Relativity

by Stargate

  Mirris nodded remotely. Two O’Neills. She could simply torture one to death and present the other intact to the Confederation; but even killing both would never be enough to bring Mollem back to her…

  “With regard to that, I have a hypothesis regarding the origin of the second subject,” continued the scientist, “but it is of such a spurious nature I almost hesitate to give voice to it.”

  “Tell me,” she demanded, running her hand over a cluster of needle-sharp injector rods.

  “There is residual evidence of exotic particles in the older male’s bloodstream, different in nature to those encountered during typical wormhole travel. An energy signature of chronometric nature.”

  Mirris shot the clinician a look. “You’re suggesting a temporal flux effect?”

  The scientist shrugged. “It does fit the extant conditions.”

  “Time travel is impossible,” she snorted. “The energy requirements alone are insurmountable.”

  “As you say, Administrator. It was only a theory.”

  The door to the chamber sighed open and she turned to see Geddel enter. Her subordinate’s face was tight with barely-concealed anxiety. His eyes sought Mirris out and he came quickly to her side, his gray robes flapping around his heels. He took in the room as he approached, the clinician and his staff, the watchful security drone at its post.

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  The sub-director had a screensheet in his hand. “An alert indicator from Kytos. The induction tracer that was implanted in your operative…”

  Mirris felt alarm creeping up inside her. She snatched the readout from his grip and ran her eyes down it. “The signal has ceased.”

  Geddel nodded, unable to keep an air of smugness from his gesture. “It may be a systems malfunction, but that is extremely unlikely. The most probable options are that the tracer was discovered and removed or that—”

  “Ryn has been terminated,” Mirris finished, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of saying the words. Her fingers tightened and the screensheet crumpled in her hand, the moving images on the plastic cracking and flickering.

  “I believe so.” Had he been less Aschen, less rigid about his own emotions, Geddel might have smiled with those words. “Our presence here has been discovered. The scouts on the ground report enemy contacts. Respectfully, I would suggest that we employ an exit strategy and exfiltrate from this system under cover of aura-cloak. We have the prisoners. We should return to Confederation space and submit them to Central.” Geddel allowed himself an arch sniff. “In that manner, the mission will not be seen as a complete failure.”

  Mirris flicked the crumpled sheet from her hand and it fell to the deck, to be recovered and tidied away by a small servo mechanoid. When she spoke, the menace in her voice was thick and ready. “Failure will not be considered, sub-director. It appears that the time for patience and subterfuge is at an end.” She glared at Geddel. “We will not disengage. Give the order to the control crews. Program all space-capable drones for immediate combat operations and deploy them against the migrant fleet. Have all available ground units transported to Kytos. Their orders are the same— exterminate everything that is not Aschen.” Her voice gave a little shudder of pleasure as she gave the command. There was something almost sexual about the release of her hate on so grand a scale.

  “We will lose the aura-cloak!” Geddel retorted. “Our ship will be visible, open to counter-attack! And what value is there to engage in direct military action? You have fallen short, Mirris! You cannot hope to rescue this convoluted scheme of yours by so wasteful an action as—” He never finished the sentence. Suddenly Geddel was spinning away from her, stumbling and falling against the interrogation chair. His hand was at his face, pressing at a fan of blood streaming from his nose. “You struck me!” he choked.

  Mirris looked down at her hand, at his blood where it marked the knuckles of her fist. “I did. The experience was quite pleasurable. I think I may repeat it.”

  Geddel stumbled away, holding out a hand to ward her off. “No! No!” He looked around in raw fright, looking for support from the other crew, and when it did not come, he found a measure of strength and sneered back at her. “Such a display… It is beneath your rank, Administrator! You clearly cannot perform your duties with the emotional detachment required of a commander! You should be relieved of duty!”

  “And who will relieve me, Geddel?” she asked, not for one moment releasing his gaze. “You? Is there anyone aboard this ship who will dare to disobey me?”

  Geddel looked down at his own blood on his hands, and in that moment Mirris saw the weakness inherent in her species. By bleeding their passions from themselves, they had lost something that the Tau’ri had nurtured— a tough, animal refusal to accept defeat. She was pleased she had rediscovered it in herself.

