Chapter 10 – Fault Lines:

  The glass sat in her hand like a judgement.

  Cate hadn’t touched it. Jack Daniels over ice. It should have burned, should’ve reminded her she was alive. Instead, the melting cubes clinked quietly in the silence of her living room, catching slants of late afternoon light. It was Saturday. Three days since SG-11’s trip to the Beta Site. And nothing made sense.

  The intel from the Alliance prisoners had only thickened the fog. Not thinned it. Everything about Hallam, about Ersousia, reeked of manipulation, but the evidence felt like smoke in her hands. Conjecture. Disconnected fragments. And the worst part? They were running out of time. If they couldn’t pin something solid on Hallam soon, they'd have to release him. Protocol. Law. Conventions, both Earth and galactic.

  Cate leaned her head back against the couch. Closed her eyes. Hallam’s voice echoed in her mind, smooth, self-assured, too calm under pressure. That damn faint smile. He’s playing us. But she couldn’t prove it. Not yet. SG-11 was set to head out again Monday, chasing another whisper of a lead. Some place called Gamma Hold.

  She picked up the remote. Clicked the MP3 dock on.

  Hello Mr Heartache.

  She blinked. Oh for f…

  The remote hit the speaker with enough force to send the batteries flying under the coffee table. Silence followed, thick and absolute. She stared at the dead unit for a moment, then downed the drink in a single, bitter mouthful. Useless.

  Out the back door, past her Camaro, her fingers trailing the smooth lines of steel like muscle memory, she walked toward the barn. Petal, her favourite mare, snorted at her from the stall, ears flicking. Cate hesitated at the gate.

  No. Not today.

  She turned. Walked back to the car. Slid into the driver’s seat. Hands on the wheel. The silence pressed in until it felt like it was screaming. She twisted the key. The Camaro rumbled to life.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was heading north on I-25. Ninety. Ninety-five. One hundred and ten. The lines of the road blurred. It didn’t help.

  Then came the whoop of a siren.

  “Of course,” she muttered.

  She pulled to the verge, heart hammering now, not with fear, but frustration. Her knuckles were white on the wheel. In the rear-view, a black Caprice pulled in behind her.

  A moment later, the door opened. Tan uniform. State Patrol.

  Her stomach dropped. “No. No, no, no…” she groaned, thumping her head once, twice against the steering wheel.

  Sergeant Henry Wiseborn. Of course. He approached cautiously, hand near his holster, until he recognised her. “Cate?” he swore, brows rising. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  She rolled down the window. Said nothing.

  “You’ve got an excuse for this?” His voice was sharp. “Some galactic emergency… oh wait, you’re heading away from Cheyenne Mountain!”

  He leaned in. His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been drinking.” She held up one finger.

  He folded his arms. “How many, Cate?”

  She winced. “...Two. Maybe three.”

  He blew out a breath and pulled the breathalyser from his belt. “You know the drill. Blow.”

  Cate tried to delay the inevitable as much as she could. An inch from her face, in her mind she already knew the result. Finally, after Henry asked her twice, she blew.

  He checked the readout. His mouth twisted. “Wanna guess?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, out of the car, Sunshine. We’re going into town. Got someone who can collect your wheels?” There was no way he’d let her leave it there, he could guarantee it’d be gone by the end of the day.

  She nodded. Pulled out her phone. Dialled. It was Sam who answered. After the silence, and the long, awkward pause, Cate muttered: “I need a favour.”

  By the time Cate arrived at Colorado Springs HQ, Sam was waiting. So was Cam. Teal’c. Daniel. Even Vala, who leaned against the wall like she couldn’t quite believe it.

  When Cate stepped inside, no cuffs, but pale and stiff, no one said a word.

  Then Cam broke it, voice low. “We usually save our group outings for after the world ends.”

  Cate didn’t smile. She looked like she’d aged ten years in ten seconds.

  Teal’c merely inclined his head. “You are unwell, Cate MacGregor.”

  Cate stood there, too tired to argue.

  Vala raised an eyebrow. “Well. This is awkward.”

  No one laughed.

  Cate looked down. “This isn’t who I’m supposed to be.”

  Saturday, 1730 hours – Colorado State Patrol, HQ:

  The squad room had gone quiet when Cate walked in. The late afternoon sun filtered in through the blinds, catching dust motes and tension in equal measure. Boots echoed on polished floors. Everyone was waiting.

  Cam saw her first. “Keys.”

  Cate didn’t argue. She dug them from her jeans pocket and tossed them over without a word.

  Chief Mike Doncaster emerged from behind the glass wall of the duty desk, clipboard in hand. He looked like a man who hadn’t smiled in years. Square-jawed, grey at the temples, a cop’s cop. His eyes flicked over the group, Sam, Cam, Teal’c, Daniel and Vala, then landed on Cate. “Formal breath test. Let’s go.”

  Cate stepped forward. The machine stood like a silent judge on the wall-mounted desk. She took the mouthpiece, breathed in, and exhaled. The seconds dragged. 0.15

  Cam’s brow furrowed. Vala’s jaw dropped. Sam blinked.

  Mike nodded grimly. “High range drink-driving offence.”

  Cam stepped forward, voice calm but pressing. “Come on, Mike. Really? She’s one of us. You know what we do. Hell, you’ve been to the Mess at Peterson, we’ve shared a drink or two. This doesn’t have to go on the books.”

  Mike didn’t flinch. “Can’t let it slide, Cam. You know that.”

  Vala leaned into her usual charm. “Surely you could just… look the other way? We’ll owe you a big one. I’m great at owing people.”

  Sam stepped up next. “Mike, it’s been a rough few weeks. She snapped. She knows it. Let us handle this internally.”

  Teal’c, solid as stone, added in his deep baritone: “Cate MacGregor has saved this world more than once. She should not be punished for a moment of pain.”

  Daniel folded his arms. “Chief, I could cite a dozen federal statutes involving personnel attached to Stargate Command that could nullify this charge. Not to mention, Cate’s a foreign national under diplomatic protection. You really want to explain this to the IOA? Or the President? She saved all of us from oblivion.”

  But it was Cate who broke the silence.

  “I have it coming, Daniel.”

  That stopped everyone.

  Mike sighed. Then… just barely, smiled.

  “Doctor Jackson, you left out the part where those same federal statutes allow me to release foreign military personnel into the custody of their commanding officers.”

  Then Cate exhaled, slow. “So…?”

  “Not yours, mind you,” Mike looked at Daniel then continued, amused. “But Colonel Carter qualifies.”

  Cam gave Sam a crooked smile. “You’re up.”

  Sam rolled her eyes. “Lucky me.”

  Mike turned to Cate. “You’ll still be formally charged. But you’re not staying the night in our little hotel here.”

  Cate managed a small, crooked smile.

  As they turned to leave, Henry Wiseborn intercepted her by the front desk. He folded his arms and dropped the tone to something more familiar. “Sunshine… dinner. Tomorrow. Pinocchio’s. That’s your penance.”

  Cate looked like she might throw up at the very thought of dinner and pasta.

  Daniel leaned in, stage-whispered. “You should go.”

  Cate blinked. “You serious?”

  He nodded. “You’ve had worse dates. Trust me. I was on one of them.” There was a long pause. “On condition that I drive.”

  Vala perked up. “Ooh! Double date? Daniel, driving, yes!”

  Daniel rubbed his temples. “Why do I feel like I’ve made a mistake?”

  But he didn’t say no.

  Laughter broke the tension. The group started moving toward the doors. And behind them, for the first time in hours, Cate’s smile didn’t feel like it was borrowed.

  The Ride Home:

  Cate slumped into the passenger seat of Sam’s Volvo, silent for several blocks. The keys to her Camaro now resided in Cam’s jacket pocket. Sam didn’t speak, not right away. She just drove.

  Only when they reached Sam’s place did she glance over. “Mind if I grab a bag? I’ll stay with you tonight.”

  Cate nodded, grateful. The car stayed running while Sam ducked inside and returned five minutes later, tossing a small duffel in the back.

  By the time they reached Cate’s ranch, the last of the sun had dipped behind the Rockies. Sam helped unlock the front door, flicked on the lights, and without a word, set a kettle on the stove.

  They didn’t talk much that night. Cate curled up on the couch, a blanket over her knees, while Sam took the guest room. It was quiet. And it was enough.

  Sunday Morning:

  Cate woke to the smell of toast. She wandered into the kitchen to find Sam already dressed, reading something on her tablet with a half-amused smile.

  “Morning,” Sam said, sliding a plate across the counter. “All-Bran. Toast. Vegemite.”

  Cate blinked. “You… like Vegemite?”

  “I did a posting in Woomera, remember?” Sam smirked. “Developed a taste. Probably Stockholm Syndrome.”

  Cate chuckled and sat down, the tension from the night before lifting, just a fraction. “I feel like hell,” she admitted.

  Sam looked up. “Yeah. You probably will for a bit.”

  They ate in silence, comfortable. Then Sam said, “You’ve got some gorgeous country here. Let’s ride. Pack lunch. Blow the cobwebs out.”

  Cate stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “You ride, seriously?”

  Sam gave a quiet smile. “My granddad ran a ranch in Montana.” The smile widened. “I love the little name tags on the stable doors. Rosita looks like the kind of horse that’d test me.”

  “She will.”

  “They’re thoroughbreds aren’t they?” Sam asked, her curiosity has been aroused.

  “Uh huh.” Cate nodded

  .

  Now Sam could feel a deep connection developing between them. “Do you still compete Cate?”

  A wide smile creased Cate’s face, this was something she could talk about all day. “Regularly when I was home, though since relocating here, I’ve only been to one event… in Denver.”

  “Well then.” Sam said as if she’d found the key to unlocking Cate’s secrets. “We’ll have to change that, won’t we?”

  Later:

  The sun hung high overhead as Petal and Rosita trotted through the pine-scented forest, their riders both relaxed in the saddle. Cate watched Sam from the corner of her eye, she was impressed. Sam rode with the ease of someone who’d grown up around horses. Confident. Grounded.

  They made it to the falls by noon. Both women were flushed and sweaty, the day tipping well past ninety degrees.

  “Swim?” Sam suggested, already unlacing her boots.

  Cate hesitated. Then grinned. “We didn’t bring swimmers.”

  “Like that’s ever stopped anyone.”

  Moments later, laughter echoed off the rock walls as two grown women splashed and floated beneath the cascading water. The chill took the sting from the sun, and for a little while, nothing else mattered.

  “I bet we’re giving the local wildlife something to talk about,” Sam called over the roar of the waterfall.

  Cate ducked under, resurfaced. “If they’re smart, they’ll keep it to themselves.”

  They lay on warm rocks after, drying in the sun, the hum of insects and birds their only company.

  Cate turned her head slightly.

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  “For what?”

  “For not treating me like I broke.”

  Sam didn’t open her eyes. “You didn’t break. You just bent. We all do.”

  Saturday, 1800 hours – Cate’s Ranch:

  The sun was low, painting the hills in burnt gold and softening the shadows under the gum trees. A cool breeze tugged at the last of the afternoon heat, carrying the scent of oiled leather, horse sweat, and eucalyptus from the paddocks. Cate stepped out of the shower feeling marginally more human, a towel wrapped around her head, the familiar creak of new floorboards underfoot. When she entered her room, she stopped.

  There, laid neatly across her bed: her favourite summer dress, soft blue with a floral hem, and beside it, black slingbacks and her patent leather clutch. A quiet breath escaped her. Sam. Of course.

  She stood for a long moment, towel in hand, feeling the lump in her throat rise and fall. Then she whispered, “Thank you,” to no one in particular, and got dressed.

  At precisely 1800, tyres crunched on gravel. Cate glanced out the window. A dusty Subaru Forester pulled to a halt and Henry Wiseborn stepped out, adjusting his jacket. In one hand: a modest bouquet of white daisies and lavender.

  Cate met him at the door, cheeks already warm. He held out the flowers with a soft grin. “Evening, Cate.”

  She took them, ducking her head. “You didn’t have to…”

  “I wanted to.” He stepped back, taking her in. “You look…” He paused, visibly struggling not to overstep. “...incredible.”

  Sam leaned against the hallway doorframe, arms crossed, smiling like the cat who had gotten all the cream. “Don’t keep her out too late,” she said sweetly. “And no mischief.”

  Henry gave her a mock salute. “Yes ma’am.”

  Sam kissed Cate’s cheek on her way past. “0700 start. No excuses.”

  As she disappeared into the house, Henry called after her, “See ya later, Mom!”

  Cate rolled her eyes but was grinning now. Henry offered his arm. “Ready?”

  She nodded, locking the door behind them. “Let’s go.”

  Pinocchio’s – 1830 hours:

  Downtown Colorado Springs was lit in a halo of streetlamps and neon reflections. The cool evening had settled into something pleasant, crisp enough for jackets, but not enough for discomfort.

  Pinocchio’s was already bustling when they arrived. A familiar dark green Pontiac GTO was pulling into the lot. Daniel climbed out of the driver’s side in a charcoal-grey suit, trying to smooth his wind-tousled hair. Vala emerged like a vision from the passenger side, her black A-line dress swishing around her knees. Silver earrings glittered in the light.

