Mark III

In progress
Drama
Set in Season 7
FR-T

Spoilers for Resurrection 

Disclaimers:

Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, The SciFi Channel, 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.

Acknowledgements:

Many thanks to my beta reader, Sho.

Mark III

Karnak – 875BC

Karnak: The Jewel in the Crown of the Goa'uld Empire. A world of awe-inspiring natural beauty which housed the airy sprawl of Ra's capital. The imperial city stood in the midst of the great grasslands, on the crest of the highest hill in the region. The sides of the bluff were rocky, but the city was kept green and growing by the water from a hundred fountains and the ceaseless labour of the army of slave gardeners. The population of the city was close to one million: Twenty-seven Goa'uld, six thousand priests, thirty thousand Jaffa and more than nine hundred thousand humans, every last one of them a slave.

The metropolis was arranged in concentric rings; the grey-roofed slave dwellings surrounded the red tiles of the barracks and the blue slate of the priests quarter. The villas of the lesser Goa'uld were topped by verdant roof gardens and this belt of green encircled the golden crowns of the precinct – the hundred-acre compound that was the sole domain and residence of the Supreme System Lord Ra and his Queen, the Most Beautiful and Beloved Hathor. Even amid the many palaces and temples of the precinct, one building stood proud, towering above the rest: The great temple of Asar; the holiest of holies and the most magnificent structure ever erected by the Goa'uld.

On this particular day, the hallowed halls of the temple rang with a woman's cries. The voice was defiant, but there was a note of fear as well that was pleasing to the ears of Ra. The Supreme System Lord waited in the inner sanctum, in the shadow of the great statue of Asar. His Queen stood to one side; a sickly-looking Jaffa priestess slumped at her feet, struggling not to collapse and so shame her mistress. A small smile played across Hathor's perfect lips, deepening almost imperceptibly with every cry.

At a sign from Ra, the doors to the shrine were flung wide by unseen hands to admit those who stood outside. The Sun God's most loyal servants, falcon-headed Harakhty, First Prime of the Horus Guard and Anubis, Ra's personal champion. The two warriors hauled on a pair of chains, fastened securely to either end of the wooden yoke which pinioned the wrists and neck of the screaming woman. She was a superb specimen, Ra noted; beautiful and powerful, with a proud bearing and manifest courage.

"You have chosen well," Ra purred. He prowled forward and held up his hand before the girl; the stone of his ribbon device burned and after a moment her struggles ceased. She hung limp and stunned in the yoke as Ra raised her chin to examine her more closely. "Tell us of this one," he commanded.

"She is both a princess and a warrior of her people, My Lord," Anubis replied. "Her father led a rebellion against your rule and was slain by those of his warriors who remained true to you. The one who now rules in your name sent her to you as a gift; I knew at once that your hand had moved in these matters, for one so perfect to be sent before us at this time."

"She is perfect," Ra agreed. "It has been worth the wait. Release her from the yoke, but hold her still. Beloved; bring the child."

Hathor bowed her head in humble acquiescence. "Yes, our most beloved Lord," she replied. At her signal the priestess struggled weakly to her feet. Hathor thrust her hand into the woman's pouch and withdrew the mature symbiote; the handmaiden staggered, but Hathor paid her no mind. She stroked the slippery skin of the symbiote with the loving hand of a mother and approached the captive princess.

Mindful of the solemnity of the occasion, the priestess stumbled away, to find another symbiote or to expire, quietly, in the darkness of the corridors where her death would not disrupt the rite. Her masters cared not which, for her task was done.

Anubis and Harakhty unlocked the yoke and set it aside. Then they took hold of the girl's arms. She was beginning to recover from the effect of the ribbon device and she struggled, but the servants of Ra were powerful.

"Kneel," Ra commanded. Both men obeyed, forcing the girl down between them.

Hathor approached. "You will be pleased, My Dread Lord," Hathor promised. "This one shall be a worthy successor to your favourite."

"We only hope that she shall be less troublesome," Ra replied.

Hathor lowered her hand and the symbiote slithered onto the girl's shoulder.

"No!" the girl gasped. "Please; not..."

With a sudden rush, the symbiote burrowed into the back of the girl's neck and vanished. The lovely, amber eyes flared white as the young Goa'uld seized control of the body and all protest died on her lips. She looked up at Ra and smiled. "Father," she said.

"Welcome, child. Release our daughter," Ra commanded. His servants obeyed and prostrated themselves.

"They have dared to lay hands upon me," the new Goa'uld purred. "Let me see your faces."

The two men rose to their knees and touched the studs of their helmets, withdrawing them into their collars. Both were tall and powerfully built, but Anubis was well-favoured and handsome – were he not a Jaffa then some Goa'uld might well have taken his body for its own – while Harakhty was rough-featured and ugly.

The newborn looked down at Anubis. She smiled in approval and trailed a finger along the ridge of his collar bone. "With the right...penance, I may forgive you your impertinence," she told him. She turned on Harakhty and her eyes blazed in fury. "But it sickens me that one so hideous would think himself worthy even to look on me."

Harakhty cast his eyes downwards, but his fate was sealed.

"Beloved," Ra said, "bring a weapon for our daughter."

Before Hathor could respond, the newborn had bent down and seized Harakhty by the neck. She lifted the big Jaffa into the air like a rag doll and drove her fingers into the soft flesh of his throat. "You disgust me," she hissed, then with a violent twist tore out the Jaffa's windpipe.

Hathor's lips curled into a cruel smile. "It seems that my husband will need a new First Prime," she told Anubis.

Ra had eyes only for his daughter and he looked on her, enraptured, as she delicately licked the blood from her fingers. "Magnificent," he breathed. "Welcome indeed, my Eye; my avenger. My Sekhmet."

*

P4G-38E – AD 2003

Amy Kawalsky poked her head above the rock, then ducked down to avoid a volley of incoming fire. "They're still there, Major," she reported, "and I think they've brought some friends."

Major Patterson sighed, wearily. "I make it nine grenades we've used," he said. "I don't suppose you'd care to correct my counting."

"Sorry, Sir."

"And neither of you was carrying any extra ordnance?"

Lieutenant William ‘Duck' Caldicott shrugged his shoulders. "We could knock up a couple of decent concussion charges out of C4," he offered.

"Thanks," Patterson said, "but I'm not sure that'll cut it against a platoon of determined Jaffa."

"I'd say more of a battalion by now," Amy corrected.

"We have to do something," Duck insisted. "Lauren's..." He dropped his voice. "Lauren's in a bad way."

"I know," Amy replied.

Patterson held up a hand for quiet. "We all know," he said, tensely. "There must be something we can do. They haven't blasted us out yet..."

"Which means there must be something in this cave that they want," Amy pointed out.

"What does Anubis want with a Furling vault?" Duck wandered aloud. "He wouldn't at first glance seem to have much in common with a bunch of fluffy pacifists."

Amy shook her head. "Look; all we know is that some of them opted out of the world and that vault door behind us looks like it was built for someone at least nine feet tall. Colonel O'Neill wouldn't be able to reach that handle without stretching."

A staff blast struck the rock which half-blocked the cave mouth. "Is this really the time for this discussion?" Patterson demanded. "Much as I admire your continuing dedication to the disciplines of academic discourse..."

"Yes, Sir; I'm sorry," Amy replied, contritely. "The point is that this is a vault; we could work on that lock for a week without getting the door open and three pounds of C4 isn't going to crack it, so whatever is in the vault it's pretty academic."

"You're so negative," Lauren Collister chided, the effort of speaking bringing a look of pain to her face. She had taken the first shot from the enemy and Duck was right; she was not going to last much longer.

Patterson poked his periscope over the top of the rock in the vain hope that the Jaffa would be gone.

"We'll think of something," Amy assured Lauren.

Major Patterson cried out in alarm as a bright flash surrounded the Jaffa, half-blinding him in his periscope eye. A thunderous crash sounded and a wave of searing heat washed over the team.

Duck gave a low whistle. "Nice going, Captain."

"Your confidence is touching," Amy replied, dryly. "I just wish I could believe this was a good sign," she added, as a second plasma blast dropped out of the clear sky to scatter the enemy like rag dolls.

"Where's the bad?" Duck asked.

"Those are Goa'uld orbital plasma cannons," Patterson sighed. He held out his left hand, palm up. "Frying pan" – he held up the right hand and mimed tipping something from left to right – "fire."

A brilliant flash lit the sky above them.

"Yowza!" Duck cried.

"Reactor detonation," Patterson declared. "Someone just lost a perfectly good ha'tak vessel on this deal. The Jaffa are still taking orbital fire, which kind of begs the question: Who the hell has the balls to go toe-to-toe with one of Anubis' ha'tak vessels and the firepower to pull it off?"

The clouds parted and the low whine of inertial engines split the air as a vessel emerged and dove swiftly towards the cave mouth. Amy stood up.

"Kawalsky! Get down!" Patterson ordered.

"I don't believe it!" Amy cried, as the ship – a wedge-shaped vessel with something of a teltac about it, but spitting plasma blasts at the surviving Jaffa from a cannon on either wing – drew to a halt in front of them. She raised her arm and waved.

Slowly, the ship rotated until one of its flanks was towards SG-11. A hatch slid open, invitingly.

"Captain?" Patterson asked.

"It's alright, Sir," Amy assured him. "It's a friend."

"What friend?"

"It's Sekhmet!"

Patterson looked at his 2IC for a long moment. "This is obviously some strange usage of the word ‘friend' that I wasn't previously aware of," he mused.

*

PG3-191

Major Steven Doyle paced stealthily towards the sleeping figure, leaned close and shouted: "Kree Jaffa! Kill the Tau'ri!"

Lieutenant Grogan woke with a start, scrabbling for his weapon. "Wha...? Huh...?"

Captain Kris Dane and Lieutenant Matt Sawyer looked over from the mouth of the grotto and laughed at their young colleague's discomfort.

"How did you even manage to get through the academy, Grogan?" Doyle demanded.

"I always attributed my success to my ability to catnap," Grogan replied, gathering his wits fast.

Doyle shook his head. "I know we're working three on and one off on this exploration, but I didn't expect you to actually pass out. Do you have no intellectual curiosity whatsoever?"

"Not much of an archaeologist, Sir," Grogan replied. "If there's engineering to be done, I'll be right there."

"Well, it's your lucky day," Captain Dane assured him. "Archaeology's turned up a door; now we need an engineer to open it."

"Yes, Ma'am," Grogan replied, pushing himself to his feet. He followed the captain into the grotto, wading through the ankle deep water to the back of the cavern, where a section of the rock wall had swung away from a metal door. "Goa'uld design," he mused, running his hands along the edge of the frame until he located a circuit panel. "Very old; somewhere in the middle of the era of Ra at the latest."

"You can tell the age just by looking at the crystals?"

Grogan shrugged. "I've been thinking of writing a monograph on the subject."

Dane grinned at him. "Can I preorder my copy," she laughed.

"I'll get you a signed advance," Grogan promised. "Should be worth something when I'm famous." He bridged two of the crystals with a fibre-optic cable and the door slid open. "Say what you like about the Goa'uld; they build to last." Grogan shone his torch through the doorway and saw a richly coloured frieze extending before him. He whistled in appreciation.

"What is it?" Dane asked.

"Looks like you're up again, Ma'am," he noted, moving aside.

Dane took a peek and echoed the whistle. "Major!" she called. Doyle joined her and, although he kept his awe under tighter control, he could not help but feel a buzz at the discovery of the ancient tunnel, its smooth walls lined with rows of Goa'uld hieroglyphics.

After a brief conference, Major Doyle ordered Dane and Sawyer into the tunnel. "You stay here," he told Grogan. "We'll whistle if we need you, but otherwise you keep a lookout towards the Gate. And Grogan..."

"I know," Grogan promised. "I'll stay awake this time."

*

The destroyer carried SG-11 from the surface of the planet. The massive, night-black shape of a Wadjet battleship blotted out the stars above them. The destroyer moved close, then transferred them by ring transporter to the larger vessel. The dimensions of a black ship were difficult to judge against the darkness of space, but Amy thought that she might have been slightly larger even than the Wadjet's former flagship, the Eye. A pair of small, hovering drones were waiting for the team on their arrival. They extended manipulating limbs which transformed into a rather nifty snap-stretcher and carried Lauren away, presumably to the askap'on – the infirmary. Patterson and Duck followed.

Amy, meanwhile, headed for the peltac, following an ineffable sense of the vessel's layout which proved to be eerily accurate. She was still walking when an uncanny intuition made her brace herself, just in time to keep her feet against the sudden acceleration of hyperflight.

At last she reached the control deck of the massive vessel. "If I didn't know better I'd swear the Eye had left something in my brai...agh!" Amy broke off with a squawk as a tawny, powerful woman swept her into a crushing bear hug.

Sekhmet gave a booming, hearty laugh. "Welcome to the Claw of Aksos, Amy!" she said, setting the startled Earth woman back on her feet. When she had first met Sekhmet, Amy had immediately thought of a lioness, graceful, proud and strong; acquaintance had done little to change that image.

"Hi, Sekhmet," Amy said, dazedly. "And Lanar...?"

In response, Sekhmet's smile changed, becoming a shyer and less effusive expression. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Kawalsky," Sekhmet's host replied. She held out her hand.

