Lucia – Capitol Command Sublevel

  Hallam’s eyes opened fully now, the faint grin still on his face despite the deep wound in his side. The doctor at his flank moved with brisk, efficient motions, dabbing blood away from his tunic.

  “You came,” Hallam rasped. “Was starting to wonder if Earth changed its mind.”

  Cam stepped forward first, rifle lowered but still held at the ready. “We don’t usually ignore distress calls, Hallam. Though you do have a history of… mixed signals.”

  Hallam coughed, either a laugh or a wince, and gestured for the medic to give him a moment.

  “Believe me, Colonel, if I’d had any choice, I wouldn’t be making them.”

  Behind Cam, Sam stepped closer, eyes flicking to the surroundings. The room was a mess, emergency lighting flickered from cracked panels above, the walls patched with hastily rigged supports. A crude radio setup buzzed faintly in the corner, monitored by two young Lucians in battered uniforms.

  Cate moved with Marcus, quietly assessing exits and potential ambush points. She didn’t say much, just watched. Hallam saw it and noted her silence.

  “They’ve been hitting us for a week,” he continued. “Started just after the celebrations died down. A coordinated push from two of the old Alliance fleets. I thought we got them all. Turns out Jegazia had two ships tucked away for a rainy day.”

  “You’re certain it’s Jegazia?” Sam asked.

  Hallam nodded faintly. “He disappeared just after the Alpha Site attack failed. I assumed the bastard killed himself. Guess not.”

  He shifted, letting out a grunt of pain. “They’ve been pounding the city, block by block. The people are terrified. My government’s scattered, most of my command staff are dead or missing. I’ve got maybe four hundred loyal fighters left in the capital.”

  Marcus stepped forward. “And you want us to do what? Repel two Hat’aks with a couple of M4s and goodwill?”

  Hallam didn’t flinch. “I need help stabilising the capital. Reassure the population. Keep the enemy from making a clean sweep. I can still rally the eastern provinces, but not if Lucia falls. Not if I die down here in the dark.”

  “Who’s leading them?” Sam asked. “On the ships?”

  Hallam hesitated. Just a flicker. Then: “One of the old warlords. Ersousia. I didn’t even know he survived the purge. I thought he went down with the Ha’tak over Polara.”

  Cam frowned. “Never heard of him.”

  “Most haven’t. He kept to the shadows. But he was dangerous. And ambitious.”

  Behind them, Cate’s voice finally spoke, quiet, but deliberate.

  “Convenient he shows up now. When you’re at your weakest.”

  Hallam didn’t rise to the bait. He just gave her a tired look. “Life’s full of timing like that, MacGregor.”

  Cam just shook his head, he stood, already moving. “Teal’c, Marcus, you’re with me. Time to see the lay of the land.”

  Cate turned to him. “You want a fourth?”

  Cam gave her a crooked grin. “Not this time. Someone’s got to keep Hallam alive.”

  Scouting the Ruins:

  Lucia’s streets had become a graveyard.

  Cam moved with practiced ease, Teal’c a silent wraith at his flank, Marcus covering the rear. The heat from fires still smouldering across the city carried the scent of ruin. The echoes of a society in collapse, broken tiles, shattered statues, and the occasional child’s toy, blackened in the corner of a shopfront.

  They ducked low as a Lucian patrol jogged by across the avenue, clearly not Hallam’s men.

  “They’ve got discipline,” Marcus muttered, eyes narrowing. “This isn’t a ragged holdout. This is military coordination.”

  Cam swept his scope across the skyline. Something glinted above, a drone, circular, alien in design.

  “That's not Lucian tech,” Cam murmured.

  Teal’c, eyes fixed upward, said only, “We are being watched.”

  They slid away, unseen.

  Holding the Line:

  Gunfire drew closer, they had to leave Hallam, Cate knew he wasn’t going anywhere, despite what they all felt about him.

  Sam crouched beside a Lucian tech, re-routing power cables to stabilise comms. Nearby, Daniel translated for a frantic quartermaster trying to ration ammunition. “Tell him it’s enough. It has to be.” Tiredness crept into his voice, and his expression said the rest.

  On the west side of the complex, Cate dragged Kirby behind a barricade, blood streaking his sleeve. “It’s a graze,” he hissed.

  “Next time duck faster,” she snapped, then applied gauze with expert speed.

  Shots cracked in the distance. Vala popped up, fired twice with her G36, and ducked again. “I’m beginning to miss the Replicators. At least they were quiet.”

  Cate didn’t smile.

  A young lieutenant began to panic, shouting conflicting orders and losing grip on her squad. Cate stepped in, calm and cold as stone. “Pull your fire teams back to the east wing. Reinforce the stairwell. Do it.”

  The lieutenant blinked, then obeyed without question.

  Across the room, Sam looked up and caught Cate’s eye. She gave a silent nod of respect.

  Low Orbit – Above Lucia:

  Bridge of the Ha’tak Gordek’ra

  Through the sloped viewports, the planet burned.

  Below them, Lucia’s capital lay shrouded in smoke and fire. Explosions dotted the skyline. Flares of ground-to-air return fire arced upward, weak and scattered.

  General Kommandant Ersousia stood at the command podium like a statue of war, hands clasped behind his back, sharp eyes fixed on the devastation. The Lucian fleet’s colours adorned his long crimson coat. His face was composed, jaw tight, a general made in the mould of the old school, merciless, calculating.

  Behind him, the bridge buzzed with muted urgency. Officers murmured into headsets, relaying orders across multiple divisions. No one raised their voice.

  “Sir,” said Mahor Kolonel Amon Lan, stepping forward. His voice was steady, but there was strain behind his words. “We’ve received civilian distress signals from the south quarter. The bombardment’s killed hundreds. The hospitals are full, the old city’s flooding with refugees…”

  Ersousia didn’t turn.

  Lan pushed on. “We’re not fighting Hallam’s troops there. They pulled back hours ago. What we’re doing now... this isn’t battle. It’s murder.”

  Now Ersousia turned, slow and deliberate.

  “Your concern is noted, Mahor,” he said flatly. Then: “You are relieved.”

  Lan blinked. “What?”

  Ersousia drew a sleek Lucian sidearm from beneath his coat and fired.

  The shot cracked like thunder. Lan collapsed to the deck, a smoking hole in his chest.

  Gasps hissed around the bridge. One technician gagged.

  Ersousia lowered the weapon, eyes sweeping the room.

  “Let this be clear to all of you,” he said. “Hesitation is disobedience. Disobedience is treason.”

  He gestured toward a junior officer standing frozen at the forward station. “You. What’s your name?”

  “M-Mahor Jast Venil, sir.”

  “Congratulations. You’re promoted. You now hold Kolonel Lan’s duties. Begin strikes on the east quarter. I want Hallam divided. Bait him south, hit him from behind.”

  The newly appointed Mahor nodded quickly. “Yes, Kommandant.”