  When the sub-director did not respond, Mirris smiled thinly. “I thought not. Now do as I ordered. Deploy all drones. Maximum lethality.”

  The clans of the Pack fleet had gone about their daily lives for months and never once suspected the silent, invisible predator that lay close to them. The Aschen ship stalked the flotilla, hiding beneath the sensor-opaque mesh of its aura-cloak, behind passing moons or in the lee of solar radiation belts, forever pacing them. The Pack ships were primitive in comparison to the Aschen vessel, and there was not a single crewmember aboard it who did not hold the nomads in utter contempt.

  On Mirris’s command, the aura-cloak was fully deactivated, and the ship emerged from the shroud of its camouflage like an orca suddenly surfacing among a pod of dolphins.

  The Aschen warship had no name— such trivia were the traits of inferior races who foolishly imbued their machines with delusions of character and spirit— it was only one of a number of vessels in service to the Confederation, hybrid explorers and battle cruisers that could serve the Aschen in furthering their scientific knowledge or by turns subjugating client worlds for the greater good of their dominion. In aspect, it presented a simple but lethal silhouette. Long and bullet-nosed, the ship was forged from bare metal in sheets of tarnished brassy gold or dull gunmetal gray. Two thick fins emerged from the fuselage, one on the ventral and one on the dorsal surface, close to the cluster of throbbing sub light engines at the aft. The overall impression generated by the vessel was one of calculated, machined lethality. Not an inch of the Aschen ship was given over to filigree or extraneous detail; Mirris’s craft was the embodiment of cold function over form.

  Already, some of the Pack’s older and slower ships traveling at the rear of the ragged fleet were reacting to the new arrival. Thrusters lit the space over Kytos as the diverse vessels split apart and raced to flee from the invader. The Aschen ship claimed its first two victims when, in panicked flight, a Calai helium tender collided with a converted Goa’uld Al’kesh and both craft destroyed one another. Deeper in the flotilla, combat-capable ships were responding, but slowly. Too slowly.

  With stately menace, the Aschen turned and presented the length of its hull to the Pack. Hatches recessed seamlessly into the wall of metal opened in their hundreds and released a swarm of automata. Mirris’s people found the idea of combat by direct means— that was to say, where one being would fight another face-to-face— to be distasteful. This societal antipathy was the motivating force behind their choices of weapons and conquest, typically through subterfuge and the insidious, creeping death of biological warfare; but on occasion, the Aschen found themselves forced to fight in more conventional patterns. For that they had their drones.

  The robot weapons were, after a fashion, self-aware, but only in the limited ways that would make them better killers. Each drone had a virtual mind imprinted on a matrix of crystal-organic components, a basic template that had been drawn from a breed of domestic canine from Aschen Prime. The two factors that defined the minds of the drones were unquestioning obedience and ruthless intent. Guided by a central nexus aboard their mothership, once released upon a target only the command
s of their masters would stop the machines from destroying everything in their path.

  Each drone was in constant communication with all the others, a shared hive-mind that allowed incredible flexibility on the battlefield. The Aschen did not deploy their killers often, but when they did, there were usually no survivors left to tell others of it.

  Energy cannons blazing white fire, the leading edge of the drone swarm powered through the expanding cloud of debris that was all that remained of the Al’kesh and the tender. A solar-ion sailship lay before them, wallowing as it tried to make a turn too sharp for its gossamer ray-wings to manage. The drones killed the ship and moved on without stopping, flowing toward the core of the flotilla and the beating heart of the Pack; the Wanderer.

  Standing at the edge of the encampment with Colonel Reynolds at his side, Daniel experienced a cascade of emotional states that flashed through him so fast he barely had time to register one before he was hit by another. Anxiety gave way to relief when he heard Sam’s voice over the radio; the bomb had been disarmed, and that meant that the camp was not about to vanish into a cloud of free molecules at a moment’s notice. But then he heard the tension in her voice, and he knew that they had only exchanged one threat for another.

