They turned, stepping out of the golden room, for a moment, and then returned, holding a young man between them. Atum pointed a white-gloved hand towards the centre of the three computers, “Stand there,” he said, and the hawk-guards thrust him forward. He took his place with a dubious look.
Atum looked at the human, a farmer, he thought, by trade, no surprise, from behind an elaborate mask that seemed to be constantly in motion, under a white hood, trimmed with ornate symbols of the religions devoted to him. “Thoth. Power the device…”
The other goa’uld pulled down a switch on the other panel, “Active. Self-test complete.”
Atum nodded, “You. Step forwards…”
The human hesitantly stepped forwards, and for a moment Atum wondered if they’d just pulled him from the streets, or if he was a criminal of some sort. On the grey wall, a break in the chamber’s decoration, a large object appeared, as though emerging from the stone. It looked like a strange, ribbed, alien barnacle, two feet wide, at exactly head level. The man hesitated, and Atum pointed at it, “Forwards…” he said.
With a startled and fearful glance, he stepped forwards, and the structure on the wall flexed outwards, grasping his head as he tried to recoil. He screamed, struggling frantically as light from within burnt its way into his held-open eyes. Atum nodded to himself in satisfaction as the device retracted, letting its victim fall hard onto the floor.
“We should probably put a couch in front of these head-suckers…” he said, his jocular tone making up for the lack of an expression upon his face, he turned to the guards, “check him.”
One briefly inspected the man, “He lives, Lord…” he said, in goa’uld.
“Good,” Atum said, satisfied, “The chalice, there. A small drop should restore consciousness…”
__ __ __
“You planned this…”
He was back on Kheb, being hectored by a dark haired woman dressed in white, an unpleasant experience that happened to him from time to time. Others, absorbed in games and books, lounged in the sunlight of the monastery, paying them no attention.
“What?” Atum said.
“You just happen to be completing your research on education and modification,” she sneered, “as your expedition is about to reach a distant system filled with your worshippers, and an advanced technology base.”
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about…”
“Your ‘Heart of Light’ power module expedition. You’re using it as an excuse to flaunt The Rules, and make your petty little empire…”
“…better,” Atum said.
She glowered at him, “permanent.”
“Better. Better for everyone in it.”
“You’re stalling independent cultural development…”
He laughed, “So speaks the voice of one who has never known hunger or disease… That notion is such a pernicious folly.”
She stared at him, “Coming from you…”
“Who has done just that, for countless millennia. If you can find a breach of your Rules, so be it. Otherwise, you are wasting my time…”
__ __ __
Atum found himself back in place, and looked at the human as he came around, “You!” he snapped, “reset that terminal and link it through to trans-orbital hyperspace scan satellites.”
The man rose, and did precisely so, a little unfamiliarly, but nonetheless effectively. When he’d been brought in, he’d barely known the essentials of reading. Now, however, he appeared quite proficient with the computer.
“Define inertia…” Atum said, for something less practical and more basic.
“Inertia is…” the man hesitated, “the property of matter by which it remains in uniform motion unless acted upon by an external force. Inertia is the property by which a body not acted upon by a force moves at a constant velocity, covering equal distances in equal times, along a straight path.”
Across the room, Thoth frowned, “How do you derive momentum?”
“The total momentum of an object is the product of mass and acceleration.”
“Send a signal faster than light…”
“Phased transmission of radio waves through a subspace charged volume with intensity greater than twelve arins per cubic centimetre, modulated by a spherical shell of impregnated naquadah to generate a”
“That will be sufficient,” Atum said, “Guards… Take him to the chamberlain. Inform him that this man is to be sent to Hoktau for long-term observation, oh, and granted whatever boon he may wish for.
“And alert my barque to prepare for my arrival.”
__ __ __
Sia felt the cool hands of his favoured slave upon his shoulders as he rose, already kneading his flesh in anticipation of the day. “Good morning my lord…” outside the window, the flaring incandescence of hyperspace swished by.
“Important day today,” he said, caressing her slim hand, she had been a gift from Atum, his father. She was a slave-girl from a group captured from somewhere called ‘Kajal’ who had foolishly wandered into Atum’s realm. The exoticism of that made her immensely valuable, “we should arrive in the Optis system today. Twenty thousand light years,” he said, standing up, “and the best part of a month. With any luck, our pilot will have worked out the stellar drift correctly, and we can get to work,” he rose, wrapping a heavy linen kilt that ran to his ankles around himself, and setting about dressing.