  Cate raised her eyebrows. “Daniel I didn’t know you were a rev head… that car’s Aussie.”

  He sighed. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  Vala beamed, linking arms with him. “His old station wagon was a crime against dignity. This one has soul.”

  Daniel muttered something about fuel economy. Henry just chuckled and opened the door for Cate.

  Inside, the atmosphere was warm and rich, brick walls, low lighting, and the scent of basil and garlic in the air. A young Indian woman welcomed them, introduced herself as Priya, and led them to a corner booth beneath a mural of Venice at dusk.

  “Wine?” she offered.

  “A local white,” Henry said before anyone else could. “My shout.”

  Daniel raised an eyebrow. “I don’t mind…”

  Henry waved him off. “Nope. First date rules.”

  Cate gave him a sideways glance. “Is this a date?”

  He met her gaze evenly. “Sure, feels like one.”

  She didn’t disagree.

  They ordered: calamari and bruschetta to start, followed by lasagna for the men, a zucchini and bacon pasta for Vala, and seafood marinara for Cate. Cheesecake was mandatory.

  Conversation flowed, casual at first, small stories about near-misses on I-25, Henry’s colourful run-ins as a state trooper. Then deeper. Daniel asked how long he’d served. Henry replied: “Four tours in Afghanistan. Two in Iraq. Rangers. Spent my last year guarding embassy routes in Kabul. After that… decided home needed more help than over there.”

  Cate watched him closely, listening. Daniel nodded slowly. “That’s a hell of a resume.”

  Henry shrugged. “Not galaxy-saving, but I do what I can. You folks though…” He glanced around the table. “What you’ve seen. Done. Honestly? I don’t think I could’ve handled it.”

  Vala leaned forward, sipping her wine. “Trust me, darling. If you’d been in the SGC, you’d have learned to run from explosions by week two.”

  Henry smiled. “I’ll take the highways, thanks.”

  He looked at Cate. “But I’ve got a feeling you’ve been the explosion more than once.”

  She gave a small, self-conscious smile. “Once or twice.”

  O’Furry’s Lounge Bar – 2100 hours:

  The wooden floors of O’Furry’s echoed with boots and laughter, the scent of spilt whiskey and warm popcorn drifting through the lounge. The country band, The Mason Line, was mid-set, playing a lively two-step that already had couples on the floor.

  Henry held out his hand. “Dance?”

  Cate didn’t hesitate. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  They moved easily together, Cate’s muscle memory kicking in. Henry was a solid lead, no flourishes, just dependable rhythm. Soon, Daniel and Vala joined them, the latter spinning herself with flair, dragging Daniel into a clumsy but endearing spin.

  The four of them laughed through two songs before a slow number started. Henry leaned in. “Glad you came?”

  Cate nodded against his shoulder. “I didn’t know I needed this.”

  Nearby, an elderly couple danced with smooth precision. As the song ended, the woman leaned close to Cate and smiled. “You two look good together. He’s got kind eyes.”

  Cate flushed. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  The woman winked. “He’s watching you like a man who knows he’s lucky.”

  Before Cate could respond, the band’s lead singer stepped to the mic.

  “Ladies and gents, if I may interrupt, looks like we’ve got someone special in the crowd tonight. Squadron Leader Cate MacGregor. I hear she can fly, fight… and sing.”

  A cheer rippled through the crowd. Cate’s eyes shot daggers at Henry, who just gave a sheepish shrug.

  The room chanted softly, rising like a tide: “Catie… Catie…”

  Rory, the frontman, stepped aside. “Stage is yours, ma’am.”

  Cate stood still for a moment, mortified. Then, with a breath, she walked to the front. Rory handed her his guitar. “What’ll it be?”

  She smiled faintly. “You know ‘Today I Started Loving You Again’?”

  “Only if you want to make half the room cry.”

  The opening chords rang out warm and familiar. Cate’s voice came soft at first, but steady, rich, clear, laced with weariness and heart.

  By the second verse, the room was quiet. Even the bar had stilled. When she finished, the applause was thunderous.

  Vala wiped at her eyes. “I didn’t know she could do that.”

  Daniel, voice low, murmured, “She can do anything. She just forgets.”

  A man at the bar, cowboy hat tipped back, smile wide, called out, “Encore! Give us some more Willie!”

  Cate grinned, cheeks flushed. “One more. But only if someone buys me a bourbon.”

  Three hands went up.

  O’Furry’s Lounge – Encore and Goodbye:

  Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain faded with the last notes, and the room was already asking for more. Cate looked at her friends, then to Rory.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Are you kidding? Standing room only, look at it!”

  He was right. People had drifted in from the outer bars, and now the lounge was packed. Cate turned to the crowd.

  “You ready?”

  A roar of approval went up. The applause was still echoing as she adjusted the strap on the guitar and leaned toward the mic.

  “Alright,” she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “If we’re gonna go full cowboy tonight…”

  Laughter rippled through the room.

  “…then y’all better help me out, ‘cause this next one doesn’t work without backup.”

  A man near the bar shouted, “You gonna do it?!”

  Cate strummed the familiar opening chords. The crowd roared in recognition before she even sang the first line. By the first chorus, half the bar was singing. By the second, the other half was clapping along.

  “I guess I was wrong,

  I just don't belong,

  But then, I've been there before,

  And everything is alright,

  I'll just say goodnight,

  And I'll show myself to the door...”

  Then came the infamous third verse.

  “Hey, I didn't mean

  to cause a big scene,

  Just wait 'til I finish this glass,

  Then, my sweet boy,

  I'll head back to the bar,

  And you can kiss my ass!”

  The place exploded.

  Cate leaned into it, laughing through the words, letting loose. Even Daniel joined in, reluctantly mouthing the lyrics, while Vala stood on her chair like a queen with a pint, belting the harmonies like it was a Broadway finale.

  When the final note rang out, Cate handed the guitar back to Rory with a mock bow.

  “Now, if I’m late for work tomorrow, you can all take the blame.”

  The crowd laughed and clapped again, a few calling for just one more.

  Rory leaned into the mic as the cheers started to fade. “Hey, Cate?”

  She turned back.

  “We’re playing the PBR finals in Denver. Month from tonight. Big crowd. Bigger sound. I want you there. What do you say?”

  She paused, the weight of it catching her off guard. For a second, she saw the other life, the one where days were normal, where gigs could be pencilled in, not cleared by the Pentagon.

  Then she smiled. “Mate, if the stars are aligned… you can count me in.”

  That got a fresh round of cheers.

  The air was cooler now, stars dusted across the sky like ash. The two couples lingered by their cars. “Thanks for tonight,” Cate said. “You both made it… fun.”

  Daniel nodded. “You needed it.”

  Vala kissed her cheek. “Next time, karaoke. I want to hear your ‘Islands in the Stream’.”

  Henry gave Daniel a mock-serious look. “You’re gonna need a bigger car for that sound system.”

  Daniel gestured at the GTO. “It’s Australian. It can take anything.”

  They all laughed.

  Cate and Henry watched them drive off, taillights fading. Then Henry opened the door of his silver Subaru Forester and turned to her.

  “Time to go Cinderella.”

  Cate’s Ranch – 2340 hours:

  The ride home was quiet, the radio playing a low hum of 90s country hits. When they pulled into the driveway, Cate reached for the door handle, then paused.

  “You wanna come in?”

  Henry looked at her. Gently. “Cate… of course I do.” Then he smiled. “But you’ve gotta be up in less than five hours.”

  She groaned, head against the window. “You’re too good.”

  “I’m from Kentucky,” he said with a wink. “We invented good manners.”

  She leaned across and kissed him. Not tentative. Not polite. Real.

  When they pulled apart, he exhaled. “Okay. That just made waiting a lot harder.”

  She laughed. “When can we do this again?”

  Henry shrugged. “You tell me. Galaxy willing.”

  Cate nodded. “I’ll call.”

  He squeezed her hand once, then she climbed out and watched the Forester disappear into the night.

  She turned to head inside, then paused. A glint caught her eye. Around the side of the house, parked just beside the old tool shed… her Camaro.

  She walked over slowly, fingertips brushing the hood. A note sat on the windshield. Just two words:

  “No ticket. – Cam”

  Cate smiled, whispered, “Thanks, Cameron,” and went inside.

  Sunday, 0630 Hours – SGC:

  The clang of gear lockers, the zip of duffels, the clatter of mags and canteens. SG-11 was assembling.

  Marcus looked up. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with our scowly XO?”

  Cate, hair up, vest already on, just smiled.

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Allen added. “She’s grinning. Like… voluntarily.”

  Dillon leaned in theatrically. “I heard she sang in public last night. Actual joy was witnessed.”

  Cate rolled her eyes. “You lot are worse than Vala.”

  They filed out, snickering, gear slung. As they passed the control room, Walter gave them a quick nod. “Landry’s waiting in the Gate Room.”

  The klaxons were quiet. The gate dormant.

  Landry stood with his arms folded. “Gentlemen. MacGregor. Change of plans. There is no Stargate on Gamma Hold.”

  Marcus blinked. “Say what, sir?”

  Hank looked up. A deep mechanical whir echoed from above. The ceiling hatch split open, and a platform descended slowly, lights flickering against the shape perched atop it.

  A Puddle Jumper.

  Cate blinked. “Okay. Who’s flying that?”

  She turned instinctively toward the control room. SG-1 stood behind the glass, watching. Sam gave a small nod.

  Cate looked to Landry. “Me?”

  “You’re the only one who’s logged hours in the simulator, MacGregor.”

  Cate’s voice dropped. “General… I’ve only done the simulator.”

  “Then you’re the perfect candidate.”

  Marcus leaned toward her. “Déjà vu, huh?” He, like Cate, knew SG-1s mission files backwards. He knew all about their trip back in time.

  Dillon piped up, “Do I get to call her ‘Sir O’Neill’ now?”

  Cate sighed. “You’ll all regret this.”

  Cate slid into the pilot’s seat, jaw tense. Marcus beside her, Kirby and O’Hare in the back.

  She keyed her mic. “Colonel Carter… now what?”

  Sam’s voice crackled back. “Marcus, dial the Beta Site. The gate’s far enough from the detention camp, they won’t notice the activity.”

  Marcus did as told, fingers flying across the Jumper console. The gate flared open.

  Sam continued, “Once through, ascend to high orbit. The hyperspace generator’s been stabilised, McKay finally stopped breaking it. From there, use the navigational file uploaded to your HUD. Your target is a system once occupied by Yu. That’s your jump point to Gamma Hold.”

  Cate exhaled. “Understood.”

  Marcus muttered, “This is either going to be very smooth… or very, very loud.”

  Dillon leaned forward. “I’m voting for smooth. I left a sandwich in the fridge.”

  Cate grinned. “Hang on.”

  The Jumper slid into the blue horizon of the gate—and vanished.

  Above the Beta Site – 0720 Hours:

  The Stargate flared open, casting its shifting light across the early morning sky. High above the Beta Site compound, a lone Puddle Jumper emerged, silent, sleek, and almost ghostly in the pale dawn.

  Far below, in a guard tower just inside the perimeter fence, an airman stood with one foot on the rail, binoculars half-lowered. The machine rose smoothly, its form catching a sliver of sun as it climbed. He smiled faintly, mostly to himself. “Good luck, guys.”

  The Jumper climbed steadily into the thin upper atmosphere. The Earth curved gently beneath them, fading into deep blue. Inside the cockpit, Cate checked her displays with quiet concentration, her hands light but confident on the controls.

  In Transit – High Orbit:

  The hum of the Ancient-enhanced systems was soft, not quite audible, like the ship itself was holding its breath.

  Marcus glanced at the nav interface, then back to Cate. “Coordinates locked. Yu’s system. Sector 8-3-Delta.”

  “Copy,” Cate replied. “Engaging hyperdrive… now.”

  With a gentle flicker, space folded.

  There was no jolt. No drama. Just a shimmer outside the viewports and then… they were gone.

  Approaching Gamma Hold – 0800 Hours, Local Time:

  The Jumper dropped out of hyperspace above a green, wild world. There were no orbital satellites, no artificial signatures. Just cloud-draped ridges, winding rivers, and endless, undisturbed forest.

  Marcus pointed at the display. “Gamma Hold was on this hemisphere. Closest match is here—latitude 22.06, long 121.9. Last known position pre-collapse.”

  Cate brought them down through layered cloud, the ship descending like a whisper through mist and fading rain.

  The treetops came into view, immense, towering structures like the offspring of Antarctic beech and kauri, their trunks wide enough to swallow a Stargate. Their upper branches twisted and curled toward the light like arms.

  Dillon whistled from the rear seat. “You sure we didn’t jump to Middle-earth?”

  Kirby grunted. “Could be Endor. If something throws a spear at us, I’m blaming you.”

  Cate hovered the Jumper above a wide clearing, just barely large enough for a landing.

  “Hold tight,” she said softly, feathering the controls. “Bringing her down.”

  The landing was textbook. The ship eased into a vertical settle, turbines adjusting with a soft whine, the hull touching the mossy earth with a quiet, final sigh.