  Ersousia holstered his weapon and turned back to the viewport.

  Below him, Lucia burned. And no one dared speak again.

  Balcony Recon:

  Cam ordered another recon, Cate and Kirby put their hand up for it. Since Mitchell figured they were probably the two fastest on their feet, he didn’t refuse them.

  Hours later, Cate stood on what was left of the grand balcony of the Capitol building. Below, smoke curled between buildings. The smell of concrete dust and burning insulation drifted in lazy coils. She didn’t flinch at the crack of distant gunfire.

  Kirby crouched beside a crumbled support pillar, scanning with a scope. “Contact. About a dozen. Retreating, wounded. No support.”

  Cate dropped into a crouch beside him, tracking the soldiers with her own scope.

  “That’s Hallam’s eastern flank,” she said quietly. “Last one.”

  Kirby grunted. “They’re falling apart.”

  Cate watched another plume of smoke curl skyward. Her thoughts flicked back, unwanted, to another time, another face.

  Flashback: Two Months Ago

  Cate sat with Karen Parker on the veranda of the Lucian diplomatic residence. A light breeze carried the sound of string music from the plaza below. Karen leaned back, swirling something red and questionable in a glass.

  “You don’t trust him, do you?” Karen asked without looking at her.

  Cate barely moved. “He’s too smooth. He practises sincerity like it’s an art form .”

  Karen gave a dry chuckle. “Most politicians do.”

  “He’s worse. I don’t know why, I just…” Cate broke off. “I can feel it.”

  Karen was quiet for a long moment. “If something happens here… don’t come back for me. Promise me that.”

  Cate turned, frowning. “Karen...”

  “I mean it. Do your job, Cate. That’s what you’re good at.”

  The Pact: (Nine weeks ago)

  Beneath the Grand Archives, in the shadowed belly of what was once an Alliance war chamber, Hallam waited alone.

  The silence was thick, broken only by the distant drip of condensation and the low hum of forgotten machinery. A shaft of light distorted the air, the ring platform was activated, and Ersousia emerged, his boots echoing on ancient stone.

  He was tall, imposing, and utterly calm. In his hands, a sealed container. Within, something alive, and ancient. A Goa’uld symbiote writhed against the glass, its eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. Ares had given up the body he had used for several centuries.

  Hallam stood, gaze flicking between the man and the creature.

  “You’re certain this is the only way?” Hallam asked.

  Ersousia’s voice was steady. “The Lucian hierarchy is fractured. Your influence is local. Mine… is not. But a name without a face is meaningless. I need yours. And you, Hallam, need victory.”

  The container hissed as Ersousia set it down between them.

  “You will retain command,” Ersousia added. “Your armies, your legend. I will be… the voice behind the throne.”

  Hallam hesitated. “Are you ready for this?”

  “I have prepared,” Ersousia said quietly. “He and I have… reached an accord. I am not his slave.”

  Hallam eyed the squirming creature. “That’s what they all say.”

  Ersousia’s eyes narrowed, the faintest smirk playing at his lips. “Then let us prove them wrong.”

  With deliberate motion, Ersousia knelt, opened the case, and exposed his neck. The symbiote surged forward.

  Hallam flinched.

  Ersousia did not. He arched his back as the creature embedded itself, its scream echoing through the chamber as his body convulsed. For a moment, he seemed to collapse, then slowly straightened. When he looked up, his eyes blazed with golden light.

  “Together,” the new voice said, a fusion, smooth and controlled… “we will make them kneel.”

  And Hallam had smiled.

  The Decision:

  Cam threw a folder onto the planning table. “That’s two recon runs. One from me, one from Cate. Same result.”

  He looked at Hallam. “You’ve lost the city.”

  Hallam sat up slightly, wincing. “We still have soldiers…”

  “Who are being slaughtered,” Marcus cut in. “We’ve seen the streets. Your people are dying for ground they can’t hold. The last of your troops have retreated here.”

  Cate finally spoke. Her voice was low, steady. “Your evacuation window closes by nightfall.”

  A silence stretched between them. Then Hallam exhaled and nodded once.

  “PXB-332,” Sam said. “We regroup there.”

  Cam looked to Cate. “You and Marcus set the route. Kirby and Sam handle logistics.”

  Cate didn’t move.

  Hallam caught her eye. “Is that acceptable to you, Squadron Leader?”

  She didn’t blink. “We’ll get you out. That’s it.”

  It wasn’t enough, he had to try. “There are at least fifty men and women here in the citadel, can we get them through as well?” He was guessing at the number, but he was confident the surrender order when through in other sectors of the city. At least that was the plan.

  “Cam?” There was no way, Cate was going to make a decision on something like that.

  At first, he was shaking his head, indicating a negative, until Daniel mentioned another old site no longer in use by Stargate Command. There was shelter there in the form of some old ramshackle buildings, that were still sturdy enough to keep them out of the weather. “Right, Hallam your people will go to a safe site for the time being, but you…” He looked straight at him. “…will be coming with us. We’ll go with them, and re-route once we’re there.”

  They had it all figured out, Hallam couldn’t find any argument against it, so he said quietly. “So be it.”

  The Signal:

  As the two SG team began to set things in motion, Hallam stole a moment to move to the quiet of an old comms alcove nearby, Hallam stood alone. He drew a small transmitter from a hidden panel, pressed one symbol, and held it closed. A moment later he was back on the cot.

  In orbit, aboard a Ha’tak cloaked in low orbit, General Ersousia turned from the viewscreen as a subordinate stepped forward.

  “A signal. From Hallam.”

  Ersousia smiled faintly.

  “He’s gone.”

  He turned to a tactical display showing the city below, red zones blinking with Tau’ri signatures now retreating.

  “Begin.”

  PXB-332

  The Stargate flared to life in the dusk of PXB-332, bathing the scorched scrubland in pale blue light. Wind stirred the dry grass, and the distant silhouette of a jagged caldera loomed on the horizon. It was quiet. Too quiet. A stark contrast to PU9-27K, a former SG team safe site, abandoned a year ago for somewhere drier. For five months during that world’s summer in the northern hemisphere, at least where the old site was located, it rained. Fortunately for Hallam’s people, they could enjoy a brief two month long spring; if they stayed that long.

  Marcus was the first through, his rifle sweeping the horizon. He gave a sharp nod. “Clear. Let’s move.”

  Hallam stumbled slightly as he stepped out behind them, leaning heavily on Teal’c for support. His uniform was rumpled and smudged with blood, some real, most strategically applied. He wore exhaustion like a costume.

  “Fraud.” Cate muttered under breath as she followed behind them.

  “We’ll head west,” Marcus said, jerking his thumb toward the ridgeline. “The entrance is buried behind a narrow ravine. Twenty minutes if you don’t slow us down.”

  Hallam gave a weak smile. “After everything, you still don’t trust me?”

  Daniel stepped up beside him, holding a black cloth. “No. We don’t.”