He waved a hand, and a cloak shot toward him, wrapping itself around his shoulders. He was very much the first of his kind among the goa’uld, his host had been not found, but synthesised, on Tartarus, with substantial ‘improvements’ over the common human, and no independent personality to speak of. Instead of having any independent thinking capacity, its brain was entirely devoted to generating telekinetic and similar abilities. Sia, the spirit and fruit of Atum’s Wisdom, thought of himself as the future.
Soon they would arrive in the system known as Optis, a former domain of his father, who had charged him with retrieving a long-lost artefact there, that they now knew to be a power source of ancient origin and incredible ability. Probably a technology related to the Eyes of the Goa’uld, ancient artefacts that powered his father’s flagship.
__ __ __
That ship was currently in orbit of Mnewer, as a set of transporter rings brought its owner up from the planet far below, flashing down, and re-materialising Thoth, Atum and two of the heavily armoured kull warriors. The sound of great clamps locking escort ships into place echoed through the ship. Goa’uld vessels became strategically faster, the larger they were, and though Atum had since constructed a still-faster battle-cruiser class along a similar principle, this vessel was the opus of Ptah, a great ship capable of carrying a small fleet through hyperspace at a stunning speed. With the additional power sources Atum had brought to it, it was even faster.
He strode onto the vessel’s command deck, his guards taking up a place behind him. It had been made larger, its original pel’tak being too small for Atum’s taste. Now, it had three thrones, one for himself, the largest and most elaborate, one, on his right, for his consort, and one on his left, most frequently used by Thoth, or the ship’s commander.
He sat in the command throne of the Barque of Millions of Years, relaxing a little, “Are our escorts secure?” he asked, of the vessel’s commander, a senior jaffa named Rekhmire.
“Yes, Lord,” he replied promptly.
“Then make course for the planet Rindamla, take us there, at maximum speed.”
“As you command. Course laid in, engaging hyperdrive engines, estimated time until arrival. Five hours.”
Atum nodded, almost to himself, “Good. Have a company of jaffa prepared to land when we arrive.
Thoth looked at Atum, “The outpost at Rindamla has been disused for millennia. The world is barren. There is nothing there.”
“It was used in the Trial of Ra. What I want is likely there.”
“Which is?”
“Goa’uld who will not be missed…” outside the windows of the command deck, space gave way to the familiar brightness. He rose, “I shall be in my chambers.”
__ __ __
Sia stood upon the bridge of Morrigan’s ship as it re-entered real space. They had no recent information on Optis, and so emerged from hyperspace several astronomical units away. That as much as he had expected, and Sia was unsurprised by this, but what did come as a surprise was when the ship’s display immediately switched to a long range scan.
There were vessels in the system - hundreds of them - thousands - tens of thousands. More than he had ever seen, more, even, than his father’s memory had ever seen, that he knew of.
The ship’s commander ordered that some of the objects be scanned in more detail, and Sia was relieved to see that most were primitive, propelled by rocketry, or even generating gravity by rotation.
“I do not think it wise to remain here too long,” the ship’s commander said, glaring at him. She resented his presence, he was a new figure, and though she far outranked him, he operated directly upon the orders of Atum, and thus she was constrained to consult him for her orders
“I agree,” Sia said, “jump out to four light years, and have the launch bay prepare a tel’tak with a cloaking capacity for me.”
__ __ __
Atum drifted, formless, thinking upon his history, which was far beyond that which any of his fellows but Thoth, and now Sia, knew. The meditation chamber was dark, flooded with the finest frankincense burning behind the walls, and the artefact through which he usually took physical form.
He was thinking upon the thousands of years of his life. He had many names, Atum, Tem, Temu, Nefertum. Once, he had been Amun – Amun-Kem-Atef, first and primordial goa’uld, honoured and reviled by many names, including, in the time of Ra, the title ‘Apep’ an ironic and dismissive name, conflating him – by Apophis’ design, it seemed – with the serpent god. He had ruled the species in the ancient past, until the chief of his warlords, Anubis, had betrayed him, forcing him into insanity, and eventually, declaring him destroyed. Though some of Atum’s former supporters had in fact arranged for the destruction of the ship he was on, he had landed on a distant world. But his host, then an alien creature, had been too grievously damaged to survive.
