never gone to the trouble of having the weapons upgraded and rebalanced to use the more modern configuration," Yukio continued. She closed the firing head, spun the weapon once more and buried its bladed end in the hard earth.

"Yukio," Jack asked. "How ugly is this going to be?"

Yukio looked the grim-faced soldier in the eye. "I would be sure to say goodbye to your friends before the battle," she told him.

*

In the Jaffa settlement, Teal'c and Rya'c were inspecting the ranks of warriors who stood, waiting to board the Theban transports. These trucks would convey the bulk of them to the Stargate, while a smaller group were conveyed to the pyramid to assist with its fortification. Key'auc and Fora'l had already left to assist the Tok'ra and the Theban engineers in modifying what teltacs were available for use as close assault gunships.

Teal'c was distracted by the sound of an engine, as a staff car approached the settlement at high speed. The vehicle pulled up not far from him, and Damia scrambled hurriedly from the back seat.

"Minister Damia," Teal'c greeted her, approaching with Rya'c at his shoulder.

"Teal'c, Emissary," she replied. "I have come with a formal petition from the Presidents. They ask if the two of you will accompany me to the closed settlement of Meynara, where I am to negotiate with the Astartian Jaffa for their assistance. We intend to offer them equal settlement rights with the Free Jaffa if they will aid us, but the Presidents believe that you will be better placed than I to determine whether Rehetep will deal honestly with us."

"Are you certain that this is what you want?" Teal'c asked.

"It is our only choice," Damia replied.

Teal'c exchanged glances with his son. "Then we will come," he said.

Damia nodded. "Thank you both. Please; the driver is waiting to take us to Meynara."

"A moment, please," Rya'c said. He turned and called out: "Trey'nod, Dilg'a; see to the warriors. We shall meet you at the ha'tak." He waited for their acknowledgements before turning back to face Damia. "We are ready," she told her.

Meynara – named in honour of Rya'c's beloved Meyn'auc – was a strange settlement, being essentially fortified in reverse. Theban and Scavenger soldiers manned an inward-facing bulwark, with repeating pulse weapons set at hundred yard intervals. Within the bounds of this fortification a moat surrounded the settlement itself. It was a respectable fortress as such things went, and although Rehetep's Griffins could have broken out with ease, it would have been far more difficult for them to extract their families.

Damia's car drove up to a gate in the bulwark. She showed her identification and the gates were opened, allowing the car through. They pulled up at a checkpoint where they were obliged to abandon their vehicle, and where Teal'c and Rya'c were asked to leave all of their weapons behind.

"Following the recommendation of the SGC, no weapons are allowed within Meynara itself," Damia explained. "Even the guards are forbidden to enter the village armed."

"A wise precaution," Teal'c agreed, handing over his zat'nik'tel and sidearm.

"There are no fields around this settlement," Rya'c observed. "How do the Jaffa provide for themselves?"

"The Jaffa have not made much of a home for themselves here," Damia went on. "They refuse to do so as long as this remains – in their eyes – a temporary settlement. Since we can't force them to cultivate the land, we have to provide for them; another reason why the Presidents would like to see the matter resolved as soon as possible."

The three visitors travelled across the moat by chain ferry. The water was pumped around in a rapid circuit and the chain could be released by the gentlest touch of a lever on the outward side of the moat. This was far and away the best part of the Theban's defensive plan, for even an elite Jaffa warrior would find it difficult to swim across that whirling torrent.

Difficult, but not impossible.

"So tell me the truth," Damia asked Teal'c. "How easy would it be for the Jaffa to escape from their prison?"

"It would not be easy, but it would be possible. A strike team could swim beneath the moat and seize the chain station. If they could disable the soldiers at the two nearest gun emplacements as well then they could bring a substantial force across by way of the ferry almost undetected."

"They could swim this?"

"They could."

Damia shook her head. "We thought about putting lights along the shore, but since the Jaffa are currently accorded the status of political refugees rather than prisoners, we did not wish to make the place seem too obviously surrounded."

"I understand," Teal'c assured her, disapprovingly.