  “Oh, come on,” Hallam protested, but Marcus was already behind him, checking the ties on the blindfold.

  “It’s standard protocol,” Marcus said dryly. “You’re not exempt because you know how to give a rousing speech.”

  “You’re not still mad about the speech?” Hallam laughed. “I thought I nailed that one.”

  Daniel wasn’t smiling. “The last time someone tried to charm their way out of a blindfold, they turned out to be working for Ba’al.”

  “Point taken,” Hallam muttered as the cloth was pulled over his eyes.

  Vala leaned toward Sam and murmured, “Do you think he actually believes he’s innocent?”

  Sam’s expression didn’t change. “I think he believes he’s the hero.”

  Behind them, Cate gave a small grunt as she adjusted her pack. “That’s what makes him dangerous.”

  They moved fast through the ravine, following familiar rock markers etched by years of SG team visits. By the time they reached the hidden entrance to the cave, Hallam was limping, and even Teal’c’s patience was showing wear. The blindfold was finally removed once they reached the threshold.

  Inside, the stash cave was exactly as left it a day ago: clean, dry, and dimly lit by strung-up lights powered by the trusty old Honda generator tucked into its stone nook. There were bunk frames, ration bins, medical kits, and the unmistakable smell of old socks and gun oil. O’Hare pulled once, twice and the little motor spurted into life on the third pull. “Ya know, we really could use a naq generator here. This is just so…”

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  “Old?” Sam finished for him. “We don’t leave anything behind that could be used against us sergeant.”

  “Fair point Colonel.” The low wattage lights came on, giving an eerie glow on the sides of the ancient volcanic formations.

  Teal’c eased Hallam onto one of the bunks, Cate silently passed him a canteen. He took it, nodding, but the gesture wasn’t returned. She had to admit, whether he was faking it or not, he was putting on a good show.

  Sam then moved to double check the power setup while Vala poked around, immediately unearthing a tin labelled “Hands off – SG-3” and opening it with childlike delight.

  Outside, the rest of SG-1 and SG-11 secured the perimeter, set motion sensors, and checked the local terrain for anything that might bite or explode. Inside, the cave offered a momentary illusion of safety, enough for tired shoulders to loosen and voices to drop.

  Cate sat on an overturned supply crate, elbows on her knees, eyes fixed on the scuffed concrete floor. “I haven’t seen Karen since Vegema. Since… after the surgery.”

  Sam glanced over from where she was unpacking medical kits. “She was supposed to go back for her ship, right?”

  Cate nodded. “Her Tel’tak. She said she’d circle back after checking the jump point. I haven’t heard a thing since.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “And it’s not like her to vanish. Not without a trace.”

  Vala, perched on a cot and half-unwrapping a ration bar, tilted her head. “She’s Tok’ra, remember? Vanishing without a trace is practically their mating call.”

  That earned a snort from Sam, but Cate didn’t smile. She looked… hollowed, almost.

  “I keep thinking maybe she got pulled into something big. Or maybe…” She trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish.

  “She’s alive,” Sam said gently. “If Pretaya wanted to disappear, she could. But she wouldn’t leave you hanging unless she had to.”

  Cate gave a quiet, humourless laugh. “Funny thing is, back on Vegema… I thought she was training me. Now I realise, most of the time, I was just trying to keep up.”

  “Well, look at it this way,” Vala said, tossing the now-empty wrapper behind her with a flick. “You were keeping up with a Tok’ra spy. That counts as winning.”

  The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was full of shared weariness, quiet respect, and the kind of understanding forged not through words but war.

  Then Vala stretched dramatically. “Now, if no one objects, I’m going to find out if the generator can run a coffee machine. Or a wine fridge.”

  It had been two hours since their arrival. They had scouted the site thoroughly, as Jack would often say, ‘Better to be cautious, than sorry.’ Cate and Teal’c had just returned to make sure no one had doubled back and followed them, Hallam’s people in this instance, especially his brother Lenarzo, whom she had met ever so briefly when she first went to Lucia with Karen. It was clear.

  Cam knew Landry would be fretting, they had missed their call in by twenty-four hours. “Sam, we need to check in. Let Landry know Hallam’s alive, and the mission didn’t go exactly to plan.”

  “I’ll take Marcus and Kirby,” Sam said.

  Cam nodded. “Good. Let 'em know we’re still breathing.”

  The three walked in silence for a stretch. Boots crunched over dry ground. Birds called somewhere high in the canopy of distant trees.

  Marcus finally broke the quiet. “Behind that permanent scowl,” he said, “what’s Cate really like?”

  Sam glanced at him sideways. “She’s… complicated.”

  He gave a dry chuckle. “Aren’t we all.”

  “In the two years I’ve known her,” Sam continued carefully, “she’s proven herself time and again. Quiet, competent, brutally smart. Loyal to a fault. She doesn’t do things for show, and she doesn’t say more than she has to.”

  Kirby raised an eyebrow. “Is she always that elusive with men, or just ones named Marcus?”

  Sam gave a small laugh. “You’ll have to ask her that.”

  Marcus didn’t press, but his silence said enough. He appreciated the answer, and knew there was more Sam wasn’t saying.

  The gate loomed above them. Kirby moved to the DHD and began dialling. The chevrons lit one by one. The final symbol locked, and the wormhole burst open with a thunderous kawoosh. He then sent SG-11’s IDC.

  Walter sat upright. “Incoming wormhole. IDC confirms it’s SG-11, sir.”

  General Landry stepped forward, relieved but wary. “Put it on speaker please Walter.” There was a slight pause, the usual static that came from the connected wormhole.

  “Stargate Command, this is Colonel Carter,” Sam said into her radio. “Do you read?”

  “Reading you loud and clear, Colonel,” Landry replied. “You’re two days late.”

  “Yes, sir. Things didn’t go as planned on Lucia.” She glanced toward Marcus, then back to the gate.

  “We located Hallam. He… had lost control of the city. The Lucia was attacked from orbit, apparently Jegazia held two Hat’aks in reserve. Now there’s a new figure calling himself General Ersousia. He’s coordinated, well-armed, and backed by something… powerful.”

  There was a break, more static.

  “Goa’uld?” Landry asked.

  “We’re not sure, sir. Hallam could only say he was a part of the old guard, one of twelve who controlled the Alliance. We did what we could, but in the end, Colonel Mitchell ordered a withdrawal.”

  Landry exhaled, absorbing the report. “Very well then, Colonel. Bring Hallam in.”

  “Understood, sir,” Sam replied. “Carter out.”

  Walter looked up. “VIP room, general?”

  “No Walter, one of the secured rooms until Colonel Horowitz can assure us, he’s safe to have around.” He turned and left, headed upstairs to his office. The gate shut down.

  They watched the Stargate deactivate. Then, wordless, they turned back toward the tree line.

  Kirby looked between them. “So... anyone else really looking forward to that debrief?”