"And you," Amy assured her, shaking the hand warmly. "Your timing is impeccable," she added, gratefully.

"Your likeness is well-known to Anubis and has been circulated to his commanders," Lanar explained. "Your capture has been considered a high priority since he learned of your involvement in the theft of one of his weapons."

"I'm flattered, although I wonder how he found out."

"I believe through the questioning of the project engineer," Lanar explained. "A Goa'uld of our mutual acquaintance named..."

"Argos," Amy finished. "I always knew it would be a mistake letting that weasel live."

Lanar gave an encouraging smile. "I have been monitoring Anubis' communications networks as best I can and it seems that he believes you have knowledge of the Ancients which he greatly desires. It was from my monitoring that I received word that your team had been pinned down by Anubis' troops. Fortunately, the Claw was in a position to reach you before any of Anubis' other ha'tak vessels."

"How are you tapping Anubis' communication channels?" Amy asked. "I thought he used Asgard holographics these days."

The smile which accompanied the answer was Sekhmet's, as was the voice that said: "We have salvaged many such systems from Anubis' vessels when they were captured or destroyed. We have also been able to incorporate many of Anubis' advances into the fabric of the Wadjet's vessels. Do you like my new flagship?" she asked.

"She's a beauty," Amy admitted. "She's not like anything I've ever seen before, but I seem to know my way around her."

"When your mind was interfaced with the Eye it created certain, specialised pathways in your brain; at such close proximity they will be picking up the linking signals from the Claw. Do not be afraid, the ship's computer can not truly link to you without the chair, nor can it access your mind, even in such a limited way as you sense its."

"Riiight."

"Your friend is being treated by my keir'os in the askap'on," Sekhmet said, apropos of nothing. "She will take several days to recover fully but I suspect that your comrades would be pleased to depart as soon as she can be moved. You will be my guests during that time, but I shall return you and your team to Earth at the earliest possibility. Does that sound well?"

"Yes," Amy assured her, warily. "Although I'd have to clear it with Major Patterson."

Sekhmet nodded her understanding. "That is good. I have so looked forward to meeting with you again, Amy. The Claw is returning to my brother's shipyard; you can rest there and I shall show you all that I have built since our last meeting."

"I'd like that," Amy replied.

Sekhmet regarded Amy with her intense, golden gaze, a slight smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "You have changed, Amy," she said, softly. "Would you still be willing to travel with me if I asked it?"

Amy looked away, suddenly unable to meet Sekhmet's gaze. "I...I did promise," she began.

Sekhmet reached out a smooth hand and touched Amy's cheek, turning her face back towards her. "The last time we met you were almost as lonely as I," she murmured. "There is a new light in your eyes, Amy; a lust for life that was lacking."

Amy blushed. "There's someone...I lost him, but now he's back."

"Daniel Jackson."

"How...!" Amy gasped, alarmed.

"Dr Jackson's affairs are of great interest to Anubis."

Amy's blush deepened. "His...? No! I mean, we're not...Not that I...I mean..." She stopped talking and coughed, embarrassed. "Or maybe you don't mean affairs as in..." Amy shook her head with a chuckle. "You know you could have stopped me from babbling on like that at any time," she said, accusingly.

"I know," Sekhmet assured her.

Amy rolled her eyes skywards – or as near as she could manage on a starship bridge. "Lord preserve us; a playful Goa'uld."

Sekhmet laid a hand tenderly on Amy's cheek. "Happiness suits you," she said. "Dr Jackson is a fortunate man."

"Can we talk about something other than my love life?" Amy asked, plaintively.

"Of course," Sekhmet replied with a nod. "But if you desire advice I have known many men in my life."

Amy blinked, owlishly. "I'll pass," she said. "Thanks. Why don't you tell me what you've been up to, since the details of my life seem to be a matter of public record."

Sekhmet laughed. "Come," she said. "Join me in my cabin; we shall drink and speak as friends."

Sekhmet's cabin was Spartan, but pleasant and Amy felt at home in the simple surroundings of a warrior's quarters. A curtained alcove contained Sekhmet's bed – Goa'uld did not always have beds in their quarters, but Amy knew that Sekhmet would sooner die than rest in a sarcophagus – and a desk stood in one corner, covered in writing pads and charts. Sekhmet guided Amy to a small table with two chairs and bade her sit.

"Do you play?" Sekhmet asked, gesturing to the chess board which sat on the table.

"Not well," Amy admitted.

Sekhmet gave a satisfied nod. "That is as well," she said as she set up the pieces, "for I am terrible at it. This set was made for me by one of my Jaffa, however, and it seemed rude to refuse the gift; I suppose he had heard of the set which I kept aboard the Eye and which was lost with my old flagship. That one had been a gift from my father; a thing of beauty, but I have a particular fondness for this set."

Amy picked up one of the pieces and gave a low whistle. "It's magnificent," she whispered.

The board was divided into squares of ivory and ebony and the pieces stood in their ranks with black and silver facing white and gold. Sekhmet took the latter army and Amy noted that the king was carved in the perfect image of the warlady herself. The silver and black queen in Amy's hand had been fashioned in the likeness of a raven-haired beauty with dark skin and a crafty expression; Sekhmet's archrival Athena, she presumed. She was somewhat disconcerted to note that her king wore a voluminous robe and a shimmering faceplate. The pawns in each row were Jaffa, the bishops Goa'uld ladies and the knights lords in armour; the silver-black rooks were ha'tak vessels and their white-gold opposites resembled cruisers of the wadjet.

Amy set down her own queen and picked up Sekhmet's. "This is incredible," she murmured. "I can see that this is Lanar, rather than Sekhmet and..." She laughed as she caught sight of the piece at the king's side. "A bishop?" she asked. "Well, Mum and Dad would be proud."

Sekhmet – or perhaps Lanar – had the grace to blush as she brushed an invisible speck of dust from the top of Amy's likeness. "I never felt that he quite captured the essence of you," she admitted in the host voice. "Perhaps you could meet him and he could carve me a better image?"

"Who knows," Amy replied, noncommittally. "So, I get to play as Anubis, huh?"

Lanar smiled. "It's only a game," she promised.

*

In the gleaming, silver surroundings of the askap'on, Patterson and Duck stood watch over Lauren as the keir'os ministered to her wounds. As near as either man understood, a keir'os was a Jaffa triage specialist and battlefield surgeon; hardly an ER resident, but the nearest any Jaffa came to being a doctor. This one seemed skilled enough, but Patterson was still worried.

"It's just that with the level of healthcare the Jaffa have, I wouldn't put it past him to amputate something or drill a hole in her head," he explained.

Duck shrugged. "At least he hasn't got any leeches," he pointed out.

"I don't like this," Patterson admitted.

"What's to like?" Duck asked. "It's not as though we had much choice and this fella's at least doing better for the Doc than we could have done. We had no way out of that cave and we both know it, Sir."

Patterson shook his head, but did not try to contradict the lieutenant. "I just don't see how this can end well."

"He gets Lauren mobile, we land on a world with a Stargate and we go home," Duck suggested.

"I don't like it," Patterson repeated.

Duck gave his CO a concerned look. "She's going to make it, Sir," he said, with more confidence than he felt. Neither he nor Amy were oblivious to the fact that Major Patterson's feelings for Lauren Collister were more than merely professional, but by unspoken agreement, they said nothing. So far as they could see, the Major's judgement was unimpaired and that was what mattered to them.

Patterson sighed and nodded his head. "Thank you, lieutenant," he said.

*

As they played and Amy lost game after game, Lanar and Sekhmet took turns explaining what they had been doing in the past eighteen months. Aside from laying claim to Ptah's old shipyards, they seemed mostly to have been fighting a guerrilla war against Anubis and recruiting allies to that struggle.

"Recruiting?" Amy asked. "I thought you were a one-woman star fleet?"

Lanar gave a self-deprecating smile. "The Wadjet's control systems are all linked, one to the other and all to the device imbedded in our spine," she admitted.

"Of course," Amy agreed.

"But the autonomic systems have their limits," Lanar went on. "Many of the ships are in far from perfect condition and others are, for one reason or another, beyond the reach of my control signals. The various ship's systems need a living crew to maintain them. It is not much use having a self-repairing ship if the self-repair systems go down. Think about it, Amy: if the Wadjet were designed to go unmanned, Ptah would not have built them with infirmaries and standing room."

The host gave way to the symbiote and Sekhmet continued. "My brother's shipyards also require hands to work their machines and spaceships are only the beginning of any battle. My work requires many other warriors: engineers, gunners, pilots and infantry. Then when you have such numbers you must have someone to support them: farmers, traders, cooks and armourers; medics and physicians. It all becomes very complicated, very quickly, but fortunately I am not without skill in the field of logistics."

Amy looked a little worried. "So you have Jaffa again? An army?"

"Not merely Jaffa," Sekhmet assured her. "Some of those who have joined me are Jaffa, but with the rebellion still on the rise, few of those who lose their masters now seek a different Goa'uld to serve. I have also recruited humans of all stripes and many from other races as well."

She laid a finger on her queen's-side knight, a rather splendid-looking Unas, and smiled. "Ke'kan, for example," Lanar said, fondly. "My Gatekeeper and one of our most trusted friends." She picked up the piece which looked like Amy and moved it to take one of Amy's bishops. "You know, you would play a better game if you were not so eager to sacrifice that piece," she pointed out.

"Hmm," Amy agreed, setting the figurine of Osiris aside. "I can't think why that is."

"Enough of us, then," Lanar said. "Tell us of you, Amy. What has occurred in your life? Are there any great developments among your people that we should know of?"

"We, um...We found you on Earth," Amy said, feeling deeply awkward.

"I have not been on Earth in many thousands of years," Sekhmet assured her.

Amy looked at the floor. "I know," she replied. "We – or rather someone else – found another Sekhmet."

There was a moment's pause, then Sekhmet leaped up, hurled the chessboard violently against the wall and screamed: "No!"

Amy jumped back in alarm. Her hand strayed towards her sidearm, but she did not draw it. It did not feel right to raise a weapon against Sekhmet, her friend; only later did she think about it logically and recall how insanely futile it would have been for her even to try.

"You lie!" Sekhmet roared. "It is not..." The warrior broke off in mid flow and clutched her hands to her head. "It is not..." she gasped, and she pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes, almost as though in pain. "I...Ahh; yes, alright," she whispered at last.

The tawny head rose and Lanar spoke. "I am sorry, Amy," she said, gently. "Sekhmet is deeply sorry to have frightened or offended you," she added. "It was not your fault. I have persuaded her to leave me control for a time, while she settles her nerves." Lanar moved over to the wall and began gathering up the chessboard.

Amy moved to help her. "I hope it isn't broken," she said.

"Nothing that can not be repaired," Lanar assured Amy.

"I guess I upset her," Amy offered. "For that, I am sorry."

Lanar shook her head. "You are not at fault," she promised, as she picked up the heavy board and set it back on its place. "It is just that it is a bitter pill for Sekhmet to swallow."

"I am a little unclear on that," Amy admitted. "The Sekhmet we found...Well, what we found was a clone; half-human and half-Goa'uld, created from the DNA of a symbiote found on Earth. But that symbiote; was that really..."

"Another Sekhmet," Lanar confirmed. "It would have harmed Ra's credibility if it became widely known that his Eye had betrayed him and had had to be imprisoned. He could not conceal completely the fact of her defection, but the easiest way for him to regain face would be to breed another Sekhmet. He could produce her, advertise that Sekhmet had returned to the fold and never mention that this was the Mark II. I believe that my partner always knew there was a possibility that this had happened during her slumber – he was forever producing Jaffa champions to wear the mantle of Anubis, after all – but nobody likes to feel that they can so easily be replaced."

"Breed...?" Amy gave a small gasp. "You mean...My God; you mean that Ra and Hathor produced another symbiote to take her place. But of course," she realised. "The Queen controls the memories that she passes on to her offspring."

"Quite," Lanar agreed. "It would be a simple matter for Hathor to recreate the initial genetic predispositions which resulted in the original Sekhmet, with perhaps a little less empathy and a little more sadism to prevent her developing that inconvenient sense of honour." She shrugged. "She would not be the same Goa'uld, of course. The control of genetic makeup is not so precise and anyway, from birth onwards, the new Sekhmet would be evolving away from the original, following her own path, but she would be something close enough to convince some that it was merely the same enforcer in a new host."

"Of course," Amy agreed, tactfully. "For what it's worth...She wasn't that bright. The new Sekhmet; bit of a loon really and rather slow on the uptake."

Sekhmet chuckled, softly. "It is good to know that my name was in safe hands," she whispered. "Please forgive me, Amy," she said, a white flare sparkling into rainbow colours through the teardrops that clouded her golden eyes.

Amy gave an encouraging smile and – despite a sense of great trepidation – reached out to cup a hand to Sekhmet's cheek, consciously mirroring the gesture that Sekhmet seemed to believe gave comfort to Amy. "You're forgiven. I'd be pissed too."

Sekhmet sat down, heavily. "I should not..." She shook her head in despair. "I would not have thought that I could be hurt so much to learn that I had been replaced in the affections of a father from whom I turned millennia ago and whose death I do not mourn."

"It's okay," Amy told her. Her face split into an impish grin.