  Cate powered down systems. “Last chance to bail.”

  “Too late,” Marcus said, already rising to pull his backpack from the wall rack.

  They ran the pre-exit checklist in silence, gear, comms, backup battery packs, water, medkits, Zats and rifles checked twice.

  Cate stood by the hatch, waiting for the green light. She adjusted the weight of her pack on her shoulders, rotated once to balance it.

  Dillon groaned. “Why do I always bring more than I need?”

  Kirby rolled his neck. “Because one day, we won’t, and we’ll regret it.”

  The hatch hissed open.

  Gamma Hold – Forest Floor, 0815 Hours:

  The air hit them first, heavy, warm, and thick with moisture. Bird calls echoed through the canopy, some musical, others sharp and metallic. There was a faint scent of earth and sap and something deeper, more ancient.

  Kirby muttered, “It's like a jungle that’s had two thousand years to bulk up.”

  The ground was spongy beneath their boots, thick with old leaf litter and vines that curled upward toward the light. Insects buzzed. Something large, flapped overhead, possibly a bird, possibly not.

  Cate tried not to jump. “Alright,” she said. “No obvious trail, so we split. Two pairs Marcus?” ”

  Marcus nodded. “Twenty-five degrees northeast. Dillon, you’re with me. Circle out from here, mark your path.”

  “Try not to fall in love,” Kirby said, offering a half-salute as the two disappeared between trees.

  Cate keyed her mic. “Check-ins every twenty minutes. If it looks dangerous, we don’t poke it.” She glanced at Kirby. “Let’s move.”

  Forest Recon – 0900 Hours:

  The deeper they went, the more overgrown it became. Roots thicker than tree trunks. Moss so dense it muffled their steps. Animal calls reverberated, nonfamiliar.

  Kirby whispered once, “You’re jumpier than usual.”

  Cate shrugged, eyes scanning the trees. “I’m not used to being out of air support range.”

  They marked trees as they went, small flashes of white chalk against bark.

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  Then Cate’s radio crackled.

  “MacGregor, it’s Larkin.”

  She stopped. “Go ahead.”

  “Two klicks north of you. We’ve got four structures. Old. Concrete. Overgrown. Looks like admin or depot buildings. No movement.”

  “Coordinates?”

  “Locked in five degrees true. We'll wait.”

  Gamma Hold – Outer Perimeter, 0930 Hours:

  Cate and Kirby found Marcus and Dillon perched on a high rock outcrop, crouched low beneath broad-leafed vines. The sun streamed in angled shafts through the canopy above, painting the moss in gold and green.

  Below them, four weathered buildings sat nestled in a clearing that had once been maintained, probably paved, but now it was slowly being overtaken by nature’s slow reclamation. Roots burst through cracks. Ferns grew from the windows.

  Somewhere nearby, they heard it, a rush of water, not distant, a low, thundering roar.

  Marcus gestured down. “Looks like they carved this space out of the hillside. Probably blasted flat when it was built.”

  “Sound of water’s strong,” Dillon added. “Gotta be a big river. Has to be close.”

  Cate studied the buildings. “No power signature. But if the servers are underground…”

  Kirby whispered, “Then there’s a basement. Probably more than one.”

  They waited a beat, listening. Bird calls echoed. Something hissed nearby. Cate didn’t flinch this time. She adjusted her pack.

  “Alright,” she said. “Let’s go knock on some doors.”

  Gamma Hold – Descent and Sweep, 0940 Hours:

  The way down wasn’t a path. It was a slide, steep, overgrown, with loose scree and broken branches hiding beneath the undergrowth.

  Marcus went first, half-surfing the slope with his weight back and rifle slung tight. “Watch your footing,” he called over his shoulder.

  Cate followed next, more controlled, but still slipping once as the moss gave way under her boot. She caught herself with a low curse. Behind her, Kirby muttered something about “goat trails” and tried to stick close to the rockface.

  Dillon, of course, lost his footing halfway down. “Oh crap…!” He skidded the last four metres and landed on his rear in a pile of decomposing leaves. “I'm good,” he said, holding up a thumb.

  Cate rolled her eyes. “Graceful.”

  They reached the bottom, breath misting slightly in the heavy air. The buildings rose before them, grey, old, but recently used. A sign half-faded in another language was bolted to the side of the nearest wall, the letters partially obscured by vines.

  Marcus took point. “Sweep the perimeter first. Let’s not get boxed in.”

  They fanned out, keeping to pairs. No signs of recent tracks. No scent of smoke or fuel. Just the sound of the river in the distance, low and constant like a heartbeat behind the hills.

  The first building was empty. Dark rooms, a collapsed roof in the rear chamber, water pooled across the floor. They cleared it with flashlights and brief calls. “Clear”…echoing off the concrete.

  The second building, more of the same. Rusted pipes. Moss growing in fractured corners. A long-dead rodent skeleton in the remains of a file cabinet.

  Marcus and Kirby took the third, methodically checking each doorway, weapons raised, footsteps light. “Clear,” Kirby said after the last room.

  That left the fourth.

  Building Four – The Office, 1010 Hours:

  Cate led the way, pushing the heavy door open slowly. It creaked like a wounded animal. Dillon was at her back. Inside, the building was staler than the others. The air felt heavier. Dryer. Less moisture damage. Something in here had been sealed longer.

  They stepped cautiously into a central hallway. The far end had collapsed entirely, but midway down, a side door hung ajar. Cate nudged it open with the barrel of her weapon.

  Inside, it looked like a communications room, or at least, it had been. A desk lay flipped on its side. A smashed console blinked intermittently as if still fighting for life. Tangled cords, shattered screens, scattered papers.

  “Looks like an old ops centre,” Dillon said, brushing debris off a chair.

  Cate crouched, squinting at something half-buried under a twisted wreck of circuit boards. “What’s this?” She got down on hands and knees, fingers pulling carefully through broken plastic and warped metal. Something smooth, rectangular. She dragged it out.

  A laptop. Slim. Black. The screen was cracked, one hinge busted clean through.

  “What the…?” Dillon said. “That’s Earth tech.”

  “Or someone’s been to Earth,” Dillon offered.

  Cate turned it over in her hands, lips tightening. “Or we’ve got a spy in our ranks.” She keyed her radio. “MacGregor to Larkin. We found something. Possible data storage device. Earth standard.”

  “We’re two minutes out,” Marcus replied. “Sit tight.”

  Cate turned back to the wreckage, brushing more debris aside. “There might be more of them,” she murmured. “Check behind that…”

  A sound behind them. Movement. Too fast.

  From the shadows at the far side of the room, four figures emerged.

  The first shot was a Zat blast, its unmistakable snap and hum lighting the room. It missed Dillon by inches, hitting the wall in a burst of heat and sparks.

  “Move!” Dillon shouted, diving low and rolling. He came up firing—short bursts, trained reflexes.

  “Cate, go!”

  Cate turned, but something slammed into her temple, a hard, sharp impact that stole the light from her world in a heartbeat.

  She went down, the laptop slipping from her grasp.

  Dillon saw her fall. “No…!”

  He bolted toward her but caught movement in his peripheral, more flashes. Gunfire erupted around him, chewing into the ground, the walls, the doorframe. He made it out the side entrance, diving through a half-rotted panel just as bullets shattered the air behind him.

  Perimeter – 1015 Hours:

  Marcus and Kirby heard the shots before they saw anything. Dillon came skidding out of the brush, half-crouched, breathing hard. “She’s down!” he snapped. “Ambush. Four hostiles. Took her… grabbed the laptop.”

  Kirby was already moving. Marcus raised his rifle. “Cover him!”

  They crept forward again, weapons up, boots slow across the underbrush. No more gunfire. No voices. Inside the building, it was quiet. Too quiet.

  “Cate?” Marcus called. Nothing.

  They cleared the space room by room. The comms centre was empty. No attackers. No laptop. No body.

  Kirby lowered his rifle slowly. “Damn it.”

  Marcus stood in the middle of the room, jaw clenched.

  “She’s gone.”

  Gamma Hold – Outside Building Four, 1018 Hours:

  Dillon stood frozen in the clearing, rifle clenched in both hands, eyes darting from the bloodied dirt to the tree line.

  “She was right there,” he said, voice shaking. “I was right there.”

  Kirby stepped up beside him. “You did what you could.”

  Dillon’s shoulders hunched. “Not enough. I should’ve dropped the one with the Zat before they even moved.”

  Marcus came in from behind, his tone calm but firm. “Dillon, this isn’t on you.”

  Dillon turned, jaw tight. “I’m better than this.”

  The silence that followed was raw.

  Then Marcus said, “Then let’s prove it.”

  Dillon looked up sharply. He felt frozen in place.

  “We need to find her,” Marcus continued. “You want to help? Let’s go.”

  They huddled quickly beside the ruined wall. Dillon’s head was still low, voice gritted with purpose. “I had the gene therapy. ATA positive. Did some time on the Jumper sim back at McMurdo.”

  Kirby looked up. “How much time?”

  Dillon hesitated. “Five… six hours?”

  Marcus stared at him.

  “Okay, maybe one.”

  Kirby groaned. “We’re gonna die.”

  Dillon shot him a look. “I can fly it. I will fly it.”

  Jumper Clearing – 1035 Hours:

  They reached the clearing in a dead sprint, lungs burning, rifles bouncing against their chests.

  The Puddle Jumper was still there. Untouched. Its matte hull gleaming faintly under the filtered sunlight that fought through the canopy above.

  Dillon skidded to a stop, hands on knees, then bolted to the rear hatch. “C’mon, c’mon…”

  The ship recognised his gene signature, barely. The ramp hissed open.

  Inside, he leapt into the pilot’s seat. “Let’s get above the tree line. Full sensor sweep.”

  Marcus strapped into the co-pilot’s chair. “You sure you can…”

  “No.”

  He placed his hands on the main panel. The systems hummed. Dillon took hold of the control yoke. The ship lifted with a shudder, scraped against a vine that had grown overnight, and then powered up and out of the trees.

  “Easy… easy…” Dillon muttered, hands white on the controls.

  The canopy broke. Sunlight poured in.

  Kirby leaned over from behind. “Okay. Not dead yet.”

  Marcus toggled the interface. “Sensors online. Running life signs scan… anything human.”

  The Jumper began to sweep the terrain, methodical and slow.

  Dillon didn’t speak. He was already scanning the valleys with his own eyes.

  Unknown Location – Captivity:

  Pain came first, white-hot and ringing, cantered in her left temple. Her vision blurred. Her mouth was dry. Blood tasted metallic in the back of her throat.

  Cate opened one eye. The ceiling was low. Metallic. Fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly above a wide exhaust vent. Underground. Definitely.

  Her arms were bound, plastic cable ties, tight enough to cut circulation. She was strapped to a chair bolted to the floor.

  The room was clean. Cold. Stark concrete, no windows.

  The door hissed open.

  The man who entered was unremarkable at first glance, mid-fifties, greying hair combed precisely, steel-framed glasses. He looked like a small-town accountant. Until you saw his eyes. Cruel. Clinical. Hungry in a quiet, deliberate way.

  Standard Lucian Alliance issue uniform. Black and tan. He closed the door gently behind him. “MacGregor,” he said softly. “So glad you’re awake.”

  His accent was clipped, Eastern Alliance sector. Cate couldn’t place it, but it brought back echoes of Vegema, of the time she’d mimicked that voice to fool guards with Allienna and the others.

  Then came the words that froze her stomach.

  “Hallam’s whore, I believe.”

  He said it with no venom. Just cold truth, as if reading from a dossier.

  Cate lifted her chin, even as the world tilted slightly.

  “Is that the official title? Or do I get a badge?”

  The man’s face twitched. Just once. Then he stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. Her head snapped sideways.

  Blood trickled from her lip. She spit it at his feet.

  The man toed something toward her. The broken laptop. The hinge barely held. The screen spider-webbed.

  “This device. You can extract data?”

  Cate blinked at it. “Tied up? No. With my gear? Maybe.”

  The man turned his head and called something in a dialect she didn’t recognise. It sounded like gravel rolling in oil.

  Another figure entered, taller, younger, unshaven, a two-barrelled Alliance assault rifle slung lazily over his shoulder. He tossed something to the floor.

  Cate’s backpack.

  The first man knelt and unzipped it slowly, extracting her toolkit piece by piece, laying each item on a nearby metal table like he was performing a ritual.

  “Get to work,” he said without looking at her.

  Cate flexed her wrists. Still tied.

  “You want a miracle, you’re gonna have to untie me.”

  He didn’t answer. But he didn’t say no.

  She kept her voice steady. “You’re making a lot of assumptions about what’s on that laptop.” He cut the ties, but held his pistol aimed.

  He stood up. “We’re not after what you know. We’re after what Ersousia left behind.”

  The name hit like a spark in dry leaves. Cate stilled.

  The man smiled. “Oh. That got your attention.”

  Above Gamma Hold – Puddle Jumper, 1038 Hours:

  Dillon guided the Jumper slowly over the treetops, its silent engines making barely a whisper. The screen in front of him glowed with sensor overlays and thermal blurs.

  “Still nothing,” he muttered.