  “There!” shouted Reynolds, pointing to the tree line as Carter and Jade exploded out of the undergrowth and raced at full tilt toward them. Sam was hosing fire from her P90, heedlessly shooting spray-and-pray style towards whatever was coming after them. Fear spiked in Jackson’s gut as a gunmetal machine burst from the trees, spitting energy bolts at the feet of the fleeing women. Reynolds and his men, two of them armed with heavy SAW machineguns, laid into the robot and Daniel joined in with his pistol, aware on some level that his contribution would probably do little good. The machine was clearly a cousin of the ones they had encountered on Golla IX, and he remembered all too clearly how hard it had been to take those down.

  But finally the combined gunfire forced the machine off its spinning wheels and silenced it, and Daniel’s shock ebbed away— for about three seconds.

  “There’s more of them!” Sam called, gasping out the words between gulping breaths of air. “The Aschen must have a beaming point out there, they’re dropping them in one after another!”

  “But the bomb,” Jackson replied. “The gate! If you disarmed the bomb, then the Stargate’s free to dial! We can get everyone away…”

  “Yeah,” Reynolds said grimly, “but we just lost contact with Captain Grant and his men up there guarding it. Wanna take a guess why?”

  “Oh, no.” Daniel felt the ice-water sting in his veins all over again.

  “Major!” Reynolds called out to Carter as he slammed a fresh magazine into his assault rifle. “Give me a threat assessment!”

  “Multiple hostiles inbound, Colonel,” she replied. “Company strength, maybe more.”

  Sam barely got the words out before the rattle of gunfire sounded from the far side of the encampment. Daniel caught Sergeant Albrectsen’s voice over the radio channel. “Command, this is post bravo! I have enemy contact along the east perimeter! Engaging!”

  “God damn it,” spat Reynolds, “they’re trying to box us in!”

  “What are we going to do?” Jackson asked.

  Carter shot a look at Jade. “You’ve fought these things before, right? What are their tactics?”

  The other woman grimaced. “They’re dangerous but not innovative. Expect a brute force attack from all sides at once. They’ll just keep throwing themselves at us until we waste them all.”

  “Or until we run out of ammo,” Reynolds replied. “All right.” He toggled his radio to the general channel. “Listen up! All units, dig in and secure fire corridors. Stand by for multiple enemy contacts!”

  “Where’s Vix?” said Daniel. “The least we can do is try to get the civilians out of here…”

  “I am here, Doctor Jackson,” said the Pack warrior, approaching with Suj at his side. “But I am afraid we must leave you. The flotilla is under attack, and my priorities lie there, with my kinsmen.”

  “What?” In spite of himself, Jackson looked up into the night sky.

  “The Aschen,” said Suj. “A warship appeared at the rear of the fleet and launched a large force of drone fighters. We must go to our people’s defense.”

  “Yeah, well we got our own drone problem to deal with down here!” snapped Reynolds. “We need every gun hand we can get!”

  Vix’s face twisted in frustration. “I will leave you some warriors and our energy weapons, but we are short of battle-trained pilots as it is.”

  “Colonel, if I may?” Sam broke in. “I’m a fully qualified combat aviator and I’m checked out on a Death Glider. If you’ll let Suj take our civilians out to somewhere safe in the Tel’tak, I’ll join you up there, see if I can help.”

  Suj looked to her leader. “I am willing, if you agree to it.”

  Vix considered the offer and then gave a nod. “Very well. I will have a Glider pilot take Ryn’s ship instead. But a Goa’uld fighter requires a crew of two.”

  “I can handle it alone,” Carter replied. “I think…”

  “That…” said a new voice, “…will not be required.” Teal’c came out of the shadows. “I will serve as your co-pilot, Major.”

  Daniel’s face fell. “Teal’c, far be it from me to dismiss Jaffa bravado, but you can barely walk.”

  The big man nodded. “Indeed. I would be of limited use in a ground engagement. However, in aerial combat, my skills could be better employed.”

  “You’re sure?” said Sam. Teal’c raised an eyebrow and Carter smiled. “Yeah, he’s sure. Why am I even asking?”