"Why are you smiling?" Sekhmet asked, warily.

"It's nothing," Amy said. "Just that I was about to say: you're only human."

*

"This is incredible," Dane said, surveying the chamber with her gaze. "It is like a tomb, but with no sarcophagus."

"Thank God for that," Doyle remarked. "Keep a sharp eye out for stasis jars; the last thing we need is an ornery snake slithering about in here."

"Yes, Sir," Dane acknowledged, "but there isn't much here at all. It's very strange, almost as though it were built but never used."

"But built for whom?" Sawyer asked.

Dane shrugged. "No idea. I'll take a look at the inscriptions; there might be some names."

"I thought they didn't have tombs," Sawyer mused, playing his torch across the walls as Dane went about the work of translation. "The Goa'uld I mean. Don't like to be reminded that they can die."

"They like to bury their enemies," Dane explained. "Hence the risk of stasis jars. This was probably intended to be the final resting place of some great enemy."

"Like Seth imprisoned Osiris and Isis," Doyle added.

"Or like Ra imprisoned Hathor," Dane went on. "Fortunately, as there is no sarcophagus, then any prisoner would have to be held in stasis." She leaned close and brushed the dust from an area of inscription. "The...The Eye of Ra," she murmured.

"I thought that the Eye was destroyed," Doyle said.

"He had a lot of Eyes," Dane reminded her CO. "Any powerful weapon could be the Eye of Ra. I think this is a cabinet," she decided. "There's a locking mechanism and I think this is the release." She turned to look at Doyle. "What do you say, Major?"

Doyle paused and thought for a long time, then took out his radio. "Grogan," he said, "we're cracking open a cabinet. If it all goes south, you get back to the Stargate, pronto, and bring a quarantine team to pick us up. And do not stop for a nap along the way."

"I...Yes, sir," Grogan replied, nervously.

Dane shook her head. "You don't always have to rib the poor kid," she chided.

Doyle grinned. "You know he's got a crush on you?"

"Grogan has a crush on everyone."

"Even me?" Sawyer asked.

"Level A," Doyle ordered, unpacking his own biohazard hood. He waited for his two companions to don their own protective hoods, then signalled for Dane to work the lock.

There was a sharp hiss and a long, straight crack split the wall from floor to ceiling. Slowly, the two sections of wall slid outwards, then swung upwards like the wings of a sarcophagus lid. A heavy, cold mist rolled out from the space beyond. Doyle and Sawyer raised their MP5s as Dane stepped cautiously forwards.

"You see anything?" Doyle asked.

Dane shook her head and took a step closer. "I need to wait for the mist to clear. I think...Wait! I can see..."

In the depths of the mist, something moved.

*

The Claw of Aksos – Interstitial Space

About five hours into the flight, Amy put her head around the door of the infirmary. Duck was sleeping on one of the spare operating tables, while Patterson sat beside Lauren. The keir'os was nowhere to be seen.

"How's she doing?" Amy asked.

Patterson made an effort to hide his tears before he looked up and it was not immediately clear to Amy if they were tears of grief, or of relief, or of frustration. "She'll pull through," he said at last. "She lost a lot of blood and the damage to her hip is extensive, but she isn't going to die today."

"That's good. We're going to get her home," Amy promised. "Sekhmet will send us back through the Stargate on her base as soon as Lauren is strong enough to travel. She could come down and see what she can do with a healing device," she added, "but I don't think she wants to offer. She's worried you won't want her going near."

"She's right to be worried on that account," Patterson confirmed. "Not that there's much I could probably do to stop her."

"Not a lot," Amy agreed. "She is...good at what she does."

"That really doesn't worry you, does it?" Patterson realised.

"No, it doesn't."

"Why is that?" he asked. "Here we are, trapped on a ship, deep in interstitial space, with only a few Jaffa and a Goa'uld killer for company and you aren't bothered in the least. How come?"

"Because I trust her," Amy replied.

Patterson nodded and turned back to his vigil. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from Lauren's face, then took her hand and held it in his own. "It's been an honour serving with this team," he said, without taking his eyes from Lauren.

"Sir?"

Patterson shrugged his shoulders. "Man's gotta do, Captain. I hate to be the Yoko, but I can't keep on serving with her; not after this. I hope they keep the three of you together when I'm reassigned."

Amy bit her lip. "I, ah...I don't want to be a downer about this," she said, "but Lauren is like, the only person in the entirety of space and time who doesn't know how you feel about her. Shouldn't you find out how she feels before you go getting reassigned."

Patterson turned his head and gave a wry grin. "Doesn't matter what the answer is," he told her. "If you're asking, you're too close."

Amy nodded her head in understanding. "The honour was ours, Major Patterson," she assured him.

"Thank you, Captain." He turned away from her again. After a long moment, Amy turned to go, but Patterson called her back. "Amy," he said.

"Sir."

"You really trust Sekhmet?"

"With my life," Amy replied, without hesitation.

Patterson nodded. "Would you ask her to see if there is anything she could do for Lauren, please?"

Amy felt a glow of pride deep in her chest; Patterson did not know it, but such a show of trust was the greatest compliment he could have paid to his 2IC. "Yes, Sir," she replied. "Thank you, Sir."

So it was that Lauren Collister was already on her feet by the time the Claw of Aksos reached its home base, two hours later. She stood with her team mates on the peltac and leaned against Major Patterson, ostensibly as a support for her injured right hip. In front of them, the main screen showed their destination.

"There it is," Sekhmet sighed. "My home from home; the great shipyards of Memphis."

Patterson gave a low whistle. "Welcome to Gracelands."

"Wow," Lauren agreed. "Big isn't it."

Sekhmet came to stand beside them. "The shipyard was built into the body of an asteroid some four hundred miles in length; at its widest point it is two hundred miles across and it averages almost sixty-five miles from top to keel, relative to the induced gravitational plane."

Amy gazed in frank admiration at the shipyard. The surface of the asteroid was clustered with buildings and structures; great mooring pylons jutted out at various angles and ships of all shapes and sizes were docked with them. Vast, metal-lined openings gaped in the rock and smaller craft flew in and out of these, confirming that they were hangars. Amy counted about two dozen capital ships and over a hundred lesser vessels.

"Part space station, part foundry, part fortress," Sekhmet went on. "Her engines..."

"Wait, wait, wait," Amy interrupted. "Her engines?"

Sekhmet grinned. "Oh yes, my dear. Memphis is not some stationary lump of rock, trapped in orbit around a single sun. She is as mobile as any starship, although the cost of moving her is great. Such power as is harnessed by her engines can not be generated easily."

"I can...no, wait; I can't imagine," Duck admitted. "What on Earth could power something like that?"

"Nothing on Earth," Lauren said.

"It is most useful for avoiding the eyes of your enemies," Lanar noted. "A system that has once been searched for a shipyard will not be searched again; after all, where could you have hidden a shipyard? Now, you shall see my home." As she spoke, the Claw dipped below the edge of the asteroid. The base of the colossal rock was almost clear of structures, but at the centre, sheltered in a deep valley, was a shining dome, surrounded by weapon turrets and shield domes. "There. My fortress."

"Nice," Amy said. "You, uh...You do know that it is upside down, don't you?"

Lauren laughed. "It's only like living in Australia," she pointed out.

Sekhmet clapped a powerful hand down on Amy's shoulder. "The Asteroid does not have sufficient mass to sustain a comfortable gravitational field anyway," she explained. "This is actually most useful in the yards and foundries, but in the living quarters we use an induced field. I could build my fortress on any side of the asteroid field and still stand easily. In fact, the fortress is a separate vessel, capable of independent flight in emergency."

"It's very impressive," Patterson noted. "However..."

"It also houses my Chappa'ai," Sekhmet assured the major. "We can send you home from this system's point of origin. If Dr Collister feels well enough to travel, it is a matter of a few hundred paces walk from the embarkation chamber to the Chappa'ket; the Stargate atrium, in your terms. You will be home before...One moment."

Sekhmet turned away, a distant look in her eyes. Amy heard a buzzing close to her ear and waved a hand to try and drive away whatever insect was flying too close to her. Duck gave her a funny, sidelong look and Amy realised that there was no insect. Clearly those pathways in her mind were able to sense the medium, if not the matter of whatever signal Sekhmet was listening to in her head.

The Claw swept down, turning as it did so. On the screen it appeared as though it were the asteroid and not the ship that was turning, a sensation emphasised by the fact that the Claw's own induced gravity remained constant during the manoeuvre. As a trained pilot, Amy was aware that the accelerations which the ship was currently undergoing should have stretched, twisted and hurled its occupants about the peltac, if they had resulted from conventional thrust. Fortunately, the inertial drives used by the Goa'uld avoided such violent effects and the ship docked with barely a shudder.

"Makes the Prometheus feel like a real boneshaker," Patterson said. He forced himself to sound light, but Amy could tell that he was nervous at the thought of entering a Goa'uld stronghold. His hand moved, almost subconsciously, to clasp Lauren's.

"I feel well enough to travel," Lauren assured him. "We should get back soon. We're overdue as it is; it can't be long before our IDCs get locked out."

Amy turned her head away to hide her smile from Lauren and Patterson; she could count the hours that they had spent as a couple on the fingers of one hand, yet Lauren seemed quite naturally to have fallen into making excuses to conceal Patterson's frailties. Sekhmet caught Amy's eye and winked. Then the faraway look returned to her gaze.

"Your Stargate awaits," Lanar announced.

As SG-11 followed Sekhmet through the main corridor of her fortress, Amy felt a pang of regret that there was no time to look around. The structure was as old as the pyramids, a relic of the First Goa'uld Dynasty; as an archaeologist in training and a dedicated student of the anthropology of the Goa'uld, Amy was fascinated by it. Unfortunately, she knew that Major Patterson would never allow her to dawdle; he had allowed Sekhmet to help Lauren, but he was still uncomfortable being here.

As they entered Sekhmet's Gateroom – a vast, high-ceilinged chamber at the heart of the dome – Patterson's mood could not have been helped by the presence of the Gate's custodian. Ke'kan – Amy recognised him from the chess set – was not the largest bull Unas that she had ever seen, but he sported a particularly impressive set of chin horns and wore a suit of ridged and spined armour that made him seem almost twice as bulky as he truly was. The Gate itself was almost as heavily armoured, covered by a great sheath of metal that must have duplicated the function of the Earth Stargate's iris.

Ke'kan stepped forward as they approached and bowed before Sekhmet. "My ladies," he growled, reverently.

"Ke'kan," Lanar greeted him. "These are my friends. They require the use of the Chappa'ai."

"Of course, Lanar," the Unas agreed. He turned and bowed to the Tau'ri. "It is an honour to meet you, friends of Lady Lanar."

Patterson managed to return the bow neatly, despite his nerves. "And you, Ke'kan. Cha'a chaka."

Ke'kan gave a soft grunt of laughter. "I have not heard that tongue spoken in many year."

"And never so badly, I bet," Patterson admitted.

"Never," Ke'kan agreed.

"Your English is excellent," Amy said.

"Thank you. My symbiote taught me, long ago, before it was removed by the devices which the Asgard installed on a protected world."

"You were a host?" Amy asked, noting as she did so the ribbon device on his left hand.

"I was," Ke'kan replied. "I was raised to that destiny and I worshipped the Goa'uld as my god. I willingly did its bidding and when it was gone I felt lost. It was my Lady Lanar who taught me that my life can have meaning as something more than the vessel of a Goa'uld."

Lanar smiled. "I hope that we shall have time for stories another time," she said. "Time presses, however. Ke'kan, please unlock the Chappa'ai."

Ke'kan bowed once more. "My Lady." He raised one massive paw to his wrist and touched a control on the ribbon device. With unnerving swiftness, the metal shield melted away, in much the same manner as a Jaffa's helmet. The floor at the base of the Stargate's dais slid open and a DHD rose into place.

"I admire your security," Patterson told Ke'kan, as Duck went forward to enter the Gate address. The address was that of a barren world that they would use as a stepping stone; with the Goa'uld, trust went only so far and the fall of the SGC could not be risked under any circumstances.

"If you should wish to return," Sekhmet said, "you must make certain that you contact us before attempting passage. If you were to arrive with the shield still in place..."

"Of course," Amy agreed. "We have a similar device ourselves."

Sekhmet smiled. "I was forgetting how formidable – and resourceful – your people have become."

Amy inclined her head in acknowledgement of the compliment. She took the tac radio from her pocket and proffered it to the Goa'uld. "Here," she said. "If we have to contact you, we can do so using this."

"I hope that I will have cause to use it soon," Sekhmet said. "My blessings and those of your God go with you, Amy Kawalsky."

"Thank you, Sekhmet," Amy replied. "Godspeed to you."

"Time to go," Patterson called. "Thank you, Sekhmet; for all you've done. I guess...I guess we kinda owe you one."

"Amy owes me two, and do not think I shall forget it," Sekhmet promised.

*

Stargate Command – Earth

SG-11 emerged from the Stargate and found themselves staring down a dozen rifles at the grim faces of the SFs. Amy was taken aback; they had signalled a code amber, just in case something had followed them from Memphis, but that would not have accounted for such a hostile reception. Things became clearer when Amy saw the bloodied figure crouching at the foot of the ramp.