  Kirby leaned forward between the seats. “You sure this thing works?”

  “It’s not me, it’s the damn trees. Half of them are denser than concrete. Sensors keep bouncing.”

  Marcus keyed the system again. “Narrow the sweep. Focus the beam width.”

  Dillon nodded, swallowing a curse. He hadn’t flown a Jumper outside a sim, and his sweat-soaked palms weren’t helping.

  Then, something. A flicker. A trace signature.

  Marcus leaned closer. “That might be her.”

  Dillon adjusted course. “Hang on, Cate.”

  SGC Gateroom – 1115 Hours:

  The familiar whirl of the Stargate echoed through the chamber, casting blue light across the walls and floor. Walter stepped back from the console as Landry pressed the mic.

  “SG-1, you have a go.”

  Sam, Teal’c, Cam, and Vala stood ready at the ramp’s base, all in full gear.

  Cam grinned, glancing back. “Last one through buys dinner.”

  Vala shrugged. “Then I’ll take my time.”

  They stepped through.

  New Dakara – Stargate Plaza:

  The team emerged onto white marble steps, wide and flanked by tall golden obelisks. New Dakara stretched out before them, a breathtaking fusion of Jaffa heritage and Tau’ri design.

  The grand buildings bore the lines of pyramids and temples, but their surfaces gleamed with polished steel and transparent composites. Hover platforms moved silently through the sky above. Children played in courtyards beneath hanging gardens. Glazed high rises appeared at each corner of the eye.

  Cam looked around and gave a low whistle. “Place just keeps levelling up.”

  From the top of the steps, a familiar figure approached, straight-backed, silver-haired, wearing a modernised, streamlined ceremonial Jaffa armour with a sash in the deep red of Dakaran command.

  “Bra’tac!” Teal’c called out, stepping forward.

  The old warrior smiled as he approached, clasping Teal’c’s forearm with the firm grip of someone who had never truly aged, only refined.

  Cam grinned. “You look younger every time I see you.”

  Bra’tac raised an eyebrow. “I am older every time you see me.”

  Cam blinked. “Yeah, I know. It’s a joke.”

  Bra’tac didn’t reply. Just stared.

  Sam bit back a grin. “He’s missed Earth sarcasm.”

  Without missing a beat, Bra’tac turned. “Come. There is much to show you.”

  And with that, they followed him into the heart of the city.

  Gamma Hold – Unknown Underground Facility, 1120 Hours:

  Cate’s fingers flew across her military-grade laptop, battered, scratched, but still functional. She’d connected the broken HDD using a stabiliser clip from her kit.

  The screen lit up.

  Hundreds of files. Thousands.

  She didn’t have time to process what she was seeing, logs, reports, embedded code strings. Ersousia’s records, possibly. Or worse.

  The bank manager leaned over her shoulder, too close.

  She smelled the sourness of sweat under antiseptic. His hand twitched near his sidearm.

  Cate didn’t hesitate. She leaned back hard, her full weight tipping the chair on its rear legs. He reached out instinctively to stop her.

  Wrong move.

  She twisted, snapping her knees up and over, her arms wrenching to the side as the chair tipped. He stumbled.

  Cate’s boot caught his ankle. She rolled as he fell.

  She was on him before he hit the ground properly, the chair as leverage. Her knee on his back, both legs braced.

  She twisted. Hard.

  His neck snapped like dry twigs. Silence.

  Cate lay there, chest heaving, forehead slick with sweat. She rolled off him and grabbed the edge of the table. Shaking coursed through her body, but there was no time to recover. Pulling the HDD, she shut down the laptop, and shoved it all back into her pack. Then she picked up the bank manager’s pistol. Heavy, ugly, but effective.

  She moved toward the corridor. It was dimly lit, shadows everywhere, the flickering of old lights against cement walls. The air grew cooler as she moved, fresher. A door. Then stairs.

  She heard it behind her, a shout. They’d found the body. Cate ran. Up the steps. Two at a time. Her ribs ached. Her temple throbbed with every beat of her heart.

  A trap door. She shoved it open, sunlight, damp air, the smell of moss. It was the same building, the same damn room she’d started in. The comms centre. Full circle.

  Voices behind her. Closer.

  Cate bolted out into the wild. Trees ahead. No sense of direction. No radio. Gunfire cracked behind her. Chips of bark flew past her face. She ran.

  Branches slashed her arms. Her boots slipped on wet roots. A branch caught her side, and she doubled over, but kept going. The forest seemed to go on forever.

  Then suddenly, nothing ahead. She skidded to a stop.

  A sheer rock ledge. A 150-foot drop. Below, a wide, fast-flowing river, dark and merciless.

  Behind her, shouts. A rifle barked. A round whizzed past her.

  “Oh God…” Cate faltered. There was no time to think about it. She dove. The wind tore past her, the air screaming in her ears. Then, impact.

  The water slammed into her, cold and violent, dragging her down into the churning current. She fought the urge to breathe. Fought the darkness threatening her vision.

  Pebbled Shoreline – 20 Minutes Later:

  She crawled from the river, gasping, coughing, bloodied, bruised. Alive.

  The sun was higher now. Cate lay on her side on a pebbled bank, the water lapping at her boots. The forest above her was silent. Watching.

  Her head throbbed. Her hands shook. But her pack was still with her. The HDD still zipped inside. And she was free.

  There was no sense of the passage of time. The river passed her by, one his way somewhere many miles away, to the sea. Birds chirped, some squawked. Animals grunted, but to Cate it was the sweetest sound she had heard. Her heart beat had finally slowed to something that could pass for human, her breath slow and even. Then she heard it.

  The Jumper swept low over the river’s bend, its silent engines skimming just metres above the canopy before dipping toward the shoreline.

  Marcus leaned over Dillon’s shoulder. “That’s her! Left bank, twelve o’clock!”

  Cate was a sodden figure hunched beside a log, her knees drawn up, eyes locked on the tree line. Her uniform was soaked, torn in places, and she held a long branch like it was part of her arm. Waving madly.

  Dillon eased the ship down, this time with less lurching. The rear hatch opened before the skids even settled.

  “Cate!” Kirby shouted, leaping out.

  Marcus hit the sand behind him, rifle sweeping side to side, cautious. Dillon hung back in the doorway, nervous energy pouring out of him.

  Cate raised a shaky hand. “’Bout bloody time.”

  They reached her, careful hands helping her to her feet. She tried to shrug them off but swayed, and Marcus caught her elbow.

  “Gotcha. We’ve got you.”

  Inside, she collapsed onto one of the side benches, mud streaking the floor beneath her. She was shivering now, skin pale, eyes heavy.

  Marcus dug into her pack. “Your spare gear. Dry stuff. Still sealed.”

  He pulled out a plastic-wrapped bundle and tossed it beside her.

  Cate gave a weak smile. “Thanks. Now get out.”

  The three men blinked.

  “I’m not changing in front of you lot.”

  “Fair,” Dillon said, backing toward the hatch.

  Marcus gave a mock bow. “Call us when you’re decent.”

  Cate hit the control for the rear door. It sealed with a hiss.

  Payback:

  She re-emerged wearing fatigue pants, a grey undershirt, and a zip-up fleece from Dillon’s pack. Her hair was still wet, slicked back. She looked… rough. But standing.

  Steam rose from a small billy can in the corner, a field stove hissing beside it. MRE pouches sat warming inside.

  Kirby passed her one. “Chicken curry and rice, or whatever passes for it.”

  Cate tore it open without ceremony and took a bite. “Tastes like revenge.”

  Dillon passed her a protein bar. “Extra chocolate. You earned it.”

  Cate leaned against the bulkhead, cradling her meal in her lap. “The facility was buried. Clean. Powered. Had to be an old node from before Vegema. They’ve been hiding there for quite a while.”

  Marcus asked, “The goons, Alliance?”

  “Yeah. Definitely. But whose faction? One of them wanted data from the broken laptop. Thought I could retrieve it.”

  “And?”

  “I got the HDD,” Cate said, tapping her pack.

  Kirby leaned forward. “How’d you escape?”

  Cate didn’t look up. “Used a chair. And luck” She didn’t want to talk about it.

  They were quiet for a long moment and then longer.

  “Well damn,” Dillon said finally.

  Cate exhaled, eyes distant. “They weren’t expecting us. But they were ready. It was a trap, but I don’t think it was meant for us. And they had a way off-world.”

  Marcus nodded slowly. “Then they’re not alone out here.”

  Above Gamma Hold – 1330 Hours:

  Cate sat in the co-pilot seat now, her head resting lightly against the bulkhead. Her headache had dulled to a low throb.

  Dillon piloted them skyward, confidence growing by the minute. The Jumper crested the ridge and curved into high altitude.

  Then Kirby’s voice made them all look up.

  “Uh… are we all seeing that?”

  Through the forward screen, an Al’kesh emerged from the clouds in the far distance. Its lines were unmistakable, sleek, dangerous, accelerating fast.

  “Has to be them,” Cate murmured.

  The Jumper shuddered suddenly, a near miss from the ventral canon.

  “Whoa!” Dillon shouted, jerking the controls. “What do I do?!”

  Cate grabbed his arm. “Think weapons!”

  Dillon’s mind raced. Instinct took over.

  He reached for the weapons control glyph, barely remembering the sim layout. His palm hovered. The HUD changed.

  Then, with a hum that sang through the hull, three drones ejected from the rear of the Jumper. They arced through the blue sky like golden spears, elegant, curved, glowing with stored energy.

  The Al’kesh tried to bank, too slow. The first drone pierced its underbelly, the second tore through an engine mount, and the third, silence, then blinding light. A heartbeat later, it erupted in a fireball, trailing smoke and shattered metal as it spiralled out of sight behind the hills.

  Silence settled in the cabin, broken only by the hum of the Jumper’s systems and the distant echo of the explosion still ringing in their ears.

  Marcus leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. “Dillon… remind me never to doubt you again.”

  Dillon grinned, eyes still wide with disbelief. “So… can I fly us home?”

  Cate chuckled, her head resting back against the seat as she closed her eyes. “You earned it.”

  New Dakara – City of Harmony, 1145 Hours:

  The streets of New Dakara shimmered under the midday sun. What once had been a war-torn centre of resistance had transformed into a city of harmony. A living testament to peace hard-won.

  The grand buildings bore the silhouette of pyramids and temples, but their surfaces gleamed with polished steel and transparent composites, reflecting light in ways the old Goa’uld architecture never had. Hover platforms glided silently overhead. At each corner of the eye, glazed high-rises rose above the tree-lined streets, their glass fa?ades gleaming sky-blue.

  They passed parks and courtyards filled with laughing children, families sharing food under shaded pavilions, and market stalls alive with colour. The people’s clothing was no longer the rigid, sombre garb of those once bound by service to false gods, instead, it was a joyful fusion: flowing tunics, embroidered jackets, Earth-style shirts, and bright sashes that caught the breeze.

  There were no patrols, no weapons in sight. Just a city breathing in its freedom.

  Cam gave a low whistle. “You build a place like this, and people don’t forget what they bled for.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Vala added, brushing a stray lock of hair back. “Honestly, I could see myself living here. I’d have a garden. And a rooftop jacuzzi.”

  “Let’s win the galaxy first,” Sam said with a half-smile.

  They followed Bra’tac along a shaded avenue. He led with purpose but at his own pace, clearly proud of every sight he passed. He gestured to a terraced amphitheatre, a new civic centre under construction, and a long public square with rows of fountains and sculptures.

  As they approached the base of a residential high-rise, its upper balconies laced with hanging plants, Cam cleared his throat.

  “Master Bra’tac, we really appreciate the tour,” he said respectfully, “but we’re kinda on the clock.”

  Sam stepped forward. “We’re looking for someone. Professor Karen Parker. She’s been missing for several weeks, and we’re worried.”

  Bra’tac stopped at the building’s entryway, nodding slowly. “Ah. The good professor. Yes. She has been a friend to our people. A patient teacher. She volunteers her time, mathematics, mostly. She has a gift for connecting with young minds.” His expression shifted. “But… it has been some time since I saw her last.”

  “Any idea where she might have gone?” Daniel asked, stepping up beside Sam. “Anything unusual about her absence?”

  “Perhaps one of the other teachers would know,” Bra’tac said. “Come. The high school is near.”

  Vala groaned softly. “Your definition of ‘near’ and mine differ dramatically.”

  “It will be good for you,” Bra’tac replied without turning. “You speak often of balance. This is how one achieves it.”

  New Dakara – Jaffa School Grounds, 1210 Hours:

  The walk took twenty minutes through open parks and quiet streets, eventually arriving at a cluster of low, modern buildings arranged around a central courtyard. It looked more like a university campus than a high school, with wide verandas, floor-length windows, and shaded green spaces scattered with seating.

  A mural on one building’s wall depicted Jaffa children planting trees with Earth children beside them.

  Inside one of the many classrooms, a group of teenagers, around thirteen or fourteen, sat listening attentively as a young woman in a blue blouse and light slacks drew planetary orbits on a smart wall. She looked Earth-born, tall, dark skinned, and focused, her voice clear and passionate.