"I know, I know," Damia sighed. "We should either treat them as refugees or guard them properly; Ambassador Carter-Selmak has made this point many times."

"Your people are trusting," Teal'c said. "Perhaps too trusting. I am surprised to find you so after Astarte's deception."

"Maybe," Damia agreed. "But I wouldn't want to change the way we are."

On the settlement shore of the moat, the three visitors stepped off the ferry. As they walked towards the waiting reception party, the boat was drawn back across the moat on its chain. A group of three Jaffa had assembled to greet them.

As they drew near, Rehetep stepped forward. "Tek ma'tek, Emissary Rya'c," he said. "Teal'c."

"Tek ma'tek, Rehetep," Teal'c replied.

"And greetings to you, Minister Damia, our gracious host," Rehetep added, inclining his head towards Damia. If there was any sarcasm in his tone then it was veiled.

"Greetings, Master Rehetep," Damia said. "On behalf of the Presidents of the Theban Parliamentary Republic, I have been empowered to negotiate for your assistance in the current crisis."

"We have been informed of your purpose," Rehetep assured her. "In accordance with our customs we have prepared a meal to accompany our discussion. Will you and your associates join us, Minister?"

"Thank you, Master Rehetep," Damia said. "We would be honoured."

There were three Jaffa in the negotiating group, mirroring the three who made up the Arcadian delegation. Rehetep was joined by his wife, Tan'auc, a handsome woman whose mistrust of the Tau'ri and their allies had lessened only slightly since the loss of her goddess. The third was another female Jaffa, who wore the silver tattoo – but not the robes – of a priestess and was introduced as Perl'aun. This last Jaffa looked as though she did not hold much of a grudge against anyone, and Teal'c suspected that she had been selected to act as the voice of reason in this council.

Two young Jaffa – one man and one woman – served a light meal of soup and bread, accompanied by spring water and klah'c. The Astartians were clearly making an effort to impress and the meal was of superb quality. Teal'c and Rya'c were particularly delighted by the klah'c; that bitter beverage, beloved of the Jaffa, which few other races could successfully synthesise.

"Now," Rehetep said. "Let us get down to business."

"Indeed," Damia agreed. "The Presidents wish to thank you for your offer of assistance, although the decision has not yet been made whether or not to accept this offer."

"Is it within your remit to make that decision, Minister Damia?" Perl'aun asked.

"It is," Damia admitted. "Indeed, that is the reason for my visit to you today."

"Excellent," Rehetep said. "You understand of course that we must receive certain assurances? We would not fight and die if our only reward were to be ongoing imprisonment."

"Of course," Damia agreed. "But you understand that in this I can not make any promises that would bind the Special Committee on Jaffa Integration. However, I can say that if we reach an accord regarding your assistance in battling the invading forces then the committee will consider the Astartian application as one with that of the Free Jaffa. Whatever settlement allowance is granted to them will be granted to you in equal part, and should your application to join the Confederacy be accepted, then the territory granted to you for settlement will include the land surrounding Mount Ophesta, as per your request."

"There is a lot of uncertainty in your promises," Tan'auc noted. "In fact, I am not sure that you are actually promising anything at all."

"This is all I can do," Damia said, regretfully. "I have no authority to offer any more."

"What is the status of the Free Jaffa application?" Perl'aun demanded. "How is it viewed by the Special Committee?"

"I can not speak for the committee," Damia said again. "However, both applications are certainly viewed with favour by the Theban Parliament and Presidency. The Emissary's arguments have been most persuasive and I am sure that your assistance in this time of crisis would do a great deal to sway the opinion of the other Confederate governments."

"But possibly not in the correct direction," Rehetep said.

"What do you mean?" Damia asked.

"The Jaffa are a warrior race," Teal'c told her. "Yours are not. Your people may find the way in which the Jaffa make war...disturbing."

"I do not understand," Damia admitted. "We fought for our world before..."

"You fought a battle; not a war," Rehetep said. "We were not ready to resist you and our Goddess did not want to let us loose upon the populace. Astarte wished to preserve this world; had she allowed us to fight in the manner in which we were accustomed, we would have marched across your land, slaughtering and burning."