"Grogan?" she asked.

The lieutenant looked up, his face ashen where it was not stained with blood from a wound in his scalp. "Captain," he replied, swaying as he tried to stand and salute.

Amy hurried down and caught Grogan, lowering him gently to the ramp. "Easy, Lieutenant," she whispered. "Lie back; doc's on her..." Amy winced. "...on his way." Sure enough, moments later, Dr Dandridge – Janet Fraiser's temporary replacement – hurried into the Gateroom and knelt beside the young man. Amy stood up and stepped away to give the medics room, although her own, limited medical understanding suggested that Grogan's wounds were not life-threatening.

General Hammond followed Dandridge through the door. "What happened?" he asked Amy. "Where are the rest of SG-10?"

Amy shrugged her shoulders, helplessly. "We weren't with them," she said. "We arrived just after."

Hammond gave a curt nod and turned his gaze to Grogan. "What happened to the rest of your team, son?" he asked, kindly.

Grogan looked up with bleary, unfocused eyes. "They're dead, Sir," he reported. "She...She killed them, then she came after me. I wouldn't have got away, but she knocked me over a ridge and I crashed through the trees almost on top of the Stargate."

"Do you know who ‘she' was?" Hammond pressed.

Grogan nodded and then winced in pain.

"Hold still," Dandridge instructed. "General; we need to get him to x-ray, just to make sure."

"Of course," Hammond agreed, but as the medics lifted Grogan onto a stretcher he hovered at the young man's side. "Who was it?" he asked.

"Sekhmet," Grogan whispered.

*

"I tell you that it is not possible!" Amy insisted.

"And I tell you that it was her!" Grogan snapped, angrily. "Captain Dane translated the inscriptions on the cabinet to read ‘The Eye of Ra' and Sekhmet made it pretty clear who she was when she was...toying with me." He paused and his cheeks flushed red as he recalled who he was talking to. "Ma'am."

Patterson shook his head. "We were with Sekhmet when this happened," he assured Grogan. "Lightyears from where you were."

"Then who the hell murdered SG-10?" Hammond demanded.

"D'oh!" Amy pounded the heel of her hand into her forehead.

Hammond subjected her to a level stare. "Captain Kawalsky? You know who did this?"

"Yes, Sir," Amy replied. "It must have been Sekhmet..."

"But you said..."

"...but a different version of Sekhmet. We know for a fact that Ra made a new Sekhmet at least once; after the original betrayed him he made another, who also turned on her father. SG-10 must have accidentally set loose a third version, who also seems to have wound up in stasis."

"You'd think he'd give up eventually," Duck noted.

"I wish he had," Grogan muttered.

"Whatever her provenance, there's no question that this Sekhmet is dangerous and that she's got access to three GDOs. Suggestions?"

"We could send the Marines in," Patterson suggested.

"You have something against the Marines?" Amy asked.

Hammond's stare never wavered. "If you have something other than sarcasm to bring to this briefing..." he said, darkly.

Amy cast her eyes downwards. "I'm sorry, Sir, but we just don't have enough Marines to hunt Sekhmet on her own turf. In fact, I think there's only one person we could reasonably expect to bring her down."

Hammond nodded. "We can recall SG-1 within the hour," he said.

"All respect to Colonel O'Neill," Amy assured him, "but I've seen a Sekhmet fight. No-one on this Earth is good enough."

"Then who did you have in mind?"

Amy blinked. "Well...Sekhmet of course," she replied.

Silence fell across the table.

"What?" Grogan asked, appalled.

"The first Sekhmet," Amy expanded. "She is a friend, to me at least, and she is the only person who could hope to match her replacement on a level field. If we are to stand the slightest chance of recovering SG-10, in any state, without massive loss of life, we have to go to her." She turned all her attention to General Hammond. "You've read my reports, Sir; you've read Teal'c's reports on the elder Sekhmet. This newer model won't be any less capable."

"You think that we should call on a Goa'uld to perform a rescue mission?" Hammond asked.

"She did rescue us," Patterson allowed. "Although there's only so far that I'd feel comfortable putting us in hock to any Goa'uld."

"Memphis is currently only hours away from PG3-191 by ship," Amy pressed. "We could avoid the bottleneck of the Gate and maybe reach the holding facility without even encountering the younger Sekhmet. Yes, we'd owe her a little more, but I know she'll do it."

"The MALP we sent to PG3-191 has seen no sign of activity at the Stargate," Hammond noted.

"She won't forgive intrusion on her territory," Amy insisted. "A machine is of no interest to her, but this Sekhmet is built on the same genetic foundations as the original and she never forgave a trespass." She touched a finger to her temple. "Thoth knew that and I saw it for myself on Dahkleh."

Hammond gave a curt nod. "That will do, Kawalsky."

Amy drew breath, but thought better of it. "Sir," she acknowledged.

"You have six hours to report on your progress. After that we lock out your GDO; we can't afford to take risks on this one."

"Sir?" Amy tried to hide her surprise, but failed.

"You have a go to contact the elder Sekhmet and persuade her to assist in dealing with her younger self," Hammond explained. "You'll be on detached assignment from SG-11 on this mission. As his wounds are minor, Lieutenant Grogan will accompany you to identify the attacker of SG-10. In the event that the two Sekhmets do prove to be one and the same you will do all in your power to depart without incident; do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Amy replied.

"In case that should prove to be impossible, you'll be armed with P90s and I'm assigning two Marine gunners to accompany you; Sergeants Pellinor and Goodge."

"Sergeants..." Amy stared at Hammond in amazement. "You were already planning to send us?"

"Contrary to the beliefs of certain members of the incoming administration, I'm not entirely senile yet," Hammond assured her. "I do remember your reports, Captain; they made for compelling reading. Gear up; you brief in one hour and leave in ninety minutes."

*

Memphis

Amy stepped out of the Stargate with Grogan at her side, anxiously fingering the stock of his P90; the two Marine sergeants followed. Leo Pellinor was a lean, hungry wolf of a man, while Max Goodge was a hulking bear who carried his SAW almost as though it were a toy; they were both half as old again as Amy, which would make command relations interesting. In most company, the two Marines would have been an imposing escort, but with Ke'kan at her shoulder, Sekhmet had all the trumps. Amy knew with a sick certainty that – for all her warnings – the two Marines had their eyes fixed on the Unas and would fire on him first in a fight; they thought that he was the dangerous one.

"Amy," Lanar said, happily. "I had not thought to see you again so soon." She approached with her hands held out in welcome, for all the world as though her friend had not returned with an assault team. She had changed out of her armour for once and wore lightweight fatigues of silver and gold fabric.

"Lanar," Amy replied. "We have a problem; I hoped that you could help us out. This is Lieutenant Grogan," she added. "Lieutenant Grogan's team were attacked – probably killed – by..." she paused. "Grogan, you don't know this woman, do you?"

"No, Ma'am," Grogan replied.

Amy nodded, satisfied. "Well, this is Sekhmet," she said. "The original and best."

Lanar's slight diffidence shifted into Sekhmet's confident poise and she turned a curious gaze on Grogan.

Grogan looked startled. "Oh," he said. "I just...The other one was different."

"Naturally," Amy agreed. "Sekhmet; Grogan's team were killed by...it seems to have been another of your replacements."

Sekhmet hissed, quietly. "But she was...different?" she asked.

Grogan met her gaze for a moment; he took on the startled look of a rabbit in headlights. "Yes, Ma'am," he replied. "She was younger, I think...prettier."

Ke'kan's eyes narrowed and he gave a growl.

Amy closed her eyes and gave an impatient sigh. "The diplomatic corps missed a trick when they let you slip through their fingers, Grogan," she said.

"I think he's rather sweet," Sekhmet assured Amy with a soft chuckle, but her face quickly turned serious and concerned. "Where did this so-called Sekhmet attack your friends, Lieutenant Grogan?"

"PG3-191," the young man replied.

"Abissa," Amy added.

Grogan gave her a strange look. "Where's Abissa?"

"PG3-191," Amy replied. "Sorry; that just popped in there."

"It was once Ra's prison world," Sekhmet explained. "One moment."

When she spoke again, a few seconds later, it was in Lanar's voice. "Sekhmet is interrogating our computer systems for information on Abissa. The Claw of Aksos has been directed to make the journey to the planet at once; we shall follow soon via the Chappa'ai." She spoke to Amy, but her eyes kept flickering nervously towards Grogan; Amy found the effect rather disconcerting.

"Will it be safe to use the Stargate?" Grogan asked.

Lanar turned to him, but seemed unable to meet his gaze. "Sekhmet will protect you," she promised. "We will also have your two heavily-armed friends, Amy and – of course – Ke'kan."

Grogan looked nervously in the Unas' direction. "You're coming with us?" he asked.

"If my lady asks it," Ke'kan rumbled, glowering at Grogan. Amy did not think that the Unas liked Grogan very much; perhaps he did not like to hear his beloved lady compared unfavourably to another woman.

"And when do we go?" Amy asked.

"Soon," Lanar promised. "Ke'kan will see to your refreshment. Sekhmet and I must ready ourselves for travel; and for battle."

*

Abissa

The stag strode through the wood, his footfalls confident. Abissa had no large predators; the deer – tall, strong, proud creatures – were the monarchs of the forest and this particular stag was the undisputed lord of his domain. The deer stopped at the edge of a river and lowered his antlered head to drink. Generations of peace left him woefully unprepared to deal with another creature hurtling out of the undergrowth towards him and all the stag did was lift his gaze to watch the tawny shape approach.

The younger Sekhmet slammed her full weight against the stag's chest, lifting his forelegs off the ground and throwing him onto his back. The deer kicked and thrashed, struggling back to his feet. His eyes were wide and his nostrils flared in panic. Sekhmet kicked out and swept a leg from under the stag; he clambered back to his feet once more and desperately fought for purchase to retreat from this strange, terrifying apparition. The Goa'uld snatched his leg away again, and again, enjoying the animal's fear.

At last, Sekhmet pounced; she hurled herself on the stag, grabbed it by the muzzle and shoulder, then twisted hard. The stag's neck broke with a hideous crack; the animal kicked a few times and then lay still. Sekhmet lay down alongside the cooling flank and pressed her cheek against its hide. She sighed, contentedly.

Sekhmet reached for her hip and drew out a knife. The long, thin blade looked ridiculously fragile to her, but the steel was strong and the edge was sharp. In her expert hand it sliced easily into the stag's belly, slashing through hide and fat and into the tough muscle underneath. Her nostrils twitched at the scent of warm blood and she licked her lips in anticipation. The hand holding the knife began to tremble as she hacked off a thick slab of meat. She snatched up the bleeding flesh and tore at it with her teeth, tilting back her head to swallowing it down in great gobbets.

"What a sorry sight you are, My Lady."

Sekhmet's head snapped up. A man stood in front of her, where none had been a moment before. He wore a long robe of black and silver; his eyes were dark and piercing, his long, black hair swept back in an immaculate widow's peak. She sniffed, but there was no scent.

Sekhmet turned her head curiously to one side. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Look at you," the man scoffed. "The mighty Sekhmet, soaked in the blood of animals and wearing the torn clothes of a slaughtered, Tau'ri; little better than an animal herself."

"Tau'ri?" Sekhmet asked. "No. Smell of oil; machines; Tau'ri are savages."

"No longer. Lady Sekhmet..."

Sekhmet gave an impatient snarl. "Enough," she growled and she sprang. She reached the man and passed clean through him to land smoothly on his far side. "What are you?" She turned and crouched at bay.

The man turned. "Impressive," he purred. "Most people who try to attack a hologram fall flat on their face."

"I am not most people," Sekhmet hissed.

The man smiled, charmingly. "I would hardly be here if you were," he told her. "I am Amentiu, herald of Anubis. My Lord Anubis has sent me to greet the most perfect and sublime warrior ever produced by the Goa'uld."

"Then face me in person," Sekhmet demanded.

"As you wish."

Sekhmet recoiled in alarm as a bright blue light exploded in front of her. Suddenly there was scent; a lot of it. Three men, armour, weapons. Amentiu looked just like his holographic image; his escort were armoured from head-to-toe in black.

"My Lady..." Amentiu began, then Sekhmet sprang.

One of the armoured warriors stepped out and swept its arm around. It struck Sekhmet with more force than any warrior she had ever faced and barely flinched from the impetus of her charge. Sekhmet flipped to her feet, but the second warrior bowled her over again. They stood over her, taunting her as she had taunted the stag.

"Oh dear," Amentiu sighed. "I had hoped that it would not be necessary for me to offer such an immediate and practical demonstration of the power of my kull warriors."

Sekhmet tried to lunge past the warriors to attack their master, but one grasped her arm and the other drove an armoured fist against her head.

"You will be ready to talk soon," Amentiu assured her. "Then..."

This time when Sekhmet fell, she made no effort to stand; instead she caught hold of an ankle and flipped one of the kull warriors onto its back. She darted past the second warrior's legs and drove Amentiu to the ground. The herald cried out in alarm, but before Sekhmet could slit his throat the kull warriors had her by the arms.

"These things..." Sekhmet spluttered. "Do they never pause?"

"Rarely," Amentiu sniffed. "Her legs," he told the warriors, and they hooked their legs around Sekhmet's so that she could not kick.