  Bra’tac tapped gently on the doorframe. “Instructor Mara. May I introduce some honoured guests?”

  The woman turned, surprised. When she saw the uniforms, her expression brightened with curiosity.

  “I’m Colonel Carter. This is Colonel Mitchell, Doctor Jackson, Teal’c, and Vala Mal Doran. We’re with Stargate Command.”

  “The ad said, ‘a unique teaching experience,’” Mara said, smiling as she wiped her hands on a cloth. “They weren’t wrong.”

  The class buzzed with whispers. Bra’tac gave a short nod to the students. “You are dismissed for now.”

  The teens rose and filed out, many sneaking glances at SG-1. One boy whispered something to another and was shushed by a girl who gave Teal’c a shy wave.

  Once the door closed, Sam spoke. “We’re looking for Karen Parker. A maths teacher.”

  Mara’s smile faltered. “Yes, of course. She was my mentor when I arrived. Helped me adjust to… well, everything.”

  “When did you last see her?” Daniel asked gently.

  “Two weeks ago,” Mara replied. “She was meant to help with a geometry module last week, but… she never came. That’s not like her. She was always here, twice a week at least.”

  “Did she mention going anywhere?” Sam asked.

  Mara hesitated, then nodded. “She has her teacher’s college on Vegema and then there’s a place she loved. She took me there once or twice. Said it reminded her of Earth. Very peaceful. It’s an uninhabited world, one of those… cleared out by the Goa’uld years ago.”

  “Coordinates?” Cam asked.

  “I can get them.” Mara crossed to her desk and pulled out a notepad. “She called it Avremar. There’s a lake, trees, rolling hills. Feels like the Lake District in England, if you’ve ever been.”

  Daniel gave Sam a look. “Exactly the kind of place a To…” He caught himself. “… an Englishwoman might go to think.”

  New Dakara Stargate Plaza – 1300 Hours:

  SG-1 stood once more at the base of the steps to the Stargate. The crowd had thinned under the heat, the stone warmed by the early afternoon sun.

  As Bra’tac activated the DHD, Teal’c turned, his gaze drawn toward the nearby gardens.

  Across the courtyard, Ishta sat, surrounded by several children. She wore a flowing white tunic, a baby on one hip, and was smiling as a small girl tied a ribbon into her braid.

  Teal’c stepped toward Cam.

  “Colonel Mitchell. May I be excused for a brief time?”

  Cam nodded, clapping him on the shoulder. “Of course. We’ll hold the gate.”

  Teal’c nodded his thanks and made his way toward the garden, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. He approached slowly.

  The courtyard was quiet beneath the shade of flowering trees. A gentle breeze rustled the ribbon in Ishta’s braid as the small girl finished tying it. She patted the child on the shoulder and sent her off with the others, her eyes never leaving him.

  He stopped a few paces away. “Ishta.”

  She crossed her arms, brow raised. “So, you do remember my name.”

  Teal’c bowed his head. “I have never forgotten it.”

  Ishta studied him for a moment, then gestured to a nearby bench under a broad-leaved tree. “Sit with me.”

  He hesitated, then joined her. The silence stretched between them, filled with everything they hadn’t said for the past year.

  “You’ve avoided me,” she said finally. It wasn’t an accusation. Just fact.

  Teal’c’s jaw tightened. “I have.”

  Ishta waited.

  “I feared… my presence would bring danger to you. It has in the past.” He looked down. “Twice I have allowed myself to love. Twice, I lost them. Not to time or fate… but to enemies who sought to punish me.”

  Ishta didn’t speak at first. Her voice, when it came, was soft but steady. “You are not the only one who carries such scars, Teal’c. I am a warrior. I have lost people too.”

  “I know,” he said quietly. “But I could not bear to lose you. Not again. Not by my hand.”

  Ishta reached for his hand. He flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away.

  “You do not get to make that decision for me,” she said gently. “You are not cursed, Teal’c. You are not a harbinger of death. You are a man who has lived in battle too long, and forgot that love is not a weakness.”

  He finally met her gaze.

  “I chose this life,” Ishta continued. “And I would choose you, knowing all its risks. I accepted the danger the day I took up a staff weapon. And I accept it still. If you love me, then let that be enough.”

  Teal’c looked down at their joined hands, her fingers strong and sure in his. A long breath left him, like a storm breaking.

  “I do love you,” he said.

  “Then stop running.”

  He gave a slow nod, his grip tightening just slightly.

  “I will not run again.”

  A moment of stillness passed between them, the kind that spoke louder than words.

  Teal’c released her hand slowly, his voice low but firm. “I must go. There is a mission we must complete.”

  Ishta nodded. “Of course.”

  He stood, hesitating for only a second before adding, “I will return. That, I promise.”

  Ishta’s smile returned, quiet, but genuine. “I will hold you to it.”

  Teal’c inclined his head in the old Jaffa way, an oath, unspoken. Then he turned and strode back toward the gate plaza, his steps lighter than they had been in months.

  SG-1 regrouped at the base of the Stargate, the sunlight now filtered by wisps of high cloud. Teal’c returned from the gardens in silence, but something in his expression had settled, grounded again, like a weight had shifted.

  Cam looked him over, said nothing, and simply nodded.

  Sam dialled the gate address Mara had given them. The symbols lit up in succession, and with a low rumble and a familiar whoosh, the event horizon snapped open.

  “Avremar,” Daniel murmured. “I’ve read a few mentions. It was a minor agricultural world before the Goa’uld turned it into ash.”

  “Seems Pretaya found a quiet corner of it,” Sam replied.

  Vala adjusted the strap on her pack. “Let’s hope she left the kettle on.”

  They stepped through.

  Avremar – Lakeside, 1335 Hours Local Time:

  The air was cool and damp, heavy with the scent of pine and lake reeds. The gate stood in a clearing, half-swallowed by tall grass and ringed with wildflowers. A narrow dirt track led downhill through a stand of slender trees, their leaves trembling faintly in the breeze.

  SG-1 moved quietly, weapons slung but ready. Birds called from somewhere high in the canopy. The sound of water lapping against a shoreline grew louder as they followed the trail.

  The lake came into view first, glass-still, ringed with mossy boulders and dense forest. Nestled near the edge, partially obscured by low trees, was a small stone cottage with an old red tiled roof, moss-darkened from age.

  Sam stopped first. “That must be it.”

  They approached slowly.

  The cottage door was ajar, its hinges creaking softly in the wind. Cam reached it first and pushed it open fully.

  The interior was in disarray.

  Furniture had been overturned. Drawers pulled out. A bookshelf knocked down. Papers scattered like fallen leaves. The remnants of a meal sat half-covered on the small wooden table, now crawling with ants. A single teacup lay shattered on the floor near the hearth.

  “Someone’s been here,” Cam said.

  “Recently,” Daniel added, crouching to examine the ashes in the fireplace. “Still warm.”

  Vala lifted a small pendant from the floor, Tok’ra-made, finely etched. “She was here.”

  Teal’c stood near the back wall, where a simple sleeping mat had been overturned. “And she was taken.”

  Sam picked up a data pad lying half-buried under a blanket. “If we’re lucky, this still has something on it.”

  Daniel glanced toward the trees beyond the cottage. “We need to assume she’s in danger.”

  Cam nodded, gaze sharp now. “And have I said we’re behind the clock.”

  As one, they all answered. “Yes!”

  1345 Hours:

  Teal’c searched with practiced efficiency, his eye looking for anything out of place. Then he moved toward the corner of the room where the floorboards creaked underfoot, something had caught his eye. He paused, kneeling slowly. Something small glinted faintly in the dust. Reaching down and plucked it up, a button, cracked at the edge, the threading still clinging to a scrap of black fabric. It was dark silver-grey, with a tiny emblem etched into the centre: a clenched fist overlaying two curved blades. Teal’c’s expression darkened. He held it up for the others to see.

  Cam’s eyes narrowed the moment he saw it. “That’s not Tok’ra issue.”

  “No,” Teal’c said. “It is Alliance. Ruthari Division.”

  Daniel looked up from the data pad. “Sounds familiar.”

  “It should,” Cam said grimly. “They were Ba’al’s old shock troops, recruited into the Alliance after his fall. Specialised in black ops, infiltration, and torture.” He nodded toward the button. “That’s their insignia.”

  Vala crossed her arms. “Lovely. So, we’re dealing with the worst kind of professional.”

  Sam looked to Teal’c. “Do we know where they operate from?”

  “There is a base,” he said. “Isolated. Hidden in the outer ring of Ba’al’s former territories. If Pretaya was taken, that is where she would be.”

  Cam stepped back outside, his voice clipped. “We’ll need backup. Another team—maybe two. This won’t be a clean snatch-and-grab.”

  Sam nodded. “We need to go home.”

  SGC Gateroom – 1425 Hours:

  The gate burst open as SG-1 stepped through, boots striking steel with practiced urgency.

  General Landry stood at the base of the ramp, arms folded. His eyes swept across them, dusty, intense, and very much on mission.

  Cam led the charge. “General, we’ve got a lead. And we’re going to need reinforcements.”

  “Debriefing room. Five minutes,” Landry replied, already turning.

  General Landry stood at the head of the table, hands clasped behind his back, as SG-1 took their seats. The overhead screen showed a satellite image of Avremar, still paused on the modest clearing by the lake.

  Cam leaned forward, setting a small object on the polished wood of the table. The button. It was cracked slightly at the edge, dull silver-grey with a clenched fist overlaying two curved blades stamped into its face. A thread of black fabric still clung to its back.

  Teal’c nodded to it. “It is of the Ruthari Division. Formerly Ba’al’s shock troops. Since his fall, they have aligned with the Lucian Alliance.”

  Landry arched an eyebrow. “Ruthari? I thought they were scattered.”

  “Some were,” Cam said. “The rest regrouped. Quietly. They’re specialists, black ops, snatch-and-grab missions, interrogations. This button was found buried in the floorboards of Karen Parker’s cottage on Avremar.”

  “We’re dealing with a planned hit sir.” Sam added.

  Landry gave a slow nod. “Start from the beginning.”

  Daniel leaned back in his chair. “We travelled to New Dakara at Bra’tac’s invitation. He hasn’t seen Karen for several weeks, but he confirmed she was working with schoolchildren, teaching mathematics.”

  Vala piped in, swirling a pen between her fingers. “Quite popular, apparently. We met one of the teachers—Earth-born, civilian. She told us Karen had a small retreat on an uninhabited world: Avremar.”

  Sam tapped the table console, switching the screen to show a scenic shot of the lake. “Cottage was isolated. Secluded. It had all the signs of regular use, Karen was living there. Peacefully.”

  Cam picked up the thread. “Until someone came through and tore it apart. The place wasn’t looted, it was searched. Professionally. Controlled entry, no signs of panic. Either she was taken in her sleep… or knew them and let them in.”

  Daniel nodded slowly. “There were no blood traces. No signs of a firefight. But the presence of that button puts the Ruthari right in the middle of it.”

  Landry looked toward Cam. “Any idea where they might’ve taken her?”

  Cam exhaled. “Possibly. I’ve heard whispers of an old Ruthari installation, Ba’al’s originally, on a world called Vesh Tarak. The base is impossible to approach by stealth. Built into a sheer granite cliff. Only one viable route: a footpath from the Stargate, which sits on top of the cliff.”

  Sam leaned in. “We’re going to need more than just SG-1. Three teams minimum. Marines too. If she’s there, we’ll have to fight to get her out.”

  Landry’s brow creased. “What would the Ruthari want with a Tok’ra professor?”

  Before anyone could answer, the room’s PA system crackled.

  “General Landry, off-world activation,” came Walter’s voice.

  Landry moved to the comm. “What have we got, Walter?”

  A pause.

  “Receiving SG-11’s IDC, sir.”

  Everyone in the room froze. Sam and Cam exchanged a glance.

  “They’re early,” Sam said, already rising.

  Daniel frowned. “And they were supposed to come back through the Beta Site.”

  Teal’c’s expression darkened. “They must have encountered something… or someone.”

  SGC Gateroom – 1430 Hours:

  The iris spiralled open just as the shimmer of the event horizon parted. A moment later, the nose of the Puddle Jumper emerged smoothly, its hull streaked with mud and ash. The little ship cleared the event horizon and floated gently down onto the ramp with a mechanical hum.

  SG-1 leaned against the briefing room’s observation window above.

  Daniel squinted. “Is that… Dillon in the pilot’s seat?”

  Cam stepped closer to the glass. “Cate would’ve given that up over her cold, dead...” He trailed off.

  “Something happened,” Sam said softly.

  Walter’s voice came through over the comm. “Jumper has completed atmospheric checks. Rotating now.”

  Down on the ramp, the Jumper pivoted 180 degrees on its repulsors, aligning its rear hatch with the far wall. The ramp extended with a hiss, stopping just shy of the back bulkhead.

  Cate MacGregor stepped out first, hair tangled, one sleeve torn, a streak of dried blood along one temple. Her face was set in that familiar, no-nonsense expression, but there was exhaustion behind her eyes.

  Marcus and Allen followed, both equally dirty and road-worn. Dillon came last, half-sliding down the ramp, the hard drive case clutched under one arm like a football.