  Sam didn’t answer. Marcus just sighed.

  The wormhole shimmered and burst outward, and then SG-1 and SG-11 emerged from its blue depths, walking slowly down the ramp. Dust-caked boots struck steel. Their uniforms were streaked with grime and smoke. Marcus had a gash above one brow. Sam’s collar was half torn. Behind them came Hallam, moving like a man used to being followed, his long coat torn but dignity untouched.

  The silence in the gate room was heavy, punctuated only by the soft shifting of weapons as the SFs stepped forward to meet them. Two security airmen peeled off and made a line for Hallam.

  He smiled faintly and raised his hands, eyes taking in every detail, the ramp, the lighting, the guards’ uniforms, the way the one called Kirby shifted his weight to favour a bruised side. He kept his expression open, curious, even a little impressed.

  “I come in peace,” he said lightly.

  “Standard procedure,” one of the guards muttered as they patted him down. From inside Hallam’s sleeve, they extracted a narrow, curved blade, elegant and old, more ornamental than practical.

  Cam gave Hallam a look. “Keep cooperating and maybe I’ll make sure Vala doesn’t get to run your next debrief.”

  “A fate worse than death,” Hallam murmured, allowing himself to be led away. “Though not by much.”

  Cate watched him go, jaw tight. “He’s enjoying this way too much.”

  “Shower,” Sam said simply.

  “Yes, please,” Marcus groaned. “I smell like I’ve been sleeping in a carbon filter.”

  “You have,” Kirby muttered. “You fell asleep on the charred side of a wall.”

  They disappeared down the corridor, muttering and limping, the gate room falling silent once more behind them.

  Steam curled from the shower tiles, the water still tinged pink at their feet. Aches faded; tension did not. Thirty minutes later, clean uniforms offered little improvement in mood. Cate towel-dried her hair as they made their way down the corridor to the observation room. Sam tied hers back into a damp bun. Cam nursed a burnt coffee. Marcus walked with a slight limp.

  They stepped into the small room above Interrogation Three. One-way glass looked down into a grey space with a single metal table.

  Hallam sat like a man at luncheon, hands folded, posture relaxed. The plain-issue fatigues did nothing to diminish the sense that he was still a chancellor at heart. Annie Horowitz sat opposite him, stylus in hand.

  “Name, full rank, and affiliation,” she said, voice clipped.

  “Hallam,” he replied. “Former Chancellor of Lucia. Current… guest of the Tau’ri.”

  “Not a rank,” she said flatly.

  “No,” he agreed mildly. “But it does have a role. There were… are, twelve of us. Heads of the ruling families.”

  Annie didn’t blink. “Tell me what happened on Lucia.”

  A pause. Hallam looked up, as if he could see through the glass. “My forces took Lucia in two days, as per our agreement. It was as bloodless as possible under the circumstances. Jegazia’s army surrendered. As far as we know, he fled.”

  “You know this because?” Her fingers tapped rapidly at her tablet.

  Another pause, this one slower. Hesitant. “He had a Tel’tak. His own personal transport. It was missing after the battle.”

  She barely glanced up. “And then?”

  “For a week, we did nothing but restore peace. Ensured those displaced by the former administration were housed, fed, and kept warm. We distributed clothing, food, and blankets among the poorer districts.” A sheen of sweat formed on his brow.

  SGC intelligence said he wasn’t lying, not about that, anyway. The prevailing theory, courtesy of both the Tok’ra and Stargate Command analysts, was that he was setting himself up as a kind of messiah. Annie needed to hear it all.

  “What happened after that?”

  “Two ships arrived. One was an Anubis-class mothership. My own fleet was destroyed in fifteen minutes. Ground troops landed without warning. Then came the orbital bombardment. We held as long as we could.”

  Whether he was a gifted actor or simply the galaxy’s best liar, it was unclear. He showed something close to sincerity, but there was a sharpened edge to his voice.

  “Continue,” Annie said, unfazed.

  “My forces folded, sector by sector.” He folded his hands again. “We lost control. Then the sky opened. Hat’aks dropped low over the city. Buildings turned to ash in seconds. I did what I could to stabilise the population. But Ersousia was already positioned, two capital ships, full battalion deployment. It was over before I could even say the word surrender.”

  “Who?” Her eyes narrowed slightly.

  “The one who led the attack. He identified himself as soon as his ships arrived. Demanded our surrender without preamble.” Hallam was sweating now, subtle, but telling. His eyes betrayed it.

  “I see. And Jegazia?”

  “Dead,” Hallam said without hesitation. “Of that I’m certain. Ersousia wouldn’t leave a rival alive.”

  “You saw the body?”

  “No.” A faint smile. “But I felt it. The moment the control hub went silent. The moment the sky lit up. He was gone.”

  “Interesting,” Annie said, barely.

  Hallam gave a small shrug. “Is it?”

  Above, Cate leaned against the railing, arms folded, jaw set.

  “How would he know that?” she murmured.

  Sam frowned. Cam straightened.

  “He’s bluffing,” Sam said. “Trying to stay central.”

  “Or he’s got a link we don’t know about,” Cam added.

  Landry said nothing, gaze fixed on Hallam, who now reclined in his chair, perfectly at ease, playing his part to perfection.

  They watched in silence.

  Then Landry spoke.

  “There’s someone else who might help untangle this,” he said quietly. “Prisoner. Alpha Site. Brigadier Bixby’s got him in a secure cell. He’s not talking.”

  He turned to the door.

  “SG-1 and SG-11. You’re going. 0700 tomorrow.”

  Cate didn’t move. Her eyes stayed locked on the man below.

  Neither did Hallam’s smile.

  Evening – SGC:

  After the intense, drawn-out operation on Lucia, the base had entered that familiar post-mission lull, too quiet to be comfortable, too unsettled to be restful. Yet, for the members of SG-1 and SG-11, it was a welcome reprieve.

  Teal’c withdrew to his quarters without a word, settling into the rhythmic calm of kel’no’reem. Candlelight flickered across the walls as he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to find balance once more.

  Sam Carter ducked into her lab, saying she just needed to "check one last thing", though everyone knew she'd lose track of time among the data logs and diagnostic outputs. The chaos of equations was her version of peace.

  Vala, in typical fashion, wandered until she found mischief. She explored the base like a child with keys to a museum, eventually charming two SFs into giving her a brief tour of the armoury, until someone noticed and redirected her firmly back to another level.

  Cam Mitchell gravitated to the rec room, where he sprawled across one of the worn couches with a bag of chips and a sports replay on mute. By the time the first half ended, he was out cold, chips forgotten, remote still in hand.

  Down in the gym, SG-11’s Allen Kirby and Dillon O’Hare faced off on the mats. No words passed between them, just the thud of movement, the steady rhythm of sparring that neither fatigue nor bruises could dissuade. It wasn’t about winning. It was about routine. Control.