"The Jaffa are an army of terror," Rya'c went on. "For many generations they have been trained to bring fear and despair to their foes. My Jaffa have not been trained in this way, but Rehetep's veteran warriors know no other way of making war."

"This will be to our advantage," Teal'c assured Damia. "The Bushi will not understand any other way of fighting. That is why they will not retreat in the face of even the most stalwart defence. They will only perceive a realistic resistance if we are able to launch an aggressive counterattack."

Damia looked disturbed by this. "I...I don't know," she said.

"We shall not indulge in any wanton slaughter," Rehetep promised, "but you must understand that our way will shock you." He stood up and bowed, resignedly. "The decision is yours, Minister. I would not wish you to take that decision without being fully informed."

Damia returned the bow. "Thank you, Master Rehetep. I shall inform you of our decision by sunset at the latest."

"Do not delay longer," Rehetep warned. "Or it may be too late."

*

Jonas and Jack had met up in the capital to compare notes and consider their chances over a mug of coffee when Sam found them. Her face looked like thunder, her body rigid with tension.

"Something wrong, Major?" Jack asked, concerned.

"I don't believe it!" Sam snapped, angrily.

Jonas raised an eyebrow. "What don't you believe?" he asked, taking a sip of coffee.

"Dad's having an affair with Jack!"

Jonas spat coffee two yards across the room.

"What...? I mean Jack Rede, of course," Sam scoffed. "It's...I'm just so angry with him."

"Why?" Jonas asked.

"Why...? What...? What do you mean, why?"

"Well...Your father has been a widower for some years, Major Carter. Jacqueline Rede is a single woman, and certainly a looker...I mean a good person by most people's reckoning. Don't you like her?"

Sam grimaced. "No. I mean...I like her. She's a nice girl but...She's a nice girl; or at least a woman of my age, not his. It's not right. I feel like Michael Douglas' daughter."

"Does he have a daughter?" Jack asked.

"Besides," Sam went on, ignoring the interruption. "It's not so much that he's having the relationship that annoys me. It's the fact that he lied to me about it. He told me the first time we came to Arcadia that they were just good friends."

"Well; maybe they were," Jack pointed out. "Back then, I mean. A lot can happen in two years," he reminded her, gently.

"Then he should have told me!" Sam cried, exasperated. "Why are you both on his side?"

"We're not," Jonas assured her. "We're just trying to help you be okay with it."

"Well I'm not okay with it! Ooh; that hypocrite! When I think of the things he said to me when he realised I was keeping my relationship secret from him."

"Which relationship was that?" Jack asked, hiding a smile at his 2IC's discomfort behind his coffee mug.

"My relationship with Jonas."

Jack choked into his mug, splashing hot coffee everywhere.

"Jonas Hanson," Sam sighed. "Oh, never mind."

*

The Arcadians worked through the night, preparing the second line of defence. SG-11 arrived with a second shipment of medical supplies and a bulk order of claymores and explosives. Together with the Scavenger engineers, the SGC sappers set about constructing fortifications to defend against any of the known troop types. One of the Scavengers, Loris, even came up with a means of defence against the Bushi cavalry; a row of retractable spikes, sturdy enough to withstand the blast of the da'natra suicide bombs.

"Nasty," Jack commented.

"It should stop the riders," Loris said, "and the infantry will have to get past the dead horses. Between the spikes, the forward bulwarks and the ditches we should be able to tie up the attackers in a killing zone in front of the Stargate, even allowing for the da'natra. We have shooters to the sides and rear to take advantage of the weaknesses in their armour while they're occupied. The Jaffa have contributed a number of tacs to add to that weightt of fire. Once they pass the zone, the mines will be detonated, to drive the Bushi back while we regroup the shooters."

"You know, we could just destroy or bury the Gate," Jack suggested.

Loris shook his head. "If they really want something from us, they can come in ships. Besides; if our world is going to take any place in galactic society, we need the Stargate."