  Cam whistled under his breath. “Now that looks like a story.”

  Landry turned from the window to SG-1. “We’ll pick this up after SG-11’s decon and medical. Let’s go greet them.”

  SGC Gateroom – 1432 Hours:

  The Jumper settled gently onto the ramp as the iris spiralled open. SG-1 stood at the observation window with General Landry, watching intently.

  As the hatch hissed open, Major Marcus Larkin stepped out first—his uniform streaked with ash and forest grime, a fresh scrape visible above his brow. He paused briefly at the foot of the ramp, scanning the Gateroom like a man reacclimating to gravity.

  Cate followed, hair damp but clean, her sleeves freshly rolled. Dillon and Allen brought up the rear, equally worn but uninjured.

  Landry descended the stairs with SG-1 close behind.

  “Major Larkin,” Landry said briskly. “Welcome back.”

  Larkin snapped a crisp salute. “Sir. Mission complete, team intact. One hostile ship engaged and destroyed. Priority intel recovered.”

  Cate stepped forward, retrieving a secure, hard-cased container from under her arm and offering it directly to Sam.

  “Pulled this from an underground Lucian Alliance base. Earth laptop. It was the focus of the attack. Massive data store, I only saw fragments, but it’s loaded.”

  Sam accepted the case with a nod, already reading the weight of it. “I’ll start a secure scan immediately.”

  Cate added, quieter, “If Hallam’s guilty, or being framed, it’ll be in there.”

  Landry gave a short nod. “Understood. Dismissed for now. We’ll reconvene upstairs in thirty minutes.”

  SG-11 gave brief salutes and headed for medical and showers.

  Landry turned to SG-1. “Let’s finish the picture. Upstairs.”

  SGC Briefing Room – 1515 Hours:

  SG-11 returned in fresh uniforms, fatigue still etched into their postures but held with discipline. Major Larkin stood at the far end of the table, Cate just to his right. Dillon and Allen sat across from SG-1.

  Landry entered and took his place at the head of the table.

  “Major, your report.”

  Larkin spoke evenly. “Deployed via Beta Site. Reached Gamma Hold without incident. Terrain was dense, low visibility, thick canopy. We located four old buildings roughly two klicks north-east of our LZ. Most appeared abandoned.”

  Cate took over. “In the fourth structure, we found a hidden comms centre. Earth equipment, buried under scrap. That’s where I found the laptop.”

  Dillon nodded. “Definitely ours. Old, damaged, but running Earth-side OS.”

  Larkin continued. “We were ambushed shortly after. Four Lucian Alliance soldiers. MacGregor was captured during the skirmish.”

  Landry’s gaze turned to Cate.

  She was composed. “Taken to an underground facility. Still live, powered, ventilated, occupied. They wanted me to access the drive. I bought time. Took out the commanding officer, recovered my kit, and escaped.”

  Teal’c inclined his head slightly. “Alone.”

  Cate nodded once. “Made it back to the surface and was recovered by Jumper. Dillon tracked me via thermal signature.”

  Dillon smirked faintly. “Rough ride. Got her out.”

  Larkin picked it up again. “As we climbed, we were intercepted by an Al’kesh lifting from the far side of the forest. Possibly an extraction or response team. Dillon fired three drones, confirmed kill.”

  Sam, seated near the secure laptop setup, looked up. “So, this is what they were protecting.”

  Cate met her eyes. “And what they were willing to kill for.”

  Landry leaned forward. “Did you see anything useful?”

  Cate replied, “Message logs. Alliance comms. Cross-referenced against Earth-side encryption. Names, codenames, stuff someone didn’t want seen. It’ll be in there.”

  Sam nodded. “I’ve already started a secure scan. We’ll know soon.”

  Landry stood. “Excellent work. SG-11, I’ll expect full reports within 24 hours. SG-1, get ready, you’re going to Vesh Tarak, and not alone.”

  Landry leaned back slightly, letting the silence settle.

  Cam raised an eyebrow, half-leaning into the table. “General, if you’ll humour me for a sec…” He turned to Cate. “Cate, just how did you get out of that joint? You snap your fingers, and the CO just dropped dead?”

  Cate didn’t even blink. “Not quite.”

  Daniel leaned sideways and murmured to Vala, “And we were having so much fun. Now we’re back to Miss Grim.”

  Vala laughed. “I do like it when she’s broody. It means something just exploded.”

  Cate gave them both a sideways glance before dryly reciting: “McAllister movement. Flick, twist, head grab, roll.”

  Cam made a face. “Ewk. You broke his neck?”

  She nodded, completely unbothered. “Didn’t exactly have time for negotiation.”

  There was a pause of silence.

  “After that,” she continued, “I ran. They chased. I hit a dead end, a rock ledge overlooking a river.”

  Sam tilted her head, narrowing her eyes with intuitive suspicion. “How big a drop?”

  Cate hesitated. “Fifty feet. Maybe.”

  Vala arched an eyebrow. “Or so, huh?”

  Cate sighed. “Fine. More like a hundred and fifty. Give or take.”

  Cam let out a long whistle. “And I’m the one who gets yelled at for breaking regs.”

  He turned back to Landry. “Apologies, sir. Just needed a little colour to the report.”

  Landry gave him a dry look. “Next time, Colonel, just wait until the mission files are recorded.”

  He paused, then nodded.

  “SG-11, good work. SG-1, prep for deployment. We’ll coordinate team assignments and loadout within the hour. Dismissed.”

  Chairs scraped as both teams stood. Cate glanced at Daniel and Vala on her way out and offered the faintest, driest half-smile.

  Miss Grim, maybe.

  But very much alive.

  SGC Briefing Room – 1522 Hours:

  As the last chuckles faded, Landry’s expression sobered.

  “I appreciate the levity, but I need to be clear—this isn’t a standard op. According to both our Earthly laws and the Interplanetary Charter we agreed to through the IOA, we’ve got a deadline.” He let the words hang. “Thirty-six hours,” he said finally. “If we don’t come up with hard evidence by then, we’ll be forced to release Hallam. No charges. No further detainment.”

  The room shifted subtly. A tension passed between SG-1 and SG-11.

  “Understood, sir,” Cam said, his tone professional now. “We’ll have what we need.”

  Landry nodded once. “Good. Carter, get someone digging into that drive. Every second counts.”

  Sam stood and tapped her comms. “Dr. Lee, Carter. I need you in Lab Two, stat. Priority intel, encrypted Earth drive, potential case-breaking material.”

  A crackle, then Bill Lee’s voice: “On my way. Do I need hazmat?”

  “Just bring coffee.”

  SGC Briefing Room – 1630 Hours:

  The lights were dimmed in the briefing room, the central display showing high-resolution topographical maps of Vesh Tarak, cliff contours, thermal scans, and a rough wireframe of the known Lucian Alliance stronghold nestled into sheer granite.

  General Landry stood at the head of the table, arms folded, watching as the three assembled teams took their seats.

  Present were Colonel Cameron Mitchell, Colonel Samantha Carter, Teal’c, Dr. Daniel Jackson, and Vala Mal Doran from SG-1. Seated opposite them were SG-11’s Major Marcus Larkin, Squadron Leader Cate MacGregor, First Lieutenant Allen Kirby, and Sergeant Dillon O’Hare. Spread along either side of the table sat the members of SG-3: Colonel Al Reynolds, First Lieutenant Ryan Mooney, Staff Sergeant Robert Peterson, and Sergeant Sarah Fuller. At the far end, Captain Tyrell Grant sat alone, while his five marines stood quietly around the room wherever space allowed.

  Landry set the tone immediately.

  “You all know why we’re here. Thirty-six hours. That’s the window the IOA and galactic council laws give us to produce evidence, or release Hallam. He walks, we lose any diplomatic teeth we’ve got left.”

  He turned to Mitchell. “Colonel, brief your teams.”

  Cam stepped up and tapped the table console. The map zoomed on the cliff face, highlighting the gate path and facility entrance.

  “Alright, here’s how it’s going down. This is a two-phase assault. SG-1 and SG-11 go in first—via Jumper. Squadron Leader MacGregor will pilot.”

  Reynolds raised a brow, glancing toward Cate. “Haven’t worked with you before, have I?”

  Before Cate could reply, Major Larkin stepped in smoothly. “Cate transferred from the 56th Squadron, Alpha Site. The Buzzards. She’s been part of the Stargate Program nearly two years. Saw heavy action during the Vegema campaign, and was instrumental in the defence of the Alpha Site during the battle last year.”

  Cam added, “She and her sister Tyra activated the Ancient control chairs. Drones saved the base. Saved us, too.”

  Cate gave a modest nod. “Sir.”

  Reynolds gave a grunt of approval. “Alright then. Let’s go get it done.”

  Cam continued, “We gate in, fly straight across the cliff face, get a visual of their outer defences. Three minutes later, SG-3 and Captain Grant’s marines hit the gate, loud and hard.”

  “Draw their attention?” Grant asked.

  “Exactly,” Cam said. “While they’re focused on the fireworks, Cate brings the Jumper around and takes out the main entrance with two drones. That should neutralise surface defences. Then she lands, and all three teams push in as one.”

  Sam stepped in. “We’ll likely face narrow interior corridors and multiple defensive layers. Heat mapping shows three descending levels. Hostile numbers are unknown, but they’re dug in.”

  Larkin added, “We’ll sweep and clear room by room. Priority is recovering Professor Karen Parker alive. Secondary is intel retrieval, if it’s there, we bring it home.”

  Reynolds leaned over the map. “Complex layout’s bad news for clean extraction. We should expect fallback traps. Charges. Probably a few last-stand lunatics.”

  Cam nodded grimly. “They’re Ruthari. Death before surrender is a real possibility.”

  Daniel muttered, “Wonderful.”

  Teal’c simply inclined his head. “We will adapt.”

  Landry took the floor again.

  “You leave at 1900. Get your teams loaded, brief your specialists, and check every round. This operation needs precision, nothing flashy, nothing loose. Bring our Professor Parker home.”

  As the teams stood to move out, Reynolds passed Cate near the stairs and gave her a respectful nod.

  “Buzzards, huh?” he said.

  Cate glanced sideways. “For a while.”

  He gave a faint smile. “They have a good rep, glad to have you with us.”

  Stargate Command – Gateroom – 1857 Hours:

  The platform lights bathed the Gateroom in stark blue-white as the last of the gear was loaded aboard the Puddle Jumper. The vessel crouched low on its skids like a silent predator, ready to spring.

  Cam adjusted the strap on his tac vest and climbed the ramp, heading for the cockpit without a word. Cate was already seated in the left-hand pilot chair, focused and steady, her hands skimming over the Jumper’s ancient control surfaces with unconscious ease.

  “You good?” he asked, settling into the co-pilot seat beside her.

  “Systems are green,” she said, eyes on the readouts. “Engaging cloak. Inertial dampeners online. Jump drive standing by. Gate coordinates set.”

  Behind them, the rear compartment filled with the quiet rustle of weapons checks, gear adjustments, and unspoken tension. Teal’c sat silently, a calm centre amid the storm. Sam was murmuring something technical to Vala. Daniel tapped a small notebook against his knee, already mentally cataloguing whatever they were about to walk into.

  Marcus Larkin leaned into the cockpit for a moment. “We’ll be tight once we’re through. Cliff face is close. Keep her steady.”

  Cate gave a short nod. “Wouldn’t dream of bouncing off the rocks.”

  He disappeared again.

  Outside, beyond the protective blast doors, SG-3 and the marines waited on standby, Grant’s team in full combat rig, weapons slung, eyes forward.

  General Landry stood just inside the observation window, arms folded. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

  The Stargate came to life.

  Vesh Tarak – Entry:

  The Jumper slid through the gate like a whisper, emerging low and fast above cracked stone and rising wind. Ahead, the cliffs reared up, raw granite, sharp with artificial scars. Just ahead and to the left, half-buried into the cliff face, the Lucian base crouched like a bunker-shaped tumour. As the Jumper turned, the Stargate shut down.

  “Facility in visual,” Cate said, guiding the Jumper along the ridge. “About four hundred metres from the gate. Ground defences are passive… for now.”

  Cam watched the terrain sweep past below. “No obvious anti-air. Maybe they didn’t expect us to come with toys.”

  “Amateurs,” Cate murmured.

  She banked wide, bringing them around behind the bluff. The ship’s silent hum shifted in pitch. “Three minutes. Then SG-3 brings the noise.”

  The chevrons began their sequence once again, a slight tremor in the ground as the gate burst into life, this time boots-on-stone. SG-3 hit the ground at a sprint, Reynolds shouting commands as the team spread out into firing positions.

  “Cover left! Suppressing fire, now!”

  The crack of gunfire broke the stillness, followed by answering plasma bolts from half-hidden turrets embedded along the cliffside facing the gate.

  Captain Grant signalled to his marines. “Ridge line, secure it!”

  Fuller went down to one knee, sighted, and fired. A figure on the ridge dropped hard.

  Peterson vaulted behind cover, calling out, “Right side, two more! Top shelf!”

  “Frag out!” came the reply.

  A boom echoed across the canyon.