For thousands of years he had endured on that distant world. More than long enough to reflect on the flaws of his race’s parasitic society. He longed to return to potency and power, and eventually, he had done so. But while he had the megalomania of his fellows, he had long worked towards another goal. As soon as his conquest of the goa’uld was underway, he had declared an end to the callous destruction of the countless excess symbiotes that had for millennia been the terror of every newborn member of the species – the parasitic snakes that were their true forms – produced each year. Instead, he had sent them to a world called Sorana. For fifty years he had done this. Casting away two million symbiotes per year; his armies were greater than that, but not all were granted the honour of carrying symbiotes; jaffa could function adequately without as long as they had never been given one.
Soon, every design he had developed since coming to power would be fulfilled. He had as the ancient ‘ascended’ meddler had accused him of ‘planned’ it. And it would be glorious. Soon he would have a triumph that would change the face of his species, his empire, and eternally set him beyond all rivals.
His anticipation was immeasurable.
__ __ __
Sia listened as the ship’s hyperdrive rumbled, and glanced back at its descent pods, wondering if Morrigan had just given him a vessel likely to explode. That didn’t happen, thankfully, he dropped into real-space, reaching forward to activate the ship’s cloaking device, hopefully rendering it immune to the planet’s sensors.
He angled the small courier and cargo ship downwards, scanning for notable energy and naquadah sources.
__ __ __
The hot, dry surface Rindamla was scoured by fast winds and grit-storms. The horus guard were thankful for their helmets, pressure-sealed as they were, though they were barely able to see in the storm, it had not dissuaded Atum, who walked as unaffected by the sand howling around his white robe as though it were a calm, tranquil day on the shores of Mnewer.
The stargate here was inaccessible – though Atum could probably have restored it to operation – because this world was one of thirteen, linked together, in a test of his former master – whom Atum had entered the service of upon his return, all the while waiting for an opportunity to break away and begin his conquest – to test supplicants who wished for minor positions in his court. That, and it had also been created for simple cruelty.
It was a test on a time limit – on each world, was some puzzle, and the supplicant had a limited time before he was trapped, with devices within the body that would activate if they left the world – if they failed, then they would be trapped on the world of their failure as the modified stargates locked them out, to, on this world, the closest to Atum’s domain, die of dehydration.
He pointed at fallen rocks, “There…” the naquadah in the decayed body calling to him; or at least, that was his justification, in truth, he’d known what he would find here for decades, the knowledge of his current form was vast, though he was forbidden to obviously use it: he knew exactly what Sia would find, and what he would find here, but he was forbidden to obviously act upon that knowledge, “unearth it.”
The guards scrambled to obey, and in a short time, they had revealed a desiccated corpse; there were few microorganisms even, on Rimdamla, to break the remains down. Atum crouched, his robe brushing the hard-packed dirt, and breaking open the dried hand of the remains, taking a small message recorder from it. Curiously, he activated the device, giving an image of the victim, when he lived. The voice that went with it, weak, from damage done to the device.
“Sidhe, beloved. I speak to you from where I shall now never leave. Misfortune has struck me down and my Trial is at an end. I engaged this Trial with all my confidence, certain its reward would bring all that I hoped to bestow upon you, give you the richness in life your devotion and love has given me through the long years of our bond…
“Never did I regret undertaking this glorious Trial, but with my dying breath shall I regret not being by your side every day of the life you will live without me,” they dying man broke off, coughing wretchedly, and his eyes glowed the deep gold of an ancient or dying symbiote.
He paused it, feigning surprise. He knew of such feelings, and indeed, they were very much what he hoped for in the future. The goa’uld were a warped race; he had realised so long ago, perverted by the power they had attained by parasitic attainment of knowledge, the intimate but total control of others that went with it, and passed down by genetic memory. Continuous battles for domination were the end result of that, and a vested interest among the species in keeping the numbers down, wasting talent, and countless lives. Their own kind had suffered more from their rule than any other species. They were rare and individually powerful enough not to form a society; not to ever learn the value of those outside themselves; those, like this dead goa’uld before him, who did so even to a small degree were exceptional. It was a perpetual loop of species wide failure that would go on forever.