She tried to unbalance them, but their strength was greater even than hers.

The herald rose to his feet. His robe was muddied, bloodied and crumpled and his hair was disarranged. His eyes flared white in his fury. "Rash, Lady Sekhmet," he snarled. "Very rash indeed." He stepped forward and drove his fist into her stomach. When she made no sound, he struck her again, then punched her in the ribs for good measure. "You will learn compliance, however," he promised her, before driving yet another blow to her face.

Sekhmet spat blood. "You punch like a human," she told Amentiu, drawing a flurry of savage punches in reprisal.

"You will learn!"

"Not unless you can do better," she challenged.

"What?"

"Hit me harder!" Sekhmet demanded.

Amentiu lashed out with all of his strength, snapping the warrior-woman's head back and forth on her neck. "As! You! Wish!" he gasped as he pummelled her.

When Amentiu stopped, Sekhmet hung limp in the grip of the kull warriors. Her face was a bloody mess, yet somehow he had been unable to remove the mocking smile from her lips. Now her lips moved and her voice emerged in a soft whisper.

"I did not hear you, Lady Sekhmet," Amentiu panted, bending his head close to hers.

With a rush, Sekhmet fixed her teeth in his ear. He pulled away with a yelp and she called after him: "I said harder, damn you!"

With a roar of fury, Amentiu snapped his booted foot up into Sekhmet's jaw, rocking her backwards. She sagged forward again and hung, limply.

"Pilot," Amentiu said.

After only a moment's pause, the holographic image of his pilot appeared before Amentiu. The lesser Goa'uld took one look at her dishevelled lord and gasped in horror. "My Lord! Are you injured."

"What does it look like, you idiot!" Amentiu demanded.

The pilot cringed.

"Bring us back to the ship," he commanded. "Set course for home and engage the hyperdrives, then attend on me. I require healing."

"Yes, My Lord," the pilot breathed, delightedly. "It will be my honour to give my strength in your..."

"Activate the transport beam!" Amentiu snapped. "And have another healing device brought to Sekhmet's cell. My Lord Anubis has plans for this witch and they will be for naught if I let her die."

*

Amy and her companions were too nervous to accept more than water from their host, mostly because of their concern for SG-10, but at least partly because their host was a giant, heavily-armed lizard. Grogan swiftly set about wearing a hole in the floor, impatiently stamping and shuffling his feet, while the Marines stood by. Pellinor had the placid look of a man who could stand around idly for hours and still be ready to move at a moment's notice, but Goodge soon started to get twitchy.

Fortunately, Sekhmet was not gone for long; she returned after less than ten minutes, dressed in her chainmail and armed to the teeth. "I am ready," she announced.

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a supersoldier's blaster?" she asked, pointing to the black, metal gauntlet on Sekmet's right hand. "How'd you manage to get one of those?"

Sekhmet gave a self-effacing shrug. "How do your people say it?" she asked. "They're not ‘all that'." She gave Grogan a broad wink, then turned to her lieutenant. "Ke'kan, the shield."

"My Lady," the Unas acknowledged. As the protective casing slid away from the Gate, Ke'kan hefted a bulky weapon, with the body of a glider cannon but two additional barrels fixed above and below the main plasma array. Amy might have called that overkill, but she had seen how a Sekhmet could fight.

Sekhmet strode to the DHD and entered the address of Abissa. "This Sekhmet is a savage," she explained, without taking her eyes from the Stargate. "She was a brutal, berserk animal, who took great pleasure in the harming of other living things. Even Ra considered her a failure, so wanton was her appetite for slaughter. He forbade her to kill except on his express command and she took to torturing animals instead. Eventually he had her imprisoned in a fortress on a world with no Stargate. He seems to have given up on the name of Sekhmet after he contained her excesses, perhaps because he could never recreate the genetic base without Hathor. Whatever the reason, this was the third and last to bear the name."

"But Abissa has a Stargate," Grogan pointed out.

"This is so. Sekhmet remained in this prison until Hathor rose against Ra. Knowing that reaching Ra himself would be a suicide mission, she freed her daughter with the intention that Sekhmet should kill her father. Sekhmets have always been good at beating the odds and besides, Ra might welcome his daughter's return, even if he did believe her imprisoned. Anyway, Hathor doubtless did not much care if such an unstable agent were slain."

Grogan looked confused. "So what happened?" he asked. "Obviously she didn't kill Ra."

"No," Sekhmet agreed. "Even though he had locked her away, Sekhmet remained loyal to her father and would not betray him; a savage, but a noble one. Since she would not turn against her mother either, she was persuaded by Hathor to enter seclusion until the revolt was done and serve the victor. Hathor locked Sekhmet in a stasis chamber on an unknown world – Abissa, as we now know – rather ironically foreshadowing her own fate when the revolt ended badly."

"And you never knew about this Sekhmet before?" Amy asked. "Only, you seem to have an awful lot of data on her."

Sekhmet shook her head. "She was unknown to me. This information was withheld during the reign of Ra and forgotten thereafter; I would not have access to it now if Anubis had not reclaimed it. We must be wary, therefore. He will know of this Sekhmet's fate, in which case he may also know that she has been released. There was an alarm, intended to warn Ra of Sekhmet's escape, and it has been triggered. Any who know what to listen for will know by now that she is free and that she is on the planet Abissa."

"We had better hurry then," Amy suggested.

"Indeed," Sekhmet agreed. "I shall lead; the rest of you follow close on my heels and do not dawdle once we reach the far side. Lieutenant Grogan, you shall have to lead us to the tomb."

"Yes, Ma'am," Grogan replied, resolutely. His forehead was beaded with sweat.

The Goa'uld clasped a gauntleted hand on his shoulder and spoke in the voice of Lanar. "Do not be afraid," she whispered. "Sekhmet will protect you."

"So you said," Grogan replied. "It's just a strange idea: Sekhmet protecting me from Sekhmet." He flashed a nervous grin at Lanar and she smiled.

Ke'kan gave vent to a soft rumble, as though heavy rocks were slowly rolling over in his chest.

"You are correct," Sekhmet agreed. "Time is of the essence." She pressed the centre of the DHD and the Gate burst into life.

*

Amentiu's yacht – Interstitial Space

Aboard his yacht, Amentiu ordered the kull warriors to see that Sekhmet was healed of her worst injuries and then secured in the cell he had prepared for her. He went to his cabin and dispatched his slaves to see that Sekhmet was washed and appropriately attired. He stripped off his soiled robe and left it lying on the cabin floor; he hated to wear dirty clothes almost as much as he hated to have dirt on his skin. There was a full length mirror on one wall and Amentiu stood before it in only his pants and boots, regarding his ruined ear with horror.

"That bitch," he muttered, angrily.

The cabin door slid open and the pilot of the yacht, the Lady Djeta, entered. Amentiu saw her in the mirror, her face a picture of appalled outrage to see her Lord so cruelly disfigured. Djeta was beautiful, as all Goa'uld were, but Amentiu never really noticed that; the only reason that the pilot interested him – beyond the utility of her skills – was that she worshipped him, and Amentiu loved nothing more than the devotion of others. Even now, with the livid ruin of his ear to divert her, she found it hard to keep her eyes from his bare, muscular torso.

"My Lord," she whispered, as she hurried to his side, "are you badly hurt?"

"Look at what she did to me!" Amentiu snapped. "Of course I am hurt. Now mend this injury before there is time for any scarring to form."

"Yes, My Lord." Djeta took a healing device from Amentiu's dresser and lifted it alongside his head. She closed her eyes in rapt concentration, pouring all her strength into the treatment of an injury that would have healed by itself in a few hours and been eradicated from sight as soon as Amentiu rested in the sarcophagus that waited on board his ha'tak vessel.

"It is done," she panted, breathless from her redundant exertions.

"Is it?" he asked, dabbing at the ear with his handkerchief. "I can not tell with all this blood still around it."

"Allow me, My Lord!" Djeta insisted. She leaned close and ran her tongue around the circumference of Amentiu's ear.

"Cease this molestation, you stupid slattern!" Amentiu snarled, pushing her away with a powerful thrust of his arm. "Bring me water and a cloth; I do not want your slobber all over the side of my face."

Djeta steadied herself and bowed her head, chastened, then hurried into his private bathroom.

Amentiu allowed himself a cold smile at his absolute supremacy over her, then sat and regarded himself once more, in the smaller mirror that stood above his dressing table. A third mirror – a small, round looking-glass for shaving, or applying make-up – stood on the table's surface. A portrait of Amentiu hung over his bed and the bathroom in which Djeta was busying herself with her master's every whim was walled entirely in mirrors. It would not have taken the Fab Five to recognise the fact that Amentiu liked looking at himself.

Djeta returned with a bowl of water and a cloth and set them on the table.

"Well?" Amentiu demanded.

Djeta flushed red. She picked up the cloth, wet it in the bowl and began to wipe the blood away from her master's flawless ear with painstaking care.

"Now my hair," Amentiu demanded.

Obediently, Djeta took the comb from the dressing table and ran it through the thick, glossy hair, straightening it and pulling it back from Amentiu's face in the style that he preferred. In a moment of rare self-indulgence, she allowed her fingers to linger in the mass of Amentiu's heavy locks, enjoying their luxuriant warmth and the feeling of contact with her master.

"Will there be anything else, My Lord?" Djeta asked, hopefully.

Amentiu stood, turned and looked deep into Djeta's eyes. She shivered, as she always did when her gaze met his. Looking at him with adoration, she saw her own emotions reflected back at her and so imagined her Lord in love with her. She would never realise that he did see the one thing in the world that he loved as he looked at her; his own reflected image.

"There is," he said at last, his voice muted to a low, soft rumble, deep within his chest.

"Yes, My Lord?" she whispered.

"My Lord Amentiu!"

Djeta jumped as a woman's voice spoke from the intercom, her face suffused with anger.

"Yes, lo'taur," Amentiu hissed.

"Your...guest demands to speak with you at once," the woman went on, breathless with fear. "Mya and I came to bathe her and...she has Mya by the throat, My Lord. She says that she will destroy her if you do not come."

"And you disturb me with this?" Amentiu demanded, incredulously. "I shall attend on Lady Sekhmet in my own good time, lo'taur, and not before she has been properly bathed. Do not disturb me again."

There was a sharp scream across the intercom channel. When the lo'taur spoke again, her voice was thick with barely restrained tears. "Y-yes, My Lord," she mumbled.

Amentiu stood for a long moment, brooding silently.

"My Lord?" Djeta asked, at last. "What is it that you desire of me?"

Amentiu cast an idle glance over the pilot. "Take charge of my lo'taurs," he said at last, in a dismissive voice. "See to it that Lady Sekhmet is made presentable. Use whatever means you require to subdue her, but ensure that she suffers no lasting harm."

"Yes, My Lord," Djeta acknowledged, sweetly, but once she had turned away from Amentiu, her face turned sour.

*

Abissa

Amy had spent her life surrounded by the military. Her parents and her six brothers had all been in the Air Force and she knew a pro when she saw one; Sekhmet definitely qualified. The Goa'uld moved with a primal grace that bordered on inhuman, but the habits of the professional were all there; the way she instinctively looked for choke points and potential ambushes, her habit of halting periodically to listen for absent or misplaced sounds. During the twenty minute walk through the sparse woodland to the tomb, she saw many potential dangers, but she heard nothing untoward and there was no attack.

As they approached the cleft in the rock, she signalled for Amy to move up beside her. "It seems unlikely that she would move far from her lair," she whispered. "I will lead the way in; you follow me while the others guard the entrance."

Amy nodded her agreement and signalled to Grogan and the Marines. If Sekhmet passed word of her intent to Ke'kan, it needed neither word nor gesture. The Unas took his station beside the cleft without speaking, lifting his weapon and holding it at shoulder height without apparent effort or strain.

Sekhmet drew her sword as she entered the narrow gap; Amy saw a flicker in the air around the Goa'uld's left hand and knew that she had activated her energy shield. Amy shouldered her P90 with the barrel pointing low and followed Sekmet; behind her, she heard Grogan slip through the entrance.

"Lieutenant," she hissed, "your orders were to wait with the Marines."

"They're my team," Grogan replied, in a pained voice.

Amy sighed. "I know, Grogan," she assured him. "That's why I don't want you..." She broke off, knowing that she would never accept such reasoning herself if one of SG-11 were missing. "Alright," she allowed. "Keep close and watch where you point that thing."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

Less than ten feet into the tunnel, Sekhmet quickened her pace, then crouched down to examine something that lay on the floor of the passage. Grogan crowded alongside Amy to try and see what it was.

"Oh, God," he gasped, sounding nauseous.

"One of your comrades?" Sekhmet asked. It was not possible to immediately identify the body as a member of an SG-team, because it had been stripped of uniform.

Grogan looked away. "It...It was Captain Dane," he murmured.

"A strong woman," Sekhmet commented. "She was not dragged here. The other Sekhmet must have slashed her open and left her to bleed to death. After Sekhmet left Captain Dane, she was able to come this far before her strength gave out. Good, good."

"Good!" Grogan exclaimed, appalled. "You think it's good that my friend took hours to bleed to..."

"Lieutenant!" Amy snapped. "Control yourself," she chided, although she also looked to Sekhmet for an explanation.