  Cate brought the Jumper around at full speed, the cliff falling away beneath them. The ship emerged from the rock's shadow like a bird of prey.

  “Target acquired,” she said. “Firing.”

  The drones launched with a golden streak, carving arcs through the air.

  Impact.

  The base’s outer entrance vanished in a thunderous blast, stone, steel, and defensive emplacements reduced to burning debris. A secondary explosion tore out a support strut, sending a section of walkway crashing into the rocks below.

  “Surface defences neutralised,” Cate said, already dropping toward the clearing.

  The Jumper touched down with a soft shudder. The ramp opened before the dust had settled.

  Cam stood. “Everyone out. Move!”

  Level One:

  The outer corridor was half-collapsed, scorched black from the drone strike. Emergency lights flickered along the ceiling. Inside, the smell of smoke and old sweat mingled with the metallic sting of burnt wiring.

  They moved in tight formation, rifles raised. Cam took point, Sam behind him. Teal’c and Daniel moved as a pair, while SG-11 handled the left flank.

  “Clear left.”

  “Room one, empty.”

  “Movement ahead,” Cate said quietly. “Not close. Not yet.”

  Level one passed quickly, offices, storage, empty bunkrooms. But the signs of a hasty departure were everywhere. Footprints in the dust. Still-warm mugs. A cigarette burning in an ashtray.

  “They were just here,” Daniel said, voice tight.

  Stairwell – Level Two:

  They stacked up on the stairwell. “Watch the corners,” Larkin said. “They’ll want to funnel us.”

  “Going,” Cam said. They breached. Gunfire. Fast and sudden. A hail of bolts lit the stairwell.

  “DOWN!” someone shouted.

  One of the marines took a hit, arm, upper bicep. He cried out, fell back.

  “Pull him out!” Grant barked, dragging the injured man aside while Fuller returned fire from the top step.

  “Two down!” she called. “Keep moving!”

  They advanced, room by room, checking each corridor, each office, each hatch. A second marine was hit, this time in the leg. Mooney went down near the far corridor, clutching his shoulder.

  “Mooney’s hit!” Reynolds called.

  “Fall back to secondary cover!” Larkin shouted.

  Cate dropped to one knee behind an old reactor coil, lining up a shot. “Top balcony, right side.”

  Crack. One down. “Still one behind the pillar!”

  Teal’c moved in silence, rose from cover, and returned fire with measured precision. Quiet, nothing moved, it was if the whole universe had held its breath. Silence again.

  They pushed forward.

  The stairs to the lowest level were tight and angled. The lights flickered more here—less maintained. And the air had changed. Cooler. Dryer. Like a tomb.

  “They’re down here,” Daniel said quietly. “I can feel it.”

  Cam glanced back. “Everyone ready?”

  Cate gave a single nod.

  They descended, weapons raised.

  19:34 Zulu time:

  The teams pulled up short outside a solid reinforced door, alloyed steel, probably layered, blackened from age, sealed tight. A faint electrical hum could be heard through the seams.

  “Final chamber,” Larkin murmured. “Has to be.”

  “No visible keypad,” Sam said, running her fingers along the edge. “Magnetic lock. Reinforced. If we blow it…”

  Cam shook his head. “We kill her. Not an option.”

  Cate stepped forward, eyeing the door and the surrounding frame. “Could use a shaped charge, minimal directional blast. Spaghetti roll, det cord or C4 in the seam.”

  Sergeant Fuller crouched beside her, pulling open a small pack. “I've got linear packs. We can wrap and press. If we push a wedge charge just inside the hinge line, it’ll drop inward without a pressure wave.”

  “Do it,” Cam said. “Quick and quiet.”

  They worked in silence. Cate laid a thin line of explosive like a pastry swirl along the seam, Fuller pressing the strips into every crevice, careful not to disturb the locking mechanism. The others backed into cover.

  “Ready,” Cate said, holding up the detonator. “Stand back.”

  Everyone ducked behind a structural support.

  Click. Boom.

  The blast was sharp, clean, a thump more than a bang. The door groaned, then tipped, falling inward like a dead weight.

  Main Chamber – 19:37 Hours:

  The door hit the ground with a groan of bent metal. Smoke curled into the room.

  Cam was through first, weapon up, Cate on his flank. The chamber was wide but cluttered, crates, power cells, old Goa’uld tech cannibalised for Lucian Alliance use. Wires ran haphazardly along the ceiling, and the stale air reeked of oil, ozone, and sweat.

  Seven Ruthari stood in a loose semi-circle near the far end, all armed. Their faces were blank, calm. Resigned.

  At the back, Karen Parker, strapped to a heavy chair, arms bound to the frame. Explosives clung to the lower braces, and a thin wire coiled up one leg to a charge duct-taped at her spine. A small LED timer blinked faintly. 00:00:00. Inert. Waiting.

  The man in the centre, clearly the commander, held a detonator, a crude but deadly device with a red button and trailing lead.

  “Drop your weapons,” he said. His voice was steady. “You move forward, she dies.”

  Cam froze. “You really think this ends with you walking out?”

  The man gave a faint smile. “We never intended to walk out. We’re just here to leave a message.”

  Sam whispered, “No signal broadcast. It’s wired direct.”

  Daniel added under his breath, “Not bluffing.”

  Cate wasn’t looking at the man. She was watching his hand. The way he held the detonator, loose, distracted. She traced the wire with her eyes. It ran not to the main explosive rig, but to a receiver unit mounted behind the chair.

  One vulnerable point. Just one.

  She shifted her weight slightly. “Cam.”

  He didn’t turn his head. “Yeah.”

  She tilted the muzzle of her weapon a centimetre higher. “I have a shot. I can sever the connection.”

  Cam took a long breath. Then, barely audible: “Take it.”

  She fired. Crack.

  The shot echoed like thunder. The detonator spun out of the man’s hand, the connecting wire snapping mid-air. The red light on the receiver flickered, then died.

  The room exploded into motion.

  One of the Ruthari shouted something guttural, an order? A curse? It didn’t matter. He lifted his weapon.

  Teal’c dropped him with a shot to the chest. Another Ruthari turned to fire and was tackled by Larkin and one of the marines.

  Two went down in a hail of suppressing fire, disarmed before they could even squeeze a trigger.

  Cam barrelled forward, knocking a fourth man against a crate. Vala fired a stun round into a fifth. Fuller and Peterson wrestled a sixth to the ground, tying his hands with cable ties while he thrashed and cursed in a harsh dialect.

  Cate didn’t stop. She was already moving. The body of the commander slumped, just as his hand brushed the second trigger device strapped to his vest.

  The timer lit up.

  

  
1. 14. 13...


  

  “GO!” Cate shouted.

  Sam was beside her in seconds. Daniel grabbed Karen’s chair, trying to keep it steady.

  Cate hit the floor beside the charge, already pulling her kit from her thigh pouch.

  “Det cord. Timer’s real. It’s triggered off the pressure plate.”

  10… “Cutting black... isolating power... Daniel, don’t move her!”

  Karen blinked blearily. “Cate…”

  “Don’t talk. Breathe.”

  6… Cate’s fingers moved fast, tracing the wires, slipping the blade of her knife under the charge casing.

  5.. “Green to white... switch load...”

  3.. She snipped the lead.

  1.. The timer stopped. Silence.

  Cate exhaled hard and sat back, arms resting on her knees, her breath catching like a gut punch.

  Karen whispered, “That... was close.”

  Cate gave her the ghost of a smile. “Too close.”

  “Can I breath now?” Al Reynolds asked from a few metres away, his face a deathly pale.

  Aftermath – 19:41 Hours:

  The room was secured. Five Ruthari were zip-tied and face-down. Two were dead. The explosives were disarmed, packed safely away by Sam and Fuller. SG-3’s medic had already checked the wounded. All stable.

  Cam crouched beside Karen, cutting the last of the cords from her wrists. “We’ve got you,” he said.

  She looked at him, then Cate. “I knew you’d come.”

  Cate just squeezed her shoulder. “You were never alone.”

  From the corridor, Larkin’s voice called out. “Jumper’s ready for exfil.”

  Cam stood, helping Karen to her feet. “Let’s go home.”

  Vesh Tarak Departure – 2057 Hours:

  The hatch sealed behind them with a heavy clunk. The air inside the Jumper was tight, thick with the stench of smoke, scorched metal, and dried sweat. Two marines lay in the rear compartment, bandaged and pale, propped against crates. Fuller sat upright, jaw clenched, one arm in a field sling.

  Cate sat forward at the controls, jaw tight, focus razor-sharp. Or at least that’s what she wanted the others to see. Inside, all she wanted to do was sleep.

  Al Reynolds eased into the co-pilot’s seat beside her, buckling in as he checked the readouts. “When we get home, I’ll ask you what you enjoy most Cate. The PJ, a 302, or your old F18.” He didn’t have to see the fake demeanour she was trying to convince everyone of, to know she was covering a tired and highly strung young woman internally. Al hoped those few words might take the knot out her mind.

  It worked, she twisted her head his way, smiling. Cate relaxed her shoulders. “You left out the 402.”

  “Yeah I did, didn’t I?”

  In the back Cam piped up. “Give me the old Viper any day.”

  Cate chuckled, then tapped the console, calling up the wormhole interface, and keyed in the direct dial to the SGC.

  The gate sprang to life outside the Jumper, blue light flooding the scarred landing zone.

  Reynolds toggled the comms. “Stargate Command, this is SG-3 aboard the Jumper, transmitting IDC now.”

  He held down the second channel.

  “Be advised, we’ve got three wounded on board, two marines and one from my team. Non-critical, but they’ll need immediate attention. Full team returning with recovered hostage. Request med response on arrival.”

  SGC Control Room – 20:58 Hours:

  “Receiving SG-3’s IDC, sir,” Walter said, already typing. “And a priority transmission, wounded incoming, ETA under one minute.”

  General Landry nodded once. “Signal Medical. Have Dr. Lam meet them at the gate.”

  Walter relayed the command even as the wormhole burst open on the main screen. “Jumper coming through.”

  The Puddle Jumper emerged from the gate like a ghost out of war, its hull scuffed and streaked with plasma burns. It settled to the deck with practiced precision, the hum of its systems already winding down. The ramp lowered.

  Dr. Carolyn Lam was there before it touched the floor, flanked by two nurses and a medical tech with a gurney. Behind them stood Anne MacGregor, white coat over her navy grey and blue BDUs, her expression unreadable.

  Cate was first down the ramp, eyes scanning the chaos of home. When she saw her mother, she faltered just slightly, but held it together.

  Reynolds followed, rifle slung, gesturing for medics. “Fuller’s walking wounded. Mooney’s got a shoulder tear. Corporal Jenkins took a thigh shot.”

  “Get them to trauma two and three,” Lam ordered crisply. “Vitals on site, full eval upstairs.”

  As medics rushed to assist, Cate moved to her mother. “Didn’t expect you,” she said.

  Anne gave her a long look, then pulled her into a hug. “I heard about Gamma Hold. And then you disappeared into the worst part of Alliance space.”

  Cate chuckled softly, though her face said she was too tired for much humour. “It was a holiday. Just didn’t come with a brochure.”

  Anne touched her cheek, gently. “I’ll be in the med bay. Come find me.”

  “I will.”

  SGC Briefing Room – 21:40 Hours:

  The lights were dimmed slightly, the air recycled and dry. Tired bodies settled into chairs that still bore the warmth of previous meetings. Dust clung to the cuffs of uniforms, scratches marked gear and forearms, and the scent of scorched fabric and antiseptic still hung faintly on a few of them.

  Colonel Mitchell sat forward at the long table, one boot lightly tapping the floor. Beside him, Colonel Carter nursed a data pad but didn’t look at it. Teal’c sat still and solid, arms folded. Daniel leaned back in his chair, rubbing a thumb over his lip in thought. Vala, unusually subdued, stared at the far wall.

  Across the table, Marcus Larkin rubbed the bridge of his nose, Cate MacGregor sat upright but pale, Allen Kirby nursed a bruised wrist, and Dillon O’Hare sipped slowly from a paper cup of coffee. Not far from them, Al Reynolds leaned over with a low murmur to Ryan Mooney, whose shoulder was wrapped and immobile under his uniform jacket. Fuller was there too, her side freshly patched but her eyes sharp. Captain Tyrell Grant stood near the rear, quiet, while his marines hovered just beyond the doorway, alert but unintrusive.

  At the end of the table, wrapped in a thermal blanket, sat Professor Karen Parker. Her reddish hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, a line of dried blood still visible on her temple. She said nothing, but her eyes missed nothing.

  General Landry stood at the head of the room, back straight, gaze steady. He looked at Mitchell.

  “All right, Colonel. Let’s hear it.”

  Mitchell launched into the report, steady and succinct. He laid out the assault, Jumper deployment, coordinated strike timing, drone support. He didn’t embellish or underplay.

  When he reached the final chamber, he slowed slightly. “They had her rigged to blow. A live trigger wired directly. Cate took the shot, severed the detonator before the commander could activate it. But he had a secondary fail-safe. She disarmed it with one second left on the clock.”

  A pause settled over the room like a held breath.