“You!” he said, pointing at the nearest guard, “Bring a bier.”
It was one he would break.
__ __ __
Sia walked the hallways of the city, shielded in a cloak of invisibility. It was prosperous, advanced, and clearly on a war footing. It was faintly disturbing. Then, he recognised the flag. He listened to the speech. These humans had come far, but nonetheless, they still revered the god of their ancestors. Nefertum.
He had to restrain the urge to laugh. He must soon return to his father. This was beyond a simple expedition to find some artefact now, but first…
__ __ __
The facility on the moon called Sorana was huge, manned by especially fanatical jaffa priests and warriors, and constructed by a handful of goa’uld under the oversight of Ma’at, wife of Thoth, orbiting a gas giant, near the prosperous world of Aafoh, where Ma’at dwelt. Extracted surgically from the desiccated host, the symbiote of the goa’uld Atum had retrieved from Rimdama writhed in its tank, living once more through the power of the sarcophagus on board the Barque of Millions of Years. The chamber, one of hundreds, contained three reclining glass cases, with machinery in them. A more sophisticated model of the device used in crafting the expendable kull warriors, a concept Atum had taken from the research of his ancient enemy, when he had last tried to hunt him down. The formation was complete, a flash of light followed, imbuing the un-living construct of carbon hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen with sudden, mindless life, and the case hinged upwards, revealing a perfect host, like Sia’s (though this one, of course, did not possess the same telekinetic abilities, Atum did not want such a thing to become too widespread, for it would only exacerbate the social problems of the species), based upon cloned material garnered from the remains, but in younger, perfect condition. Atum waved to the priestess-warrior in charge of the chamber, and she reached into the tank, gently lifting the goa’uld from it, and passing it to Atum, who in turn, pressed the wet creature against the skin of its new host.
At that moment, the doors opened, to admit Sia, who bowed, “Father. I have returned,” it was far simpler to return than to go, the Aafoh star-gate, and the one aboard Morrigan’s ship being quite operational, “I have important news. The world of Optis has developed an advanced civilisation, which nonetheless considers you a divine creator,” he held out a book, labelled in goa’uld-derived text, ‘The Book of Nefertum.’ Atum took it, leafing through the text, looking at the goa’uld, beside him, the first test of the new process, that had now blended with its new host, and was looking almost comically confused.
All was just as he had planned.
It was time to begin.
__ __ __
There were many beautiful worlds in the domain of Atum, but in many ways his favourite was Cidri. The entire planet and its moons had a population of eight million, completely devoted to keeping it an inviting environment in which the elite of the domain could indulge in any pursuit. These ranged from active hunting of any of a thousand types of game, some bred and modified bred specifically to pose a terrifying challenge, to sensuous, stupefacient and sexual indulgences. There had been an art of abusing and slaying the population that induced a terrifying horror among the world’s population. Since Atum’s return, he hat forbidden it utterly, and the inhabitants’ love of their diety was as high as could anywhere be expected.
A pair of angels, with elaborate, sweeping wings, knelt before a couch on which lay a woman with eight, illuminated, gossamer thin, wings on her dress, and an elaborate head-dress. The wings were partially folded back on themselves to allow their wearer to lie full length on the divan. She lightly caressed the blonde hair of the male of the two slaves; she’d taken both of them from Shezmu, a now-demoted retainer who had purchased them in some foreign climb. They looked spectacular, and so she’d kept them. Feathers and wings were part of her iconography anyway, so she felt they suited her image. In her other hand, the great System Lady Ma’at held a lotus blossom in a custom-made golden holder and diamond counter-weighted stem. The holder was insulated against heat, as the plant was very slowly burning, engineered to have a relaxing, congenial effect on one who breathed in its smouldering smoke. Whenever one was exhausted, a servant swiftly brought her a replacement.