Lanar looked back and gave a gentle smile. "If Sekhmet's successor was stored within her host body then her prison – like mine – must have been a sarcophagus. As she died slowly, your Captain Dane is not long dead; she will be easy to restore." She sheathed her sword, stooped and lifted the captain in her arms. "We should hurry now; the other is not here, but if the rest of your team died more swiftly then every moment counts."

The Goa'uld strode away; Amy and Grogan followed, fighting down their nausea at the smell of death that hung in the corridor and the tackiness of Dane's blood where it coated the floor. In the tomb chamber, the carvings were splashed with blood; Amy did not need forensic training to recognise the signs of a frenzied attack and she tried not to look at Doyle and Sawyer as Sekhmet set Dane upright in the cabinet.

"Lieutenant Grogan," Sekhmet called, gently. "You are an engineer?"

"I...Yes."

"I require your assistance, then. The power of this device is almost depleted; could you use a zat'nik'tel's power supply to supplement the levels?"

"I...I guess," Grogan replied. "It won't do the thing much good, though. The energy is at the wrong frequency; I can jury-rig a modulator, but I wouldn't give it more than four or five uses before all the crystals fracture and render the device useless."

Sekhmet turned to face him. "We only need three," Lanar reminded him.

Grogan nodded. "Yes," he said, more conclusively. "Yes. I can do it."

"Amy?" Sekhmet prompted.

Amy nodded and drew the zat from her hip.

*

Several hours after his departure from Abissa, Amentiu finally received word from Djeta that Sekhmet was ready to wait upon him. The herald rather doubted that Sekhmet would have seen it in that way; if he was ignorant of the deeper emotions behind Djeta's obsession, he was well aware of how it manifested in her dealings with other women, especially those who occupied more of Amentiu's thoughts than Djeta herself did. Having given her a free hand in subduing the warrior, Amentiu did not doubt that Djeta would have taken the opportunity to release some measure of the colossal, twisted ball of frustration that sat at the core of her being.

Two of the kull warriors stood guard at the door of Sekhmet's cell. Amentiu suppressed a shudder at the sight of them; like most of Anubis' Goa'uld servants he feared the kull and looked on them as an unholy abomination of his own race. He looked away from them to the more pleasant aspects of Djeta and his two lo'taurs, Mya and Lyli. With a degree of annoyance, he realised that, while Sekhmet had not made good on her threat to destroy Mya, she had torn the skin of the slave's face – apparently with her fingernails – mangling the girl's beauty and removing her decorative value. Her twin sister's face was also marred, puffed and blotchy from weeping.

With a disgusted snort, Amentiu turned to focus on the one unspoiled visage in sight. "Djeta. Take the wounded girl away and see that she is mended; I do not wish to have such an unsightly thing in my presence."

"Yes, My Lord," Djeta agreed.

"And Djeta; please see that the other is suitably punished for interrupting me over such a trifling matter."

Djeta gave a cruel smile and grasped Lyli's shoulder, tightly. "Yes, My Lord," she purred. "I shall see to it personally."

Amentiu turned his back as the three women left. Again, the sight of the kull warriors made him shiver to think of the twisted, fanatical creatures that lived within those black shells. Goa'uld with no will or ambition save to serve were worse even than the Tok'ra. So long as they knew their master to serve Anubis in his turn, they were absolutely obedient, but with no resistance to overcome, Amentiu could feel no pleasure in their subjugation.

"Open the door," he ordered.

One of the warriors touched the controls and the heavy door slid open. Sekhmet stood behind the door, waiting with her eyes fixed ahead. She looked battered, but alert and Amentiu instinctively took a step away from her. He took some comfort from the knowledge that a force field still barred the portal, but that defence proved unnecessary; Sekhmet made no move to attack, simply stood there and fixed Amentiu with her fierce, tawny gaze.

"I was rash before," she said. "I shall not attack in anger again." Sekhmet had been bathed, as Amentiu commanded, but her skin was darkened by many bruises. Her mortal wounds had been healed, but she was still injured and the more recent marks he took to be the signs of Djeta's handiwork. To judge by the injuries, the pilot's weapon of choice in this endeavour had been a brace of kull warriors.

"That is good," Amentiu answered her at last. "You recognise your position here, then? You understand that you are here to serve, My Lady?"

"No, My Lord Amentiu," Sekhmet replied. "I understand that I can not overcome your guards by force alone. I shall not attack in anger, but when I do attack, I shall not be so easily subdued."

Amentiu allowed himself the indulgence of a gloating chuckle. "I think that you will find that the kull warriors are beyond even your ability to dispatch."

"You are not," she noted.

"I shall be!" Amentiu's eyes flashed, angrily.

"I do not think so, My Lord."

Amentiu chuckled. "We shall see. Kull, kree."

The kull warriors moved to flank Amentiu, then at his signal they advanced through the force field, their armour dissipating the field's energy. Sekhmet recovered well from her surprise and was able to unbalance the first warrior and throw him to the ground. She was injured however and the second warrior kicked her hard in the back of the leg, bringing her down.

When the two warriors left the cell, Sekhmet was bloodied and broken, but still alive and conscious. Amentiu lowered the force field and entered the room. "You are weakened by your long slumber," he told her, "and the kull warriors are strong. You shall be strong again, however, if you agree to serve."

"I will never serve you," Sekhmet replied in a bloody, foaming whisper.

"Not I," Amentiu agreed, crouching beside her. He held out his hand and let the ribbon beam from his hand device play across Sekhmet's bloodied forehead; she squirmed in pain, but did not cry out. "You will serve My Lord Anubis," he went on.

"I serve Lord Ra."

"Ra is dead," Amentiu snapped, impatiently. "Anubis is his successor. You will serve him." He reached inside his robe and drew out a small, metal ball. As he held it up before Sekhmet's blurred gaze, a series of long, slender spikes projected from the surface of the ball.

"What is that?" she demanded, a trace of fear at last entering her voice.

"A device to ensure your compliance," Amentiu explained. "It is a modified interrogation device that will act to suppress your natural urge to kill and destroy, when it is directed in undesirable ways. Rest assured that you will still be able to express your instincts, but only in such a fashion as I deem appropriate." The spikes retracted, leaving only the ball.

"The moment that that object leaves your hand..." Sekhmet began.

"Oh, I do not hold it," Amentiu assured her. With a benevolent smile, he touched the ball to Sekhmet's forehead. "The device shall be in your keeping, My Lady."

Sekhmet's eyes widened in horror. A single spine sprang from the ball and plunged deep into her brow. The warrior woman screamed. Her cries echoed along the corridors as the spike dug its way inexorably into her brain.

Outside the door, the kull warriors stood at their posts, unmoved.

*

Amy and Grogan made camp while Ke'kan and the two Marines stood watch. It was six hours since SG-10 had made their way back through the Stargate to Earth. Doyle had been longest dead and had required the assistance of his team mates to walk, although Lanar assured Grogan that exercise would restore his coordination and muscle mass. Grogan had felt obliged to return with his team, but Doyle had excused him, allowing the lieutenant to stay where he wanted to be: in the vanguard of the hunt for the killer.

Amy had some doubts about Grogan's qualifications as a bounty hunter, but no more so than about her own. If he was only along as a colleague of the victims, she was present as no more than Sekhmet's friend. Anyway, it was not as though they were particularly placing themselves in harm's way at present; they were setting up camp for the night, while Sekhmet hunted for a trail in the woods and they waited for the Claw of Aksos – with all her sophisticated sensors – to arrive.

"We'll take three watches," Amy decided, once they had eaten.

"I can watch," Ke'kan said.

"What about when you sleep?" Amy asked.

"I will not require sleep for some thirty-one of your hours," the Unas assured her.

"Impressive," Amy allowed. "I'd be more comfortable with two watchers though. Grogan, you sit up with Ke'kan first; wake me after three hours, then I'll wake Pellinor. A two hour shift is hardly worth the effort, so you get to sleep through this one, Sergeant Goodge."

"My lucky day," the big Marine replied with a wry grin.

"Heads down, Sergeants," Amy ordered. "We're going wabbit hunting tomorrow and it's going to be a very long day."

Grogan sat with his back to the fire, facing out into the darkness with his P90 in his lap. The sky was pale with moonlit clouds; Abissa had two moons and the dual source gave the soft light an unearthly quality. The gentle sounds of the forest were all around him; it would have been a very restful scene, if not for the deranged killer on the loose and the huge lizard in battle armour over his shoulder. Grogan found the presence of Ke'kan very distracting; he kept looking back at the Unas and, once or twice, he saw Ke'kan glowering back at him.

Through the still air, Grogan could hear the sound of water, gently lapping at a shore. He stood up.

"What are you doing?" Ke'kan demanded.

"I...uh. I need to go," Grogan explained, awkwardly.

"You are on guard. You must stay."

Grogan shook his head. "No. I mean I have to...Go."

There was a pause. "I understand," Ke'kan replied.

"Good."

"Humans are weak creatures. They lack endurance."

"Yep," Grogan agreed. "That's us. No endurance, lots of sleep, poor night vision." He unclipped the flashlight from his belt and flicked it on to light his way.

"And switch that thing off."

Grogan made his way towards the sound of water, pausing briefly near to a convenient tree. The clouds parted as he emerged onto the shore of a small lake and one of the moons, hanging fat and blue in the sky, shone down across the pebbles and glittered on the flat surface of the water.

After a moment, the clouds closed over again, but in that last moment something sparkled on the beach and the light caught Grogan's eye. He turned and fumbled with his flashlight. He played the beam along the shore until it fell upon a mass of shining metal; a suit of chain mail covering a body that lay slumped on the shore.

"Lanar!" Grogan hurried forward and knelt beside the still form. As he ran, the beam of his flashlight flew wildly about him and he could not get a good look at the body until he dropped alongside it. The ‘body' was low and round and greyish-black, shot through with veins of quartz.

The body was a rock, high and dry above the water's edge, with Sekhmet's clothes and armour draped across it.

Grogan breathed a sigh of relief, but just as he began to relax, a gentle splashing at the water's edge made him turn and struggle to raise his weapon. He dropped the flashlight and fumbled for the switch of the one that was attached to the barrel of the P90.

"Stop!" he challenged. "Who...?" As the flashlight came on, he broke off and dropped the beam to point at the pebbles. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. He turned his face away, but could not stop himself looking back to see if he really had seen what he had thought he had seen.

Sekhmet, standing waist deep in the water, seemed to smile in the pale light, then she turned her head aside and, with a harsh, gurgling gasp, ejected a considerable volume of water from her mouth.

Grogan took a step forward. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I am well," the Goa'uld assured him. She wiped her mouth with a delicate motion.

"I...I didn't see you," Grogan offered, weakly. He felt sure that he should look away again, but he could not seem to drag his gaze away from the tawny sparkle of Sekhmet's eyes. I'm only looking at her eyes, he reminded himself. She may only break my legs.

"The lake is very deep," Sekhmet explained. "I was at the bottom."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"Not for me," Sekhmet assured him, walking out of the water and up the pebbled beach with a confident stride.

Grogan looked at his feet and felt a blush spread up the back of his neck.

Sekhmet's bare feet appeared in Grogan's line of sight. "You know, of course, that Goa'uld are capable of breathing water?"

"I...uh...no. I mean..."

"What have you done?" Sekhmet asked, gently.

"Nothing!" Grogan gulped.

"Really? Then why are you sorry?"

"Sorry?"

"Yes, you said that you were sorry."

"Well, you were...I mean you are...That is, you haven't got any..." He coughed awkwardly.

Sekhmet sounded amused when she answered. "If I have made you uncomfortable then surely it is I who should be apologising?"

Grogan mumbled something inaudible. He could not feel a single inch of his skin that was not blushing now.

Sekhmet laid a hand on Grogan's chin and tilted his gaze up to meet hers once more. "Tell me, Lieutenant Grogan..." Her hard face softened in a quizzical frown. "What is your given name?"

Grogan gave an awkward cough. Out of old habit, he leaned a little closer to Sekhmet and whispered his name into her ear.

Sekhmet raised an eyebrow. "Shall I continue to call you Grogan?" she suggested.

"I'd appreciate it," Grogan agreed.

She smiled. "Then tell me, Grogan; do you still think that my replacement is more attractive than I am?"

"Oh! Well! I...I mean...That is...I...Ah..."

Sekhmet lay a finger across Grogan's lips. "It's alright," she assured him. "Now try again."

"I...I never said more attractive," Grogan offered, weakly. "I said prettier. Sort of...daintier; less...noble."

"And is she more attractive?" Sekhmet teased.

"No."

Sekhmet smiled, then she brushed her lips against Grogan's. He made a soft, squeaking sound and flinched away.

"You could give me a little help with this," Sekhmet suggested. "If you want to."

Grogan cleared his throat, awkwardly. "You need my help? You know, I haven't had a serious date since my second year in the Academy."

"I have not had a ‘serious date' in several millennia."

"Okay," Grogan allowed. "You win."

Sekhmet leaned forward again and this time Grogan met her halfway. The Goa'uld smiled as their lips parted. "So I do," she whispered.