  Major Marcus Larkin watched from a bench nearby, still in fatigues, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was a calmness in his eyes. He let the boys work it out. They needed it, and he knew better than to interfere.

  And Cate?

  Cate had somewhere else to be.

  Parents, can’t live without them, can’t live with them:

  The elevator pinged open at Level 22, quiet, polished, with a hint of sterility that made the SGC’s heart seem even more distant. Cate stepped out, tugging her jacket sleeves into place as she eyed the corridor.

  The security detail didn’t stop her. The airman at the end simply gave a crisp nod and gestured toward a door. She knocked once.

  Will opened it himself.

  “Cate,” he said with that same low, even tone she remembered from years ago. He stepped aside to let her in. “Glad you came.”

  “Sir,” she replied automatically, too old a habit to break.

  The room was modest by VIP standards, but still better than the mess. A small table sat in the centre, already set for three. Anne was seated, smiling warmly.

  “Sweetheart. Sit. You must be exhausted.”

  Cate nodded and did as told, grateful for something to do with her hands. The meal was simple: grilled chicken, rice, roasted vegetables. Real food. Quiet. No clatter of the mess hall. No low-level hum of duty.

  For a while, they spoke like normal people. Anne brought up Cate’s horses, told her how she was taking care of them for her. Will asked about her sidearm loadout like it was dinner conversation. Cate offered guarded answers. Not cold, just measured.

  Then came the shift.

  “I’m moving my command,” Will said. “Effective Friday. The Repulse, our new Aurora-class, is finally ready for commission. She’ll be the new flagship.”

  Cate looked up slowly. “I see.”

  “I’d like you there,” he said. “Not in uniform. Just... be there.”

  Cate’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t answer right away.

  “If time permits,” she said at last. “I’ll make a point of it.”

  Anne didn’t speak, but her hand reached out, gently brushing Cate’s. The gesture was soft, nonverbal encouragement without pressure. Cate didn’t pull away.

  They finished the meal in near silence, with only clinks of cutlery and the quiet hum of an overhead light filling the gaps. It looked to anyone watching, like a family gathering.

  But inside Cate’s mind, the barriers never quite dropped.

  0600 Hours – Stargate Command:

  The mess hall echoed with the quiet scrape of forks and muted conversation. SG-1 and SG-11 were gathered across two tables, the early hour doing nothing to dampen their usual rhythm.

  O’Hare was animated about something, possibly waffles. Kirby looked mildly horrified.

  “Just maple syrup, not a whole lake,” Marcus muttered.

  “Don’t question culinary genius,” O’Hare replied, pouring more.

  At the next table, Cam cradled his coffee like a lifeline. Daniel poked at his eggs as though debating their origin. Cate sat beside Sam and Vala, sipping tea, half-listening, half-waiting.

  Vala leaned over. “It’s like watching schoolboys. Do they ever stop?”

  Sam shook her head. “Nope.”

  “They’re bonding,” Cate said flatly.

  “Through cholesterol,” Vala added.

  Cam checked his watch. “Right. Let’s move out.”

  Gate Room:

  “Chevron seven… locked.”

  The kawoosh pulsed, bathing the walls in shifting blue light. Walter turned to Landry.

  “Alpha Site confirms IDC, sir. Brigadier Bixby is expecting them.”

  Landry nodded. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”

  Cam glanced over his shoulder. “Let’s go, people.”

  The teams stepped through together.

  Alpha Site – Gate Room (Sublevel 5):

  The gate flared out into a large concrete chamber. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the temperature colder than expected.

  Brigadier Michelle Bixby stood waiting with her hands clasped behind her back. Her coat bore signs of fresh snow, boots dusted white.

  “Welcome to winter,” she said dryly.

  Cam grinned. “Good to be back.”

  Cate stepped forward, eyes alert. “Is Tyra around?”

  Bixby’s face softened slightly. “Library, last I saw. She's been wrestling with astro nav all week.”

  Cate gave a nod and turned quickly toward the stairwell.

  Alpha Site Medical Wing – East Block:

  Sam and Teal’c stood just inside the doorway. The room was warm, the radiator under the window humming. A single hospital bed stood beneath a wide pane of glass that revealed the snow-covered landscape outside.

  The woman lying in the bed didn’t stir.

  Denekin Musteri. Lucian Alliance. Kommander. She had survived the downed troopship east of the DZ. Multiple fractures, internal injuries, and, according to every officer who’d tried, an ironclad refusal to talk.

  Teal’c stood like a mountain.

  Sam stepped closer. “We’re not your enemies.”

  The woman said nothing.

  “We want to understand why your people attacked. There was no reason, Earth was not a threat to the Alliance. Who gave the order?”

  Still nothing.

  Teal’c tilted his head. “It is not dishonourable to speak. Even warriors require truth.”

  Denekin turned her head slightly.

  “I have nothing for you.”

  Ten minutes later, Cam and Marcus stepped in.

  Cam leaned against the far wall, arms folded.

  “You know,” he said conversationally, “you don’t have to play it this way. You’re not at risk here. We’re not going to hurt you.”

  Marcus pulled up a chair but didn’t sit. “We know your ship went down. We know you had two hundred and fifty survivors. Your soldiers, they left you for dead, that has to mean something?”

  No reaction.

  Cam blew out a breath. “Okay then. Maybe someone else.”

  Alpha Site – Library, sub-Level 2:

  The moment Cate stepped through the door, Tyra nearly launched herself off her stool. “Cate!” she cried, practically bowling her over.

  They hugged tightly, Cate’s grin cracking through her usual tension. Vala stood to the side, smiling.

  Cate pulled back. “Still taller, I see.”

  Tyra rolled her eyes. “By half an inch.” It had become a running joke between the two, who was the tallest. Only in her boots and Cate barefoot, should the truth prevail.

  “What are you working on?”

  Tyra’s expression soured slightly. “Astro navigation. Vector equations are killing me.”

  Cate frowned thoughtfully. “Want a shortcut?”

  Tyra blinked. “You have one?”

  “I might,” she said, pulling up a stool. “But I’ll need clearance from Bixby. And maybe caffeine.”

  “I’ll get the tea,” Vala said cheerfully.

  Before the next page could be opened, Cate’s radio chirped.

  “MacGregor, this is Carter.”

  Cate tapped her comms. “Go ahead.”

  “Could use your help down in medical. You’re up.”

  “Copy that,” Cate said, standing. “I’ll be back, Munchkin.”

  Tyra smirked. “Bring chocolate.”

  Alpha Site – Medical Room 107:

  Denekin looked up as Cate entered.

  No fanfare. No clipboard. Cate pulled the chair close and sat. Silence.

  She took a breath, casual, almost relaxed. “My name’s Cate MacGregor.”

  Denekin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Your name matters little to me.”

  Cate didn’t flinch. “That’s alright. I’ve had worse first impressions.”

  She glanced toward the snow-laced window. “I was in a room just like this. Same bed. Two months ago.”