  Vix gestured to the ships. “We go, then.” He gave Reynolds a sharp look. “Good hunting, Colonel.”

  Teal’c hesitated, and then tossed his staff weapon to Jade. “I assume you know how to use that?” In reply, the woman flicked a hidden switch on the hilt and the beam emitter snapped open, ready for combat. The Jaffa inclined his head. “I will expect you to return it to me after we have won the battle,” he said, walking away.

  Daniel let out a small chuckle. “Wow. You know, he never lets me touch his staff.”

  Jade took up a position, aiming as more of the machines ambled out of the trees. “It’s all about knowing how to handle it.”

  O’Neill dropped back on to his haunches and made a face. There were simply no places for him to get purchase with his fingers. Every closure inside the floating cell-cage was perfect, without even the hint of a seam that he could try to dig into. The translucent bio-plastic was strong and resilient; if he marked it with a thumbnail, the material slowly reverted back to its original semi-pliant state. He looked up to the next cell, expecting to see the old man watching him with that judgmental you’re-wasting-your-time look, but instead his counterpart was at the far side of his cell, listening intently.

  Jack’s brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”

  “Quiet,” came the terse reply. “You hear it?”

  “Hear what?” O’Neill held his breath and strained for any change in the distant humming of the Aschen ship’s systems; and for a moment, it seemed like there was something different, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  Finally the old man nodded to himself. “Power flow sounds have changed. Cloak’s offline. We’re moving under forward thrust.”

  “Why?”

  He got a shrug in return. “Your guess is as good as mine, junior.”

  It was, as the saying went, a target-rich environment. The Death Glider cleared the outer edge of Kytos’s atmosphere, Teal’c worked the weapons controls and the holographic screens in front of Sam hazed into view. They were dappled with countless numbers of vessel indicators, transients spiking this way and that, some fighting around one another, others fleeing, others attacking. The sweep of the Glider’s sensor grid began to pick out which ones were friendly and which ones were not. Tags showing friend-or-foe beacons lit up, and the Pack were in the minority. Red
enemy tell-tales dotted the screen like a rash.

  Carter threw a quick look through the canopy and saw Vix’s tri-wing pacing her, blue flame throbbing from his fighter’s drives. She could see his head moving behind the triangular glass panels of his cockpit. “Suj is away,” he called, “I have directed her to take the Tel’tak toward this system’s asteroid belt. That is the designated rally point for all our unarmed ships.”

  “Copy that,” Sam replied, trying not to think about how the vice president and his staff would be handling a rickety flight crammed into the Tel’tak’s cargo bay.

  “Weapons are free,” Teal’c informed her over the Glider’s intercom. “We are clear to engage, Major.”

  “All defense interceptors, engage the Aschen,” said Vix. “Protect the crèche boats and the Wanderer.”

  Carter flexed her fingers and gripped the flight controls. It had been a while since she had flown a ‘pure’ Death Glider— these days, the SGC had enough of its own breed of F-302 starfighters to go around— but she hadn’t forgotten how to put one of the Goa’uld ships through its paces. She thumbed the beam cannon controls from ‘safe’ to ‘ready’ and followed Vix in.

  “Three drones, quadrant six, attack vector.” Her co-pilot spoke crisply through the communicator tab on her cheekbone. “Illuminating now.”

  “Roger, I have the targets.” Adrenaline tingled through her. “Engaging!”

  The triad of Aschen robots dithered for an instant before turning into a three-pronged split, making exactly the maneuver that Sam expected of them. The enemy ships turned tighter than any fighter with an organic pilot could— their machine brains were not as susceptible to the forces of gravitation as a human body was— but the Goa’uld Gliders had structural integrity fields that haloed their cockpit modules, and allowed their fragile, fleshy crew to make turns and accelerations that would crush an unprotected body into a slurry of compacted meat. Carter stood the Death Glider on its tail and rose through a climbing turn, cutting first one, then two of the drones from the sky. The fighter’s winged-scarab fuselage described a tight Immelmann that brought it squarely into the last target’s rear aspect. Sam pulsed the energy guns once and orange fire tore the leading drone into glittering fragments.