The most trusted of Atum’s underlings were languidly taking counsel. Aside from Ma’at, and her husband Thoth, the Divine Consort, clad in an elaborate white dress, and Atum himself, a number of their inferiors had been invited. Lounging on Thoth’s couch with him were his ‘concubines’ Seshat and Nehmetawy, both of whom were much like Ma’at, but far junior in both Atum’s and Thoth’s reckoning, and inferior in talent. She resented neither, she and her husband had chosen both of them for their talent in select academic areas many millennia ago. Sia, one of the first creations of the new science of goa’uld hosts, was also present, attended to by a slave almost – though not quite, she noted with satisfaction – as exotic as her own. Servants trained and groomed since early childhood for this chamber, and forbidden from speaking to any save those arriving with the God or bearing his seal of authority, waited patiently to fulfil the slightest wish. Along with them, waited fully a dozen Kull warriors.
“Did you know there was an attempt on my life several days ago?” Atum mused, “I was beginning to think they’d given up…”
“The Tok’ra or other rebels?” Thoth asked.
“I think not, disaffected among our own is more likely.”
“Well, it should come as no surprise. There are many who think they deserve to be part of a small population of false gods still. They rather dislike the idea of every one of their offspring being given a host. Competition scares those of minimal talent,” Ma’at said.
“Do we know who?” Amanda, Atum’s consort asked. She was a cause of much resentment, too. There were more attempts to assassinate her than there were Atum himself. The court resented the attention he gave to a mere human, albeit one whose defection had almost single-handedly won great territories that contributed to their prosperity. Any of those who felt they had the right charm entertained notions of replacing, or perhaps possessing (precautions had been taken here) her.
An eagle soared by overhead, and Atum, half-sitting on his couch, watched it, “No. It was as I reviewed troops before a landed ha’tak.”
“I thought,” Nehmetawy said, “that the standard procedure was to lock down all guns capable of traversing to be a threat…”
“Indeed,” Atum said, seeming approving, “they were more intelligent than that. They opened fire with one of the light dorsal guns, on another landed ha’tak. Which would have returned fire at maximum power and probably killed everyone I was with, even though it wouldn’t have slain me. Fortunately, some quick-thinking jaffa on the targeted ship shut it down.”
“Was a culprit caught?” Sia asked.
“Ah, here is where it becomes interesting. A maintenance crew was working on the gun, but even under nish’ta, and a few other normal interrogation techniques, they claimed innocence.”
“Then they are well conditioned,” Sheshat said.
“I would have known that. I haven’t time to investigate fully. So if anyone has any suggestions…”
Ma’at smiled, “Actually, here’s an idea… It’ll give us a field test, too…”
__ __ __
Arakon was still getting used to having a physical body. Seven years of tormented anti-childhood had paid off, and he had been lucky enough to be implanted. Of course, he currently had… nothing. Well, not entirely true. He had clothes on his back, courtesy of the tailors of the facility at Sorana, and a ribbon-device on his hand, but that was it. Rankless, he would be able to use his species as a means to gain shelter and necessities, but that was it, for now. The luxury of living out his ancestral memories was, for now, beyond him.
He was less than an hour into his adulthood – astonished by the comfort and ease with which he could control this host – and he was journeying from the Aafoh stargate, a structure on a hill, overlooking a picturesque town, surrounded by a large, elaborate, wooden henge, to Edfu. He was accompanied by three others, just like him, indeed, he’d had the first choice of the six bodies they’d been offered.
The stargate activated, and he stepped through to Edfu, a blurring impression of speed as he passed through, to inhale the air of the dusty region where the stargate was erected.
In the decades since his mother had last seen this world, the great obelisk that stood near the stargate had risen a little, the tiny hieroglyphics carved on its faces listing every one of the soldiers of Edfu who had perished in Atum’s service since he had conquered the world. Each block was slotted under the others as the whole structure was lifted by a cargo ship, and another moved in under it. Each block represented roughly a thousand names. Two more had been added, the total now twenty in all. The lowest block was, however, barely half inscribed. A mason was at work with a micro-laser imprinting another name.
A priest stepped up to them, from the large brazier that symbolised the world’s devotion to the sun god, where several priests and brides of Atum attended to it, refilling it with oil.
“Can I help you, travellers?” he asked.
“You can,” Arakon said, letting his eyes glow for a moment, to clarify his status. The stargate shut down behind them, and immediately began dialling again, as a column of hundreds of jaffa warriors began to troop up towards the portal’s raised platform, “Could you direct me to the Lord of Hosts’ palace?”