  No reaction.

  “I know who you are. Denekin Musteri., Kommander. You commanded the troopship that crashed east of the zone.”

  The woman turned her head slightly, but said nothing.

  Cate folded her arms. “How’s the food? Blankets, okay?”

  “Your people fed me. Cleaned me. Patched the bones. Now you want my soul?”

  “Not today.” Cate leaned back. “Just a conversation.”

  Denekin’s gaze sharpened. “You’re not with them.” She nodded toward the door.

  “No,” Cate said. “Not really.” She lied.

  A pause.

  “I don’t talk to uniforms.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m wearing cotton.” Cate was wearing the standard blue day work uniform, she had no badges of rank her SG patch was still in her closet drawer.

  That earned the faintest twitch of a smile.

  Cate didn’t press. She just waited. Calm. Still.

  Finally, Denekin’s voice, low and hoarse: “Why do you care?”

  Cate looked her in the eye.

  “Because you’re alive. And so am I. Let’s start there.”

  Cate adjusted the chair slightly, boots crossed at the ankle. Denekin hadn’t said another word since “Why do you care?” That was a long five minutes ago, but Cate didn’t push it. She simply waited.

  Outside, snow filtered down like falling ash, softening the edges of the world beyond the tall window.

  Cate spoke quietly, watching the grey light shift across Denekin’s face. “Need anything?”

  A long pause. Denekin didn’t look at her. Then, almost inaudible, the word came:

  “Pyjamas.”

  Cate blinked. That was unexpected. She didn’t react for a few seconds, then a small smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She keyed her radio. “Tyra, you free?”

  A moment. “Sure, whatcha need?”

  Cate glanced at Denekin, then back at the door. “Feel like donating a set of winter pyjamas to a good cause?”

  Tyra’s laugh came through. “On my way.”

  Tyra’s Quarters – 10 minutes later:

  Tyra’s room on the Alpha Site looked like someone had air-dropped a teenage Outback souvenir shop into an Air Force dorm. A Kangaroo crossing sign leaned beside a bookcase, and a wall of caps faced a row of boots and shoes to rival Vala’s collection.

  Vala took it all in with a raised brow. “She has more fashion than me.”

  Tyra rolled her eyes and dug through a drawer. “Winter set... here. Blue flannel. Soft.”

  The two made their way to the infirmary, Vala still muttering about teenagers with better wardrobes than galactic smugglers.

  Outside Denekin’s room, Sam and Daniel looked uncertain.

  “You sure it’s wise?” Daniel asked. “Too many people in there could…”

  Cate opened the door a little and waved them off with a finger waggle. “Don’t be silly. Come in, girls.”

  Vala pushed the door fully open and entered beside Tyra, holding the folded pyjamas with ceremonial care. Denekin’s eyes tracked the motion, wary but not dismissive.

  “They’re for you,” Cate said. “Softest we’ve got.”

  Denekin took them, slowly, like they were made of crystal. For a moment, she just held them against her chest.

  Cate dropped to one knee beside the bed. “Would you like help changing?”

  No answer. Denekin stared out the window again.

  Then, quietly: “Yes.”

  Together, they helped her out of the ward gown that always failed to cover everything. Her movements were stiff, her ribs still healing. Vala handled it with unusual tenderness. Tyra fetched a blanket. Cate dropped the gown into a nearby dirty linen basket.

  When it was done, Denekin looked... different. Pretty. Human, her dark hair falling to her shoulders.

  Cate ordered tea. Chamomile and honey.

  When it arrived, Denekin sipped slowly. Her hands trembled slightly, but not from pain. The warmth seemed to loosen something.

  “It’s all such a waste,” she said suddenly. “So many lives. Gone. Because of your aggression.”

  Cate didn’t respond immediately. But Vala did, she shifted beside her. “What do you mean?” she asked gently.

  Denekin looked at the three women. “If Earth hadn’t threatened the Alliance, if you hadn’t declared yourselves as our enemy, none of this would’ve happened.”

  Cate’s voice was calm. “Is that what your people believed?”

  Denekin nodded. “That’s what we were told. Alliance intelligence. Clear as day.”

  “Did Jegazia make that announcement himself?” Cate asked.

  Denekin hesitated. “No.”

  “Then who?”

  A long pause. Denekin looked between them. Her eyes softened when they landed on Tyra. “Who are your friends?”

  Cate introduced them by name. When she said, “This is my sister,” Denekin’s expression changed.

  “She is beautiful,” she whispered. “You are lucky. A sister like this one… “She inclined her head towards Cate. “… that is a gift.”

  Tyra flushed, smiling.

  Then Denekin leaned back slightly. “Jegazia was dead. Assassinated. We were told Tau’ri agents did it. General Ersousia made the announcement. After that, the vote was taken. War was declared.”

  Cate’s eyes widened, and behind her, Vala exhaled slowly.

  “Wait,” Cate said, “You said Ersousia?”

  Denekin nodded. “He took over Intelligence Ministry after Jegazia was assassinated. Ran it like a fortress. The Council of Twelve installed him then as Prime Minister”

  Cate’s mind reeled. Hallam had said Ersousia had led the invasion. But if Denekin was right, he’d been part of the Lucian hierarchy before the war even started. Something stank.

  “One more question,” Cate said. “Why didn’t the Alliance commit both fleets?”

  Denekin frowned. “We did. Six ships to each fleet.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Yes, there were three other ships. Searching for the Destiny.”

  Vala stiffened. “The Destiny?”

  Denekin nodded again. “The Ancient ship, they believed it’s secrets could make us more powerful.” For a moment she looked sad. “As far as we were concerned, that part of our shared history with your people is closed. Too many lives were lost for a cause without reason.” She hesitated, weariness and the tea were starting to prevail. “Jegazia… wanted peace between us… “

  Cate leaned back in her chair. Cold dread settled in her stomach. Hallam had lied. And she was almost certain Ersousia hadn’t taken control after the war, he’d helped start it.

  Denekin was already drifting, her breathing slow and even. The blue pyjamas looked soft against the starch-white bedding, and the tea had done its work. Tyra gently tucked the blanket around her, and Cate stood slowly.

  In the hallway outside, Brigadier Michelle Bixby was waiting, arms folded.

  “Is she asleep?” she asked softly.

  Cate nodded. “Out like a light.”

  “Did she give up anything?”

  Cate held up a small notepad. Her handwriting was tight, efficient. “Enough to rewrite half of what Hallam told us. She gave us Ersousia’s connection to the Intelligence Ministry. The Destiny search detail. And confirmation they thought Jegazia was assassinated by Earth agents.”

  Sam and Cam were already waiting down the hall. Daniel searched his feet for something and Teal’c was inspecting the walls for the twentieth time.

  Cate handed the notes to Sam, who scanned them quickly, her brow tightening with every line.