*

Amentiu was not satisfied by the current progress of his latest project. Once her resistance had been broken, Sekhmet seemed to have accepted his dominion almost as readily as any other woman and the device in her head would ensure her compliance, if not her loyalty, but she still looked at him with insolent eyes. Even in her obedience she resisted him and her directness, her fearlessness, both fascinated and frightened Amentiu. He found neither emotion to be much to his taste; no Goa'uld should admit to fear and he far preferred to be the object of fascination.

Lady Djeta was also behaving erratically. Amentiu knew her well enough to be confident that her acts of rebellion would be petty, but her jealousy made her recalcitrant and unstable. She had deliberately botched the healing of Mya's face and then brutalised Lyli's so that both of Amentiu's lo'taurs were now disfigured. That angered Amentiu greatly, for the matched beauties were a source of great status among his fellows. They were noted by all for their loveliness, but, more importantly, they had been a gift to him from the Lord Osiris, who knew of old his taste for pretty things. Osiris was now lost, but a gift from one's superiors should be diligently looked after and not allowed to fall into such disrepair. Unfortunately, to repair them would require a spell in his sarcophagus and that would make them arrogant, for a short time at least. Amentiu did not like his servants to be arrogant.

At her own insistence, Sekhmet was in training with the kull warriors. Amentiu found combat intensely dull and so he had left her to her beating while he took a little refreshment in his quarters. He dined alone, as Djeta was out of favour, and he was served by his scar-faced lo'taurs, which did little to ease his temper. After his luncheon, he returned to the viewing gallery above the training room to see how Sekhmet was holding up.

Sekhmet, her dark-blonde hair dragged back and clasped into a tight ponytail at the back of her neck, was engaged in single combat with a kull warrior. She had donned armour, but that would only delay the inevitable in a fight with one of Anubis invincible kull warriors. Despite the certainty of her defeat, Sekhmet – fighting with a long, bladeless spear – was making a good account of herself. Impressively, there appeared to be scratch marks on the kull warrior's armour, where the needle-like tip of the spear had managed to fray and even cut the uppermost layers of the fibres. Sekhmet, however, was cut and bloodied, surely at the end of her strength.

The kull warrior lunged and obscured Sekhmet from Amentiu's view, as the lady stabbed desperately with her spear.

The spear's point emerged from the back of the kull warrior's neck, smeared with the blood of both host and symbiote. Sekhmet twisted aside and the spear shaft snapped off. The kull warrior stumbled after Sekhmet while one hand groped uselessly at the stump of the shaft.

"Impossible," Amentiu breathed, but although it took long minutes, at last the warrior fell to the ground and lay still.

"The armour is impressive," Sekhmet said. Her back was to Amentiu, but he knew that she was speaking to him. "These warriors are in many ways formidable, but they are not without their weaknesses. The armour is nearly impossible to break or burn, but it can be pierced if the fibres of it can be cut with a blow of great enough power and a weapon of sufficient sharpness and slenderness. I thank your servants for supplying this spear; it suited my needs precisely."

"How did you know?" Amentiu demanded.

"It is my place to see such things," Sekhmet told him. "I am Sekhmet, the Eye of Ra. It is what I do."

"What is?"

She reached back, removed the clasp from her ponytail and turned her head to look up at Amentiu through the curtain of her hair. "I kill." Sekhmet spun on the ball of one foot, crouched down and then sprang in Amentiu's direction.

Amentiu had flinched back, instinctively, by the time he realised that she could not possibly have reached the gallery from a standing start. He had barely managed to recover his composure when Sekhmet's fingers hooked over the gallery rail and the assassin swung her body smoothly up and planted her broad feet firmly on the rail. She fixed her captor with a fierce, burning gaze, then hurled herself upon him.

Amentiu cried out and fell heavily to the gallery floor with Sekhmet on top of him. "Stop!" he commanded her in a panicked voice. His frightened mind tried to understand how Anubis' brainspike could have failed so completely.

Sekhmet lunged downwards and fastened her lips hard against his.

"Stop!" Amentiu ordered once more; he liked to consider himself irresistible to women, but only to the degree that it gave him power over them.

Sekhmet ignored him. She kissed him again and this time fixed her teeth in his lower lip.

"I told you to stop!" Amentiu cried, desperately.

"I know," Sekhmet replied, resting her hand tenderly on his throat. "Do not do it again." She looked down on him with smouldering lust and Amentiu felt himself shiver in fear.

*

Amy was sitting on watch when Grogan returned.

"Captain," He mumbled, failing to meet her gaze. He looked a little shell-shocked, like a man who had just survived a near-miss from some devastating weapon.

"Lieutenant," Amy replied. "You didn't wake me up," she accused.

"Sorry, Ma'am," Grogan mumbled.

Ke'kan turned to look at the young man. "Did you find something?" he asked in a menacing rumble.

"Nothing but me," Sekhmet replied, emerging from the shadow of the trees. Grogan was glad that the fire was dying; in the dim, red light his blushes must be harder to see.

"Get some sleep, Grogan," Amy ordered. "Unless you've found anything vital, Sekhmet?" she added, almost as an afterthought.

Sekhmet shrugged. "Nothing...dangerous," she demurred. She settled herself on the ground beside Amy. "Good night, Lieutenant."

Grogan mumbled something that might have been: "Goodnight, Ma'am."

Amy and Sekhmet sat in silence, until at last Grogan's breathing settled into the steady rhythm of sleep. Amy turned to Sekhmet. "You are terrible," she accused.

"I do not know what you mean," Sekhmet insisted.

"The boy has suffered a great shock," Amy said. "The last thing he needs at the moment is an incorrigible old mantis like you fixing her teeth in him."

"Mantises do not have teeth," Sekhmet replied.

"It isn't fair," Amy pressed. "He's an odd sort of boy; he's no fool and he's got guts to spare, but he's a dreamer. He's not the type to take a break-up well."

"Who suggested that I have any intention of breaking him up?" Sekhmet asked.

Amy laughed. "Breaking up with him," she corrected. "Not that you couldn't do the latter...But you can't mean to carry on with him, can you?"

Sekhmet shrugged. "Well, admittedly I have no such intention, but Lanar has. She is very taken with the young man, but terribly shy herself. I took it upon myself to give her a little push in the right direction."

"You're all heart."

"Lanar is all heart," Sekhmet corrected. "My interests lie in...other parts. And please do not think because I do not seek a long term relationship with young Grogan, that I have any objections to such an arrangement. He is a very pleasant young man, and a thoroughly stimulating one also."

"You are awful," Amy accused.

"And you are very presumptuous," Sekhmet replied. "Do not think that having carried Thoth within you gives you the right to address me as a younger sister." She chuckled. "I am not sure that Grogan would care much for your speaking of him as a child."

The wry smile faded from Amy's lips.

"Amy?" Sekhmet asked, gently.

"Being around you always brings him close to the surface," Amy said. "I don't like it. I don't like catching myself thinking like him, I mean," she hastened to add. "I like being with you. I don't know if that's Thoth or me."

"It must be you," Sekhmet assured her. "Thoth never liked me."

"I think, if nothing else, I'd know that better than you," Amy said. "I take it, since you weren't hurrying back, that you didn't find your opposite number out there?"

"No," Sekhmet replied. "She was here. She hunted. Killed. Began to feed. Something interrupted her, however; she was taken."

"Taken?"

Sekhmet nodded. "Kull warriors. Anubis' black-husked perversions. If they are involved, then so is he. He is using her to get to me."

"Either that or he needs a warlady of his own," Amy suggested.

"He still has Athena," Sekhmet said. "She is a better general than my successor."

"How can you be so sure?"

Sekhmet looked away, awkwardly.

"Sekhmet?"

"I know it because Athena is a better general than I am. Even with the Wadjet answering directly to my will, I am barely a match for her. I find myself hoping that, with the advent of these new warriors, he will decide that Athena is surplus to requirements. I should dread to face the kull if Athena were given command of them."

Amy shivered. "Alright," she said, "so what's our next move?"

"I think she was taken by ship," Sekhmet replied. "When the Claw arrives, we will know for sure. Until then, you had better get some rest. Ke'kan and I will keep watch."

Amy nodded. "Thank you," she said, as she lay down on the ground. "Thank you for everything."

Silence fell across the campsite, the Goa'uld and the Unas sitting wordlessly in the growing gloom as the fire burned down to embers.

"Speak," Sekhmet said, after a long while.

"There is nothing to say," Ke'kan replied.

"She will not hear," Sekhmet promised. "Say what you must, my dear."

"If he hurts her, I will tear him in half," the Unas growled.

"I know."

"I do not want her for myself," Ke'kan assured Sekhmet. "Lanar is not of my kind and I desire her no more than she desires me, but I do feel great affection for her. Love, even. I will not see her hurt; not while I have strength to prevent it."

"I know."

"And I will hold you accountable if she is wounded," Ke'kan added.

Sekhmet looked at him, curiously. "I?"

"You encouraged this. She would not have made so bold a move with a man she had but met. Lanar knows nothing of this boy..."

"And left to her own devices she never would have," Sekhmet assured him. "She would have smiled at him demurely until he left with Captain Kawalsky and we should never have seen him again. Besides," she went on, "I doubt that I could conduct a courtship that would not seem hasty to you, Ke'kan. Even without your Goa'uld, you could live for another six hundred years or more. Lanar and I have less remaining to us than these humans. Our body is still strong, but its ability to renew itself has been exhausted by millennia in the sarcophagus. We are dying, Ke'kan; would you deny us our final fling? Especially as it is also to be her first."

"I would not," Ke'kan replied. "But I would not have her wounded, either."

"Nor I, Ke'kan. Nor I."

*

Amentiu waited for the long-range holographic transmitters to fire up and send his image half-way across the galaxy. After a moment, the signal was answered and a figure appeared before him. The figure was robed in black and reclined upon a great throne, but it was not his master, Anubis. Nonetheless, Amentiu dropped to one knee, wincing as he did so; his body still ached from its receipt of Sekhmet's attentions.

"Amentiu," the woman purred.

It had been a shock for Amentiu to see his erstwhile lord, Osiris, stand before him in his new body. Once, he had stood at Osiris' side as they chose the beautiful girls who would serve them and they had poured scorn on the weakness of such fragile creatures. Then Osiris returned, wearing the body of just such a girl and Amentiu could not help thinking his lord weak for making such a choice, even as it chafed to take orders from a female. Osiris' death had been a blessed relief for Amentiu, who had hoped that Anubis might appoint him as the new Councillor of Wisdom. Instead, the post had gone to Osiris' protégé and now Amentiu was obliged to obey her.

"My Lord," he whispered, fighting to hide his disgust.

"You will address me as My Lady," Lamia commanded. Her dark eyes flickered dangerously.

Amentiu knew that Osiris' successor did not like him and that meant that he hated her. She had never made a secret of her feelings and he had savoured the prospect of punishing her once he sat at Anubis' right hand. It was small consolation that he had been circumspect enough to conceal the depths of his hatred, otherwise he would probably have been quietly killed upon her accession.

"Forgive me, My Lady," he said, almost choking on his own honeyed words.

"Does your mission proceed according to plan?" the woman demanded.

"Yes, My Lady," Amentiu replied. "The assassin is in hand; the device that you provided functions as predicted, although there have been unforeseen...complications," he admitted, touching a tentative hand to his sore ribs.

Lamia gave a teasing smile. "My poor herald," she chuckled. "What a trial it must be for you to face a woman who is not cowed by your beauty."

"My Lady..."

"Be silent, Amentiu," Lamia interrupted. "I did not bid you contact me so that you could regale me with tales of your conquests, nor even of your overthrow, however amusing the latter might be to hear. Besides these ‘complications', the Lady Sekhmet is in hand, correct?"

"Yes, My Lady."

"Excellent, my herald; then attend me further. There is one slight alteration to the plan. Our Lord Anubis commands you to send me a sample of Sekhmet's blood before you proceed. Send it to me, do you understand? It must reach the foundry worlds without delay and My Lord is at present engaged in battle against the treacherous Lord Baal."

Amentiu's curiosity was piqued. While she might be telling the truth, it might also be that Lamia wished to keep something secret from Lord Anubis? If so, what might that secret be worth? "Yes, My Lady," he agreed.

"You were ever a faithful servant," Lamia commended Amentiu. "Continue to be so and you will reap great rewards. I await the delivery and I hope to hear of your further success very soon."

"I shall not disappoint you, My Lady," Amentiu promised.

The hologram of the woman flickered and vanished. Amentiu rose to his feet. "Pilot!" he called. "Prepare a courier pod to transport a biological sample and alter course that we may pause in a system with a Chappa'ai. Also, prepare a message to Lord Anubis, informing him that the sample has been relayed to Lady Lamia as per his instructions."

"Yes, My Lord," Djeta replied.

Amentiu smirked. "You see, My Lady; I am a faithful servant and I shall reap my reward."

*

"She has gone," Sekhmet announced, conclusively.

"Good morning," Amy replied.

"Good morning," Sekhmet said.

The Warlady sat beside a campfire with Ke'kan. The smell of grilling meat rose up and swirled around the clearing.

"Smells good," Amy said, struggling out of her bedroll. "Catch it yourself, Ke'kan?"

Sekhmet smiled. "This was the deer that my namesake caught. She was taken before she could eat very much and it seemed a shame to waste it. I tested it for poison," she added. "It is quite safe, or will be when it is cooked."

Amy sat down by the fire. "How?" she asked.