Jack thought about pressing the matter, but there was nothing he could say. Any arguments he might make were the same ones that sounded so hollow to him when Senator Kinsey offered them. The Stargate was the most incredible thing in the Arcadians' world, as it was on Earth; there was no way that he could ask them to abandon that.

"Have you been using it?" Jack asked.

"Yes," Loris replied. "The Arcadian Confederation has been operating a minimal expeditionary programme for the last year and a half. The Tok'ra have been providing their assistance; it's like getting blood out of a stone, but until we complete the construction of our iris we can not afford to set out blindly. So far it's an experiment really, but we have hopes of one day becoming a great presence in the universe." The young man gave a bitter laugh. "Some hope we have now."

"There is always hope," Yukio announced, materialising out of the shadows like a ghost.

"D'yow!" Jack exclaimed. Loris looked as though he were about to suffer a heart attack.

"Colonel," Yukio said, bowing gravely.

"How do you do that?" Jack demanded.

"Practice," she replied. "On Yomi, the Bushi are permitted to treat any peasant in whatever manner they please; even if you are on lawful business, the ability to be unseen can be very useful."

"It verges on the uncanny," Jack noted.

"You..." Loris interrupted himself for a moment to catch his breath. "You said there was hope?"

"There is always hope, I said." She gave a crooked smile. "There is even hope when we can not see it."

"That's very comforting," Loris replied, drolly.

"I'm here to give you a chance, not hope," the ninja told him. "Your plans are good; your retreat routes are well planned, although I feel that there may be some difficulty in persuading the Arcadians to use them."

"Leave that to us," Loris assured her. "We've got some experience of working around Arcadian stubbornness."

"Ooh!" Jack exclaimed. "Stubborn. That reminds me; I gotta go."

"Is Sam alright?" Yukio asked, concerned.

"How did you...? Never mind. Don't let them start the invasion without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Yukio assured him.

*

"Good time to talk?" Jack asked, bearding Jacob in the command tent.

"In no way," Jacob replied, "but since when has that ever stopped you?"

"So, Carter's pretty pissed."

Jacob grimaced. "You know I've never liked the way you hedge around a subject, Jack."

"Not here to judge," Jack assured the Tok'ra. "Just thought I'd get your side of things."

"What's to tell?" Jacob asked. "Aside from that!"

Jack grinned.

"But what do you want me to say?" Jacob demanded. "I'm sorry I lied to Sam, but I knew she'd blow up like this."

"Could you try to explain that to her, maybe?"

"I did; she didn't want to hear it. What she wants me to do is apologise for having a relationship, and I'm not going to do that. Jack is..."

"Whoa!" Jack exclaimed. "Rapidly approaching the threshold of too much information, Jacob."

"I was just going to say that she's changed my life, Jack; more than Selmak even."

"And if Sam wanted you to give her up?"

"Never!"

"What if it was her or Sam?"

Jacob snorted. "There's a point where a daughter can't make that demand anymore," he insisted.

"And that point is?"

"Sometime around her father's funeral," Jacob admitted. "I just hope it doesn't come to that."

"To your funeral?" Jack asked.

"To a choice," Jacob explained, patiently, "although that too. I honestly don't know if I could choose between them, and Selmak has been around that block enough times – and on both sides of the street – to know that if it comes to that I'll probably lose them both forever; and when this guy says forever" – he tapped the back of his neck, a gesture not without affection – "he really means it."

"Snake-boy's got a good point," Jack admitted.

"Please don't call me that," Selmak grumbled.

"I'm surprised you're putting up with all this," Jack noted. "I thought you didn't have much time for Jacob's emotional entanglements."

"Jacob's relationship with Jacqueline Rede does not inhibit our effectiveness, and I am not without affection for her myself."

"Tok'ra in love; that always ends well."

"Making us different from the Tau'ri how exactly?" Selmak demanded.

"Touché," Jack admitted.

Jacob took back the metaphorical conch. "I have a new lease of life, Jack; did she really expect me to spend the whole of it alone?" He laughed. "It could have been worse, you know."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Selmak has history with a number of the Tok'ra; including Anise, although not since she was blended with Freya. Actually, Anise had a male host at the time."