  “Good work,” Cam said. “We’ll take this back now. Landry’s going to want it yesterday. Cate, you and your team should stay a while longer, just in case.”

  “Understood Colonel.” Cate watched them walk away, then she turned back to Michelle. “Keep an eye on her,” Cate said, glancing back at the door. “She’s not our enemy.”

  “I will,” Bixby promised.

  SG-1 was gone five minutes later, walking back into the gate room. The shimmer of the Stargate carried them home. Vala stayed behind.

  Alpha Site – Sublevel 12, Chair Room:

  The walls were lined with steel and reinforced ceramic, but it was the chair, sleek, Ancient, humming faintly, that drew the eye.

  Six weeks ago, two people had sat in that chair to end a war.

  It hadn’t forgotten.

  Cate approached the monitoring station and gave a polite nod to the junior airman seated there, a young man with the gene, reading quietly while watching the passive telemetry scroll across a holographic screen.

  “Permission to activate?”

  He blinked, startled. “You’re cleared, ma’am. System’s green.”

  Cate turned to Tyra. “You ready?”

  The girl hesitated, her wide eyes flicking between the chair and the gently humming consoles. “You sure we won’t break anything?”

  “Nah, you won’t, just don’t think of drones.” Cate replied. “We’ve been there and done that.”

  Tyra gave her a half-smile and settled into the chair.

  Cate motioned Tyra to place her hand on the activation crystal. The hum deepened. A gentle pulse of light filled the room. Then, above them, it came to life.

  The galaxy unfolded in glowing threads and pulsing stars. A three-dimensional map, spinning slowly, shifting as markers of systems, gates, and ancient routes traced themselves in brilliant clarity.

  Dillon O’Hare let out a slow whistle. “Holy…”

  Kirby stepped forward, awe in his expression. “It’s like a star chart... if God was the cartographer.”

  Marcus, arms folded, couldn’t tear his eyes away. “I’ve flown 401s and studied celestial nav… but I’ve never seen it like this.”

  Vala simply whispered, “Now that is what I call a map.”

  Cate stood beside her sister, a little quieter. Her hand rested lightly on Tyra’s shoulder. “Focus on a system. Any one of them. Just think about it.”

  Tyra’s brows furrowed. A second later, one of the clusters magnified, its stars expanding, orbit lines materialising. She gasped.

  “I get it,” she said. “I finally get it.”

  Cate allowed herself a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked up at the map, the same one she had used to end a war, and for a long moment… said nothing.

  Vala stepped beside her.

  “You okay?”

  Cate’s voice was distant. “Just remembering.”

  Vala reached out and gave her a soft nudge. “You’re allowed to be brilliant and haunted. But maybe tonight, just brilliant, yeah?”

  Cate gave her a look. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”

  “I know.”

  In the chair, Tyra turned back to look at them. “Can I stay here forever?”

  Cate chuckled. “Only until dinner. We want that chair back.”

  The stars turned slowly above them. For the first time in days, no one felt the weight of the war. Just the wonder of the galaxy.

  Beta Site – 0900 hours (Local Time):

  The desert camouflage was a stark shift from blues and blacks, but it fit the terrain. SG-11 stood at the embarkation room’s rear bench, double-checking gear before stepping through.

  Cate locked the slide on her M4A1 and slung it over her shoulder. Her Beretta holster rode snug at her hip, and the spare Zat rested inside the thigh pouch of her BDU pants. She caught Marcus’s eye, nodded once.

  O’Hare grinned as he hefted the M249 squad weapon onto his back with an easy shrug. “I swear, if I don’t fire this today, I’m gonna cry.”

  Kirby rolled his eyes. “So dramatic.”

  The gate flared open, humming with power.

  Marcus gave the signal. “Move out.”

  They stepped through into another world.

  The Beta Site shimmered under a grey-blue sky tinged by the heat rising off low scrub. The air was thick, humid, like a rainforest threatened to rise from the dirt at any moment. A perimeter fence ringed the compound, razor wire gleaming, guard towers stationed like silent sentinels.

  It looked like something out of an old black-and-white war film, Stalag 13 with better insulation. Rows of long, low huts sat between gravel paths, each spaced just far enough apart to discourage coordinated trouble. No towers with spotlights, no barking dogs, but the air still carried the quiet weight of control.

  A pair of guards in tan fatigues approached. One gestured for them to follow.

  They were led through the gates to a small admin block. The guard knocked once, then opened the door.

  Inside, Lieutenant Colonel Vadim Pralinska stood behind a battered steel desk. Even in clean desert gear, he looked like he’d been carved out of stone and dipped in cold vodka. Tall, broad, silver buzz cut. His eyes didn’t smile.

  He extended a hand to Marcus. “Major Larkin. Welcome to the Beta Site.”

  Marcus shook it. “Thanks for seeing us.”

  “You brought a full team,” Pralinska noted, eyes flicking to Cate, then to O’Hare’s oversized weapon.

  “Standard issue,” Marcus said dryly.

  “Of course.” Pralinska motioned them to a map table. “What do you need?”

  Cate stepped forward. “We need someone to talk. Preferably someone who isn’t dead inside.”

  Pralinska gave a grunt that might have been a laugh. “Most of them aren’t hostile. Not anymore. But they’ve got nothing left. What little they believed in was ground to ash at the Alpha Site.”

  Marcus folded his arms. “We’re not here to punish them.”

  “No,” Pralinska agreed. “But they may not see the distinction.”

  Cate leaned over the table. “We’re following up on new intel. One of their own, Denekin Musteri. She’s talking. If what she said gets out, a few prisoners might realise they’ve been used.”

  “By someone going by the name of Hallam?” Pralinska raised an eyebrow. He added. “I read SG team reports to relieve the boredom, oh and at times for a chuckle.”

  “Indirectly,” Cate said. “But yes. This goes much further we believe.”

  Pralinska studied them a moment longer. Then nodded once, sharp and decisive.

  “I’ll have one of the smaller huts cleared for your use. You’ll speak to them in pairs, my guards will escort each in and out. You’ll be given one hour per session. Keep your side arms holstered unless I say otherwise. And you’ll leave your main weapons here.”

  O’Hare shifted slightly. “Any we should avoid?”

  “Two dozen are former infantry officers. Smart, careful. Four were flagged by Tok’ra intel as political loyalists, even after the fall. But there are three or four who might bend.”

  Marcus nodded. “Then we’ll start there.”

  Pralinska gestured toward the door. “Good luck. They’ll be cooperative, outwardly. But don’t mistake silence for weakness. Some of them survived interrogation from Ba’al himself.”

  Cate looked at Marcus. “That’s comforting.”

  Pralinska finally let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Welcome to the Beta Site, Squadron Leader. Let’s see if ghosts can talk.”

  Beta Site – Interview Hut 1:

  The hut was small, intentionally so. A single row of high windows. Just a bolted metal door and two steel chairs set across a table scratched with age and old ink marks. A camera tracked silently in the corner.