"By grilling it on a hot stone."

"I mean, how did the other Sekhmet leave?"

"A ship came," Sekhmet explained. "I knew it must have, or I would have scented the trail to the Stargate, but now I have proof. My Claw has arrived and scented the trail of an engine; an Asgard engine."

"Asgard?" Amy asked, surprised, and then she realised. "One of Anubis' new ships."

"Complete with transport beams," Sekhmet agreed. "I would like to capture that technology; I am still reliant on transport rings. We shall leave after breaking our fast."

"Can the Claw pursue a ship like that?" Amy asked, doubtfully.

"Not a chance," Sekhmet assured her, cheerfully, "but it does not matter. I know where Anubis is taking her."

*

Corana

Amentiu felt exposed. He had planned to land in the town square of Corana in the midst of a full squad of seven kull warriors, sheathed in his own impenetrable armour, with Sekhmet at his side in shining bronze, ready to draw attention to herself and away from him. Unfortunately, Sekhmet had other plans.

"You realise that Lord Anubis will not easily forgive the deaths of three of his kull warriors," he muttered, as they stood in the transporter chamber of his yacht. "He keeps careful tabs on these...things."

"If he did not wish them dead, he should have made them stronger," Sekhmet accused. The assassin looked splendid in her black armour, but Amentiu would have preferred to be in the suit himself. She had donned the armour before he could stop her and had not seemed in the mood to discuss the matter of giving it back. "Are there many people below?"

"Very many," Amentiu assured her, grimly. "And we have only four kull warriors to control them with."

"We will need only four," Sekhmet assured him. "We do not need to control them; we want them out of control, afraid. They will present us with no challenge; trust me. Your pilot knows what she must do?"

"She does," Amentiu hissed. He was notionally in charge of this mission, still, but Sekhmet appeared to have completely forgotten this. "Lady Djeta is quite capable," he assured her. "My crew have been briefed on their tasks."

Sekhmet nodded. "Good. Then shall we begin?"

"By all means."

"Oh," she added, brightly, "bring the lo'taurs."

"Why?" Amentiu demanded. "They're not fighters."

"The fighting will be brief. We shall require someone to attend to our needs afterwards." Sekhmet flashed a predatory smile. "Trust me, my sweet. This is my domain. We are not here to invade this world; we are here for an assassination." She kissed him, passionately. "Trust me," she said again.

Amentiu closed his eyes, tightly. He had never thought that he could hate having a woman so passionately pursue him, but it was not the same as when he was in control of the relationship. He could not dismiss Sekhmet or send her away. He could not tease her and taunt her; if he paraded another woman in front of her she would probably slaughter her rival on the spot.

"Let us get on with it," he said. "Kull, kree!"

Sekhmet shook her head, sadly. "You have no patience, my darling," she chided, "but as you wish."

Flanked by the four kull warriors, they stepped into the circumference of the transporter. Of course, the version on board this yacht was advanced enough to transport them point-to-point, but the chamber remained from Osiris' early prototypes of the system and the process was marginally more stable when boosted from one end.

"Lady Djeta!" Amentiu called. "Activate the transporter."

"My Lord." Djeta's voice was relayed from the pel'tac.

Lights flared around them and in a heartbeat they stood on a high balcony, looking out over a magnificent square, crowded with people. In the centre of the square stood a great statue on a high pedestal. Two of the kull warriors were with them – the other two had been sent elsewhere on separate orders – and the scarred twin lo'taur.

"Find the Justiciar and bring him here," Sekhmet ordered Amentiu.

The Herald of Anubis almost gave way to apoplexy, but he could see that Sekhmet's bloodlust was rising and he did not dare press the limits of her behavioural inhibitor. "Yes, my love," he groused. "Kull, kree."

Sekhmet looked out over the square and smiled. People were starting to notice her. She raised her arms and called out. "People of Corana!" As she had expected, at least half of the people paid her no attention whatsoever. She lowered her arms and lifted her wrist to speak into her communicator. "Fire," she commanded.

A plasma bolt struck like lightning from the cloudless sky and blasted the pedestal of the statue. The figure itself fell with a crash and the woman's arm broke off. People scattered; some were too slow and the falling statue crushed them. Sekhmet smiled at the irony of these insects being snuffed out by the stone carcass of their legendary ‘saviour'.

"Let them hear my voice," Sekhmet ordered, and when she spoke again her voice was relayed through the sky-speakers of the yacht. "People of Corana! Now that I have your attention. Tremble, for your doom has come."

She held out her arm and the blaster on her wrist spat a rapid stream of plasma bolts across the square. The kull warrior followed suit. Soon the square was clear, but the sounds of screaming drifted up from the streets. "Lady Djeta, you know what to do?"

"Continue occasional fire at the city gates and exit roads to prevent escapes, yes," Djeta replied, snippily. "I am more than capable of following orders."

"Indeed, my dear; you seem almost uniquely skilled at doing as you are told."

"Not by you, assassin!" the pilot snapped. "I do as My Lord commands and no other!"

"Then be a good girl and I am sure he will reward you. Perhaps he will let you lick his hand, or feed you titbits from his table."

"You may not speak to me this way!"

Sekhmet turned her face towards the sky. "Then press the button," she challenged.

There was a pause, and when Djeta answered she sounded afraid. "What?"

"You have aimed the yacht's plasma weapons at me, have you not? Does it make you feel strong to target me? If you were strong, you would fire. But then, if you were strong, you would not feel the need. Go about your work, lapdog," she sneered. "Sooner or later he will turn back to you; you are the only one of his whining bitches who will last the test of time."

"When you die, I will sing songs of joy," Djeta hissed.

"When you do, I shall not notice." Sekhmet broke contact with the ship. Moments later, the plasma blasts began to fall around the suburbs. "Find the kitchens," Sekhmet told the twin lo'taurs. "Prepare a light lunch; we much be prepared to properly entertain the Justiciar as he surrenders his planet to us."

Sekhmet leaned on the balcony and grinned down at the fallen statue. She lifted her hand once more and blasted the face of the statue of the Saviour of Corana; the statue of the first Sekhmet.

*

"Corana was a world rich in resources and learning," Lanar explained. Sekhmet had once more lapsed into silence. "It was a peaceful world, with few weapons; when Anubis decided that he wanted their scientific secrets, there was no way for them to defend themselves. They had known no wars for generations; they had no contact with other worlds. Their fleet – more of a system rescue patrol than a navy – was wiped out by a single ha'tak vessel. They surrendered after the first four shots were fired, but Anubis annihilated them anyway, cutting them down as they fled. When the Justiciar came to negotiate the planet's surrender, his shuttle was shot down."

"What does the planet have to do with you?" Grogan asked. He wore an expression of horrified fascination.

"At that time, nothing," Sekhmet replied, grimly. "However, it was their cry for help that changed my life. I was worshipped across a hundred worlds as a goddess of justice, the bringer of just revenge and protector of the innocent. I saw their faces and I knew that I was a fraud; I did not protect the innocent, I merely destroyed in Ra's name. At that moment I decided that I must try to be what I was seen to be.

"I took the Wadjet to Corana and I engaged Anubis' ha'tak vessels," she explained. "I destroyed one, crippled another and forced two to flee; at the time, that was all that Anubis commanded. My Jaffa mopped up Anubis' forces with support from my khab gunships." She shook her head. "It was easy enough to manage, there was no fleet to touch mine, but it brought me no feeling of triumph.

"The cost to them was so high, but they welcomed me as a saviour. I still felt like a fraud."

"You did save them," Amy assured her.

"At that time I did," Sekhmet replied, "but who knows how many times they have been invaded since then and I have been helpless to aid them. Now that thug, Anubis, will use that poor, suffering world to draw me out. I can summon other ships to defend me in battle, but by unleashing my namesake on the populace, he is assured that I will be on the ground myself; vulnerable. It is a trap and it is one that he knows I must walk into."

"We could call up reinforcements, though," Pellinor suggested. "Bring a few Jaffa through the Stargate, park some of your cruisers in orbit for fire support..."

"No," Sekhmet interrupted. "That we can not do. Anubis does not dare to challenge me in space; not yet. This was a small ship. The engine traces were minute. There will be very few of the enemy and they will keep the civilians in place around them; orbital assault would be a slaughter and any invasion in force would create a panic. No; all shall be arranged so that I must come down and attend to matter personally."

"But not alone," Grogan assured her.

Sekhmet smiled. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but I believe that will be Captain Kawalsky's decision."

Grogan blushed.

"You are correct," Amy agreed, "but I'm with Grogan on this one; provisionally. I'm not about to let a peaceful, civilian population..."

"With advanced technology we could trade for," Goodge noted.

"...with any level of technology be overrun and slaughtered by something that we released; no offence, Grogan."

"None taken, Ma'am," he assured her. "But in that case, what's the provision?"

"We can't just go down there and expect to win through with the cleansing might of righteousness, more's the pity. Sekhmet scented kull warriors; we need a way to fight them."

Sekhmet raised an eyebrow. "The great Tau'ri have not yet found a way?"

"We're working on it," Amy replied, evasively. In truth, she herself knew little more than that. The powers that be had been promising the SG units a defence against Anubis' supersoldiers since they were first encountered, but the word on the grapevine was that nothing had moved beyond the stage of advanced prototype, as yet.

"As are we," Sekhmet assured her. "My sword has proven effective in the past, but I do not think that will suffice for the rest of you."

"We'll think of something by the time we get to Corana," Amy promised.

"And if we don't?" Pellinor asked.

Sekhmet looked him in the eye. "I will make sure that you get home," she promised, "but I can not turn away from this."

*

Mya and Lyli were servants of prodigious skill in many areas and the meal that they prepared for Sekhmet, Amentiu and the Justiciar of Corana was both lavish and excellent. Unfortunately, only Sekhmet seemed to be enjoying the meal; the Justiciar and his family were too frightened and Amentiu was fuming over Sekhmet's domination of the situation. To the Justiciar's clear frustration, Sekhmet did not even touch on the question of surrender until the meal was finished.

Amentiu had found the first family of Corana in their bunker. The door was thick, but the kull warriors had made short work of it, and the guards within. A good-looking young man in civilian clothes had tried to be a hero; a kull warrior had shot him down as he reached for a weapon. He had been lucky to survive the blast, although the Justiciar seemed disinclined to consider this piece of good fortune while his son lay bleeding to death.

The young man had been carried back to the dining room, where Sekhmet waited. She had immediately taken Amentiu to task for his poor care of the Justiciar's family and called for a healing device.

"We do not want these people to think that we are unreasonable," she told him. She had healed the wound herself and smiled warmly at the frightened youth, who now seemed almost as infatuated as he was terrified.

In addition to the son and the ageing Justiciar himself, there was a daughter – a slim, pale girl of fourteen – and a trophy bride not much older than the son. Sekhmet addressed herself to the old man.

"I am the Lady Sekhmet," Sekhmet had begun; that had shocked the Coranans. "You have already met my trusted lieutenant, Lord Amentiu. Pray tell me who has the pleasure of addressing me?"

The Justiciar straightened his back and tried to look unruffled. "I am Justiciar Redon Phaid," he announced. "This is my good wife..."

"Adequate at best," Amentiu muttered.

"...Sala; my son, Kessandris – for whose life I am in your debt, My Lady – and my daughter Katrinta; Rin for short."

Sekhmet smiled, graciously. "How charming. As you may have gathered, we have come to take control of your miserable little planet from you," she explained. "Yes, I know; you thought of Sekhmet as your saviour, but that time is past. Now, you should see me as your goddess. You have two choices, Justiciar; surrender all power to me, or watch your world die in flames."

Phaid took a deep breath. "I am willing to discuss terms," he agreed.

"Good," Sekhmet said. "Please, won't you join me for a little refreshment."

"But the fighting still continues!" Phaid protested. "We must arrange the surrender, make announcements, stop this killing before..."

Sekhmet reached out and idly caught Rin Phaid by the throat. She swung the girl around in front of her and lifted her up so that she stood on tiptoes in Sekhmet's throttling grip. The Justiciar and his son each took a step forward, but a gentle squeeze drew a squeak of terror from Rin and they stopped.

"You will do as you are told, Justiciar," Sekhmet told him, "otherwise your daughter shall be lost as easily as your son was restored. It would be a shame to harm something so fragile and fair. Her mother must have been far more beautiful than this strumpet of yours; did she fade with age until you could not stand the sight of her, or did she die of grief at your infidelities?"

"She was taken by fever," the Justiciar fumed.

"Curb your temper," Sekhmet cautioned. "I could do worse than kill her, you know." She bent and planted a tender kiss on the crown of the girl's head, then released her throat. "Come; dine with us," she invited again. This time there were no dissenters.

"Now," Sekhmet said, as she sipped a glass of the Justiciar's finest dessert wine, "we can discuss terms."

"Y-yes," Phaid stammered, eagerly.

"You will instruct your people to cease all efforts at resistance," Sekhmet instructed. "All citizens of Corana will come to the city of Sekh-ma-ket within the next week and be registered as tributaries of my empire. They will be required to bring with them a full accounting of their wealth, that Amentiu may make an accurate assessment of the tribute which they owe. The usual tribute is one-quarter of all goods and one-half of all profit made in commerce."

Phaid st