"And Selmak?"

"Female."

"Isn't that weird?" Jack asked.

Jacob chuckled. "You have no idea." He shook his head and sighed. "You know, I was thinking of Sam's feelings."

"By not telling her?"

"No, Jack. I mean...She still feels like she has to look after me; you know it's true. But if there's someone else to look after me, I thought that maybe she could back off a little."

"Yeah; but that only works if she knows there's someone else to look after you."

"Alright, alright. I suppose I should be grateful that you haven't tried to get the three – or is it four – of us to sit down and ‘talk it over'," Jacob said. "I've always hated interventions."

Jack shrugged. "We're holding that in reserve while I talk to you and Jonas has a little chat with Jack."

Jonas found Jack Rede on the city wall. Around her, masons and engineers were busily fortifying the already formidable wall to defend against the coming storm. A combination of ablative plating and chemical reinforcement – a Goa'uld technology – were being used to harden the walls against enemy plasma fire; it would not stand up to a concerted assault, but Corana had been able to improvise an additional line of defence from leftover Goa'uld parts. None of this interested Rede of course; she was looking out towards the Stargate and the forces surrounding it, even though they were hidden behind the horizon.

"Miss Rede..." Jonas began.

"Call me Jack," Rede insisted.

Jonas tried again. "Alright...Jack..."

"Are you here as a peacemaker?" Rede asked. "If so you're wasting your time; I don't have a problem with the situation. I understand Major Carter's reservations, but I'm not willing to give up Jacob-Selmak."

Jonas gave a curious smile. "Jacob-Selmak?"

"Well, I can't realistically sleep with just one of them," Rede laughed. "Even if it were, I don't want to."

Jonas blushed. "Well, I don't know about that..."

"Well, just imagine it, Mr Quinn..."

"Jonas; and I'd rather not."

"...Jonas. Jacob-Selmak is undemanding, understanding, loyal; faithful to the hilt. Sure, he can be crabby sometimes and he's got an arrogant streak a mile wide, but he's got that dry sense of humour working for him and he looks so damnably cute when he gets that oh-so serious Selmak expression on his face."

"He's really not my type," Jonas assured her.

"Selmak probably was, once upon a time," Rede assured him. "That's another thing; my lover has been a woman for more than half of his two thousand year life span. He's very...insightful."

"And that's more than I ever needed to know," Jonas protested.

"Well you started this," Rede laughed. "Besides," she added, sobering, "I figure in the face of imminent death, you take the yucks where you can get ‘em."

"We're not going to die," Jonas assured her.

"Are you about to tell me you've been in worse scrapes?"

"That phrase just loses all meaning after a few months on SG-1," Jonas admitted. "I was about to say that I don't believe that any situation is hopeless. There's always a chance, and Colonel O'Neill has a knack for finding a way."

"So I've observed," Rede agreed. "I just hope that the Carters aren't too distracted by our private concerns; we'll need those brains of theirs before the end of this."

"So what do we do now?" Jonas wondered aloud, joining Rede's vigil.

"We watch and pray," she replied, "and when the fighting begins we start carrying stretchers."

"Won't we just be in the way of the regular orderlies?"

Rede shook her head. "Trust me, Mr Quinn – Jonas – they'll need all the stretcher bearers they can get."

Jonas' radio gave a sudden squawk and Major Parker's voice came across the channel. "The snake is in the hole," he announced, signalling that the Stargate had activated and that no SGC identifier had yet been received. "I say again, the snake is in the hole; all personnel stand to."

"Arcadia, this is Sierra Golf Charlie," General Hammond's voice came after a short, but tense pause. "Transmitting verification codes; further supplies will follow."

"Roger that, Sierra Golf Charlie," Parker replied, relieved. "Defence teams, stand down; construction crews out of cover. And can someone come up with a code phrase that sounds less like it comes out of an adult spy flick?"

"How long left?" Rede asked.

"Of the three days? One day and eight hours."

They turned as one to stare out across the Arcadian forests.

"Hill of beans," Rede sighed.

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