  Marcus picked up the thread next, detailing the enemy count, seven Ruthari, two killed in the initial exchange, five subdued and restrained. Weapons secured, the explosive packs now disarmed and logged.

  Karen broke the silence then. Her voice was low, but steady. “The commander said it was about SG-1. That I was bait.”

  Cam nodded. “They planned to die. They just wanted to take us with them.”

  Landry turned to Cate. “That was clean work.”

  She gave a small nod. “Got lucky.”

  Before Landry could reply, the door opened with a muted hiss and Dr. Bill Lee entered, tablet in hand, looking sleep-deprived and faintly apologetic.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, stepping in. “We’ve finished going through the HDD. All of it.”

  Sam leaned forward. “Okay Bill, give it to us.”

  Bill drew a breath. “Right. So... here’s what we’ve got. First, the obvious: there are no direct references to Hallam. No email chains, no financial links, no encoded transmissions, not even a shadow trace.”

  There was a beat of silence. Then Daniel said quietly, “So Hallam walks.”

  Bill lifted a finger. “But, there’s something else.”

  Now every head turned.

  “I’ve been cross-referencing against active Alliance cells, and one name kept turning up. Over and over.”

  Cate sat forward. “Ersousia.”

  Bill nodded. “Big time. We found troop requests from over a dozen system governors, all routed through a centralised command interface tagged to Ersousia’s council credentials. There’s a half-terabyte of materials. Shipyard orders, plasma cannon requisitions, Naquadah black-market trades, personnel transfers. Even atmospheric conversion specs for a world called Delmak… a graveyard planet.”

  Teal’c frowned. “Delmak was wiped out many years ago.”

  “Exactly. There’s no strategic value unless you’re building something big, somewhere no one’s looking.”

  Bill scrolled, then quoted: “‘Alas, Jegazia fought well, but finally the virus took him. Rest his soul.’” He looked up. “Except... Cate flagged this earlier.”

  Cate’s voice was calm but sharp. “He wasn’t infected. He was assassinated. The virus was a cover story.”

  Karen’s voice broke the hush. “Jegazia was the Prime Minister of Lucia. When he died, Ersousia stepped in. But that seat on the Council of Twelve requires enormous private wealth… wealth that doesn’t come from ‘governing.’”

  Vala leaned back, arms folded. “So, he bought his throne, lied to get it, and made himself the centre of the Alliance’s procurement pipeline.”

  Bill nodded. “And from what we’ve seen, he’s been turning the Alliance into a private army. His army.”

  Teal’c said nothing, but his hands closed tightly on the arms of his chair.

  Landry’s gaze swept the room. “But none of it implicates Hallam?”

  “No, sir. At least... not yet. Nothing we can act on. Hallam’s name doesn’t appear in any of it. It’s clean, too clean.”

  Cam looked over at Cate. “You saw some of this, didn’t you?”

  Cate nodded once. “Not all of it. But enough to know we had something worth bleeding for.”

  Landry exhaled through his nose. “So Hallam walks.”

  Sam added, voice cool, “And Ersousia climbs.”

  No one said anything for a long moment.

  Daniel finally broke the silence. “We’re not done.”

  Cate’s voice was quieter, but resolute. “Not by a damn sight.”

  The room emptied slowly. Quiet footsteps and murmured exchanges drifted toward the corridor. After-action fatigue hung over everyone like fog, but a sense of grim unity held firm.

  Cate lingered near the rear, hands at her sides, face unreadable. Just as Landry began to turn toward the stairwell, she spoke.

  “General. May I have a word... privately?”

  Landry paused. He looked at her, really looked, and something about her expression, the quiet composure beneath all that exhaustion, gave him pause. There was... weight there. Calm, but not passive. He straightened slightly.

  “Yes, Maj…” He caught himself. “Squadron Leader. Of course.”

  She offered a small smile as they turned toward his office. “Major’s fine, sir. I don’t mind at all.”

  Landry gave a polite chuckle and nodded, still catching up to her stride.

  The two of them disappeared into his office. The door clicked shut behind them.

  Level 22 – Guest’s Room 6 – 22:31 Hours:

  The door opened. Cate MacGregor stepped inside.

  Hallam looked up from the table where he’d been jotting notes on a paper napkin. He smiled as she entered, standing smoothly. There was no stiffness in his posture, no weariness in his eyes. Just confidence, quiet, careful confidence.

  “I gather I’m being released?” he said, watching her.

  Cate returned his gaze without blinking. “At 0800. We’ll gate you back to PU9-27K. Your people are being prepped.”

  That drew a flicker of something. Gratitude? Caution? “You’re sending me back earlier than expected.”

  She kept her tone even. “There’s been a development. One you should know.”

  Hallam stepped closer, listening now.

  “The group that abducted Professor Parker, the Ruthari, they weren’t after her. They were torturing her for intel.” She paused. “Specifically, your location.”

  The smile faded, slowly.

  Cate continued, her voice neutral but steady. “They had Alliance weapons. Equipment marked through supply chains we’ve traced back to a small but powerful wing of the Lucian military. We believe their orders came from a central figure.”

  She let the next words land precisely where she wanted them.

  “Possibly Ersousia.”

  Hallam exhaled through his nose. “He was never subtle.”

  “Nor patient, obviously.” Cate added softly.

  He turned away from her slightly, arms folding. “I had no idea Karen was even a target. That kind of move... it reeks of desperation.”

  “Or paranoia,” she offered.

  Hallam nodded slowly. “He must’ve suspected. About Lucia. About me waiting to make my move. That I’d honour my deal with Earth.” He glanced back. “He didn’t know I planned to take Lucia after the Alpha Site attack. I kept that close.”

  Cate gave no reaction. “And the twelve Alliance ships that left for the Alpha Site? They were the only ones in play. Our prisoners confirmed that.”

  He met her eyes. “Then he had nothing left to send back. Couldn’t retake Lucia even if he wanted to… but how…” Hallam hesitated, almost trapping himself. “Could he have had his own fleet?” Stilling his face, he hoped Cate hadn’t caught him.

  Cate didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

  Hallam’s expression darkened. “So... he sees me as a liability. A traitor.”

  “You tell me,” Cate said, tone still quiet.

  There was a pause.

  “I never knew where those ships came from,” he said carefully. “They weren’t Lucian stock. If I’d known what was coming…” He caught himself. “I’d have acted sooner.”

  Cate didn’t call him on it. She didn’t need to. The space between his words was enough.

  She straightened. “You’ll be escorted in the morning.”

  Hallam nodded, distracted now, his mind clearly moving faster than his tongue.

  As she turned to leave, he said, “MacGregor.”

  She paused.

  “Thank you.”

  She didn’t smile. “Sleep well.”

  Then the door closed, and she was gone.

  Hallam stood still for a long moment. Then he sat down, picked up the napkin again, and began writing something new.

  SGC – Infirmary Corridor – 22:40 Hours:

  The hallway outside the med bay was quiet, lights low, the chaos of earlier finally giving way to silence. A nurse passed by with a clipboard, nodded politely, then disappeared around the corner.

  Cate walked into the corridor, freshly changed, hair towel dried after the quickest of showers. The adrenaline had worn off. What was left in its place felt like ash, exhaustion without rest.

  Her mother sat on a bench beside the vending machine, coffee in hand. She stood as soon as she saw her.

  “Hey,” Cate said softly.

  Anne tilted her head. “Hey yourself.”

  They stood for a moment before Cate slid into the hug without hesitation this time, arms tight around her mother’s shoulders. She let herself stay there longer than she’d meant to.

  “You almost died again,” Anne murmured into her hair.

  “I know,” Cate said. “I almost didn’t mind.”

  Anne drew back, studying her face.

  Cate gave a weak smile. “Just being honest.”

  “You scare me sometimes.”

  “I scare me sometimes.”

  Anne reached up and gently touched the side of Cate’s head. “You’re tired.”

  “Bone deep.”

  “You need sleep.”

  Cate huffed a breath. “I need answers first.”

  Anne handed her the coffee. “Then sit with me for five minutes and pretend you’re human.”

  Cate hesitated... then did. They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Cate said, almost to herself, “We didn’t lose anyone. We should be celebrating.”

  “But it didn’t feel like a win,” Anne finished.

  Cate stared into the coffee. “No. It didn’t.”

  A pause. Anne reached over and gently placed a hand on hers. “Maybe that’s not the point right now.”

  Cate looked over, eyes tired but clear. “Maybe not,” she agreed.

  And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like she had to get back up. Not yet.

  SGC Rec Room – 2247 Hours:

  “I don’t like it!” Cam fumed. “It’s a crap plan.”

  The rec room resembled a student lounge after finals. SG-1 and SG-11 lounged in mismatched chairs, sprawled on couches, or camped by the pool table. Colonel Reynolds had joined them too. Some wore jeans and T-shirts, others, like Marcus, had gone halfway civilian, his favourite Hawaiian shirt thrown over standard-issue BDU pants.

  Cate’s latest ‘suicide mission’ had them all on edge.

  She’d told them after dinner. Just like that. That she’d be going with Hallam in the morning to help his people find a new world. She hadn’t told them why. Orders from Hank, say nothing. Not that it would’ve mattered. She couldn’t explain what she didn’t fully know. As she told Landry: for the most part, she’d be winging it.

  “For my money,” Marcus began, voice quieter now, “Cate’s the best sidekick I’ve ever had. Reliable. More than good at what she does. Knows a crackin’ good joke or two. And she’s smart. I don’t want to lose her.”

  “Amen to that,” Al Reynolds added, lifting his bottle.

  From the corner came the gentle tapping of Sam’s laptop keys. She hadn’t said much all evening, but she hadn’t missed a thing. “I’m going on a hunch,” she said finally, eyes still on the screen, “Cate’s up to something. And I don’t think it’s going to end any time soon. I think she’s committed herself to something long-term.”

  “I agree,” Teal’c rumbled, sinking the eight ball with casual precision. He held out a hand.

  “Damn it!” Dillon slapped a ten-note into Teal’c’s palm, scowling. “You’re supposed to be a noble warrior, not a pool shark.”

  Cate’s Quarters – 23:39 Hours:

  The only light in the room came from her phone. Cate sat cross-legged on the floor, her back resting against the foot of the bed, crucifix glinting between her fingers. The glow of the screen lit her tired face.

  Thirteen-year-old Phoebe appeared, her brother Ben’s eldest.

  “Put Daddy on for me, Phoebes.”

  There was giggling in the background, eight-year-old Zac yelling about something, and then her twin brother’s scruffy, lopsided face filled the screen.

  “Cate,” Ben said a little too cheerfully. They were twins, after all. He knew her rhythms. “You in trouble? Someone after you?”

  She didn’t answer, just gave him a soft shake of the head. And that was enough. He knew. It was more serious than boy trouble or bruised pride.

  “I might be gone for a while,” she said quietly. “Just… wanted to say I love you.”

  His expression shifted. No more jokes.

  “Love you too, sis. Just come back in one piece, yeah?”

  He didn’t add that he hated her job. Or that he hated visiting her in hospitals. He didn’t need to.

  Cate smiled through it all. Reassured them both, Ben and the kids, that she’d be back soon. Then ended the call.

  She sat in the dark for another ten minutes, holding her crucifix. Steeling herself. It had to work. Hank said it would. That was good enough for her.

  Capitol City, Lucia:

  The lights in the chamber were soft, golden. Ornate windows reflected against polished stone. Ersousia stood alone before a long console, running final checks on the day’s manifest. Cargo. Shipments. Troop redeployments. His eyes scanned it all.

  He was humming. Still confident. Still convinced.

  As far as he was concerned, the scheme he and Hallam had designed was flawless. They’d covered every angle. Discussed every contingency. The Tau’ri would be provoked, pushed into retaliation. They would mobilise. Attempt to retake Lucia. Strike at the heart of the Alliance. Just as expected.

  Ersousia would resist, of course. Fiercely. For a time. And then… lose.

  That was the beauty of it. A carefully orchestrated defeat. The Tau’ri would believe they’d won. The Alliance would fracture. And when the time came, Ersousia would fall, publicly, dramatically.

  He would return to his stasis-held host, re-merge, and Ersousia would be declared dead. Ares, however, would survive. He placed a hand over his heart. “Just a little longer,” he whispered.

  And smiled.

  SGC – Cate’s Quarters – 06:00 Hours:

  She woke early. Dressed in silence.

  The letter to her parents sat folded on the desk. The video for Tyra was already stored on a thumb drive, with Vala’s name scrawled across the label in Cate’s handwriting.

  She meditated for as long as she dared. Centred her breathing. Focused her thoughts, she drifted as she closed her eyes.

  Then at last she was ready.

  SGC Gateroom – 07:45 Hours:

  The Gate Room was almost empty. Just a lone security airman at the ramp and Hallam, standing off to the side with his hands folded behind his back. He looked calm. Patient. Too patient.

  Cate walked in, dressed in desert fatigues, no insignia visible. A duffel slung over one shoulder.

  She didn’t look at Hallam as she stopped beside him.

  He didn’t greet her.

  The wormhole bloomed to life ahead of them, silent and shimmering.

  No words were needed.

  Not yet.