  Marcus and Cate sat facing the entrance. The air was already thick, hotter than outside despite the shade.

  The lock clanked. A guard opened the door, and in stepped a wiry man with sharp eyes and a permanent squint, mid-forties maybe, but weathered hard. He had the posture of someone who’d learned not to flinch.

  “This is Rencis Varr,” said the guard. “Former logistics officer. Eastern fleet.”

  Varr didn’t wait to be invited. He sat.

  Cate folded her arms. “Logistics. That’s a broad term.”

  “In the Alliance, it meant I kept the wheels turning,” Varr replied, voice like gravel. “You need munitions, ships, bodies, I knew where they were buried.”

  Marcus leaned forward, casual. “We’re not here for a list.”

  “Good,” Varr said. “Because I’m not giving one.”

  Cate tilted her head. “What do you know about Hallam?”

  That earned a chuckle. “Rich bastard. Kept out of the mess when it mattered. Everyone thought he was content to sell weapons to both sides.”

  “But not part of the ruling elite?”

  “Oh, he was technically one of the Twelve.” Varr mimed air quotes. “But never showed up to votes. Wouldn’t even respond to secure summons. Just sent a courier or sat silent.”

  Marcus exchanged a glance with Cate. “So, what changed?”

  Varr leaned back, eyes narrowing. “That’s the thing. About two months before the Alpha Site hit, Hallam suddenly wanted access to fleet fuel routes. Claimed it was a business venture. But he had no ships. No stake in fleet operations. We flagged it.”

  “You flagged it?” Cate asked.

  “Didn’t go far. Some tech ran the report up the chain. Then it got buried.” He scratched his chin. “That was about when Ersousia reappears. Folks said he was dead.”

  Marcus sat straighter. “You knew him?”

  “I knew of him. Everyone did, a tough, but fair General who had come up through the ranks. No one crossed him. Then suddenly, Hallam’s name starts turning up in low-level crew rotations, fake IDs, phantom crews assigned to ships that don’t show on fleet registry. Weirdest thing? All of them listed as operating under Ersousia’s security directive. The man was all a sudden Intelligence boss.”

  Cate’s pulse jumped.

  “You’re saying there might be a paper trail?” she said, keeping her voice level.

  “Bits of one, maybe. But the records were stored off-world. Gamma Hold—one of our older admin satellites. No one’s heard from it since the fleet collapsed. Probably dead. Or someone made sure it died.”

  Marcus stood, quietly signalling the guard.

  Varr didn’t resist. But before he turned to leave, he said one more thing.

  “You want proof? Don’t look at what Hallam did. Look at who let him do it.”

  The door clanged shut behind him.

  Cate stared at the empty chair. “He’s not lying.”

  “No,” Marcus agreed. “And that Gamma Hold just became our next destination.”

  Beta Site – Interview Hut 3:

  The midday meal was flat and boring. Luke warm salad and fish that stank of a thousand muddy rivers. The only enjoyable part of it was the sweet potato chips, the orange ones. Cate could have eaten a couple of platefuls of them. And no wonder, one the things she noticed were the prisoners gardens, and there were a lot of potatoes of all kinds.

  The guard opened the door with a wary glance inside. Marcus stepped in first, then Cate. A tall, broad-shouldered woman sat with arms folded, scars visible across both hands, her grey hair tied in a severe braid. She didn’t stand. Didn’t blink.

  “This is Yelka Trask,” the guard said. “Former company leader in the 6th Infantry Legion.”

  “Sergeant Major equivalent,” Marcus muttered to Cate, who nodded.

  They sat. Yelka’s eyes swept over them both. Flat. Judging. Dismissive.

  Cate tried a soft approach. “We appreciate your time…”

  “I will not be questioned,” Yelka said, her accent thick, her voice low and cold. “By a male.”

  Marcus blinked. Cate didn’t.

  “Understood,” she said coolly. “Major, I’ll take this one alone.”

  Marcus stood, gave her a quick nod, and left without protest. The door clanged shut.

  Yelka leaned back, arms still crossed. She didn’t look at Cate now, she stared just past her, defiant and exhausted in equal measure.

  Cate took a beat. Then, casually:

  “Can I get you anything?”

  A silence. Then, with a grunt: “A bloody stiff drink, girl.”

  Cate pivoted in her chair, opened the door just a crack and barked, in flawless Russian. “Охрана! Принеси нам водку.”

  (Guard! Bring us vodka.)

  Five minutes later, the door opened again. The bottle clinked down onto the table, along with two stainless steel cups. The guard didn’t ask. He just left.

  Cate poured. Passed one across.

  Yelka took it, lifted it to her nose, sniffed, then raised it in a half-toast. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”

  Cate smiled faintly. “Cheers.”

  They drank.

  Yelka made a sound of approval. “Not bad.”

  Cate leaned forward slightly. “Yelka, do you know a man named Hallam?”

  The woman frowned, shook her head. “No. Never heard of him.”

  “Chancellor of Lucia. Supposedly one of Lucia’s richest.”

  “I said no,” she snapped. “I was front line infantry. I didn’t dine with royalty.”

  Cate gave a small nod. “What about Ersousia?”

  Yelka froze.

  Her eyes sharpened. Lips drew thin.

  “That pig,” she spat.

  Cate stayed silent.

  Yelka drank again, slower this time.

  “He was one of us. Led the Third Legion. Tactical, measured, tough but fair. We followed him into hell and back. Watched him take down a Goa’uld. Then, maybe two moons before the Alpha Site operation, he changed.”

  “Changed how?”

  “Less planning. More aggression. Less concern for troop welfare. More speeches. Started making calls above his rank. Then poof, he’s suddenly the Intelligence Minister. No one ever saw Felnar again.”

  “Felnar?”

  “The previous Minister. A bastard, but not a fool. You don’t just replace a man like him overnight.” Yelka’s jaw clenched. “But that’s how the Alliance worked. One day you’re command, next day you’re a smear under someone’s boot.”

  Cate said nothing. Let the weight of it settle.

  Yelka leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Something wasn’t right. I’ve seen power-hungry men before. This was different. It was like he knew things. Things no one told him. He was always two steps ahead.”

  Cate poured another shot, but didn’t drink.

  “Did he speak differently?” she asked.

  Yelka considered that. Then, slowly, nodded.

  “Sometimes. Like… there was someone else in the room. But he was alone.”

  Cate finally took a breath. She kept her tone flat, but her pulse had ticked up.

  “You’ve been helpful, Yelka.”

  “I know.”

  Cate stood.

  Yelka held the cup up again. “You ever want to share another bottle, MacGregor... don’t bring the boy next time.”

  Cate’s lips twitched. “Deal.”

  She walked out and closed the door behind her.

  Marcus waited just outside.

  “Well?” he asked.

  Cate didn’t answer right away. She just handed him the empty bottle.

  “We’ve got more than breadcrumbs now.”