At the heart of the Lucian Alliance’s command HQ in the occupied city of Plaxia, Kommandant Wen Horgfells seethes with rage. A large, broad-shouldered man with a salt-and-pepper crew cut and a partial beard, his fury radiates through the room as he glares at his subordinates.

  The news has just arrived; disastrous news. The Tey River Bridge has been destroyed, along with the battalion train carrying over a thousand troops. The fate of the soldiers remains unknown.

  His voice is a growl of barely contained fury. “Who was guarding that bridge?”

  A Kolonel stiffens under his gaze. “No one, sir.”

  Horgfells’ eyes narrow. “Why?”

  A beat of silence. Then the Kolonel swallows hard. “The bridge fell under my jurisdiction.”

  The crack of a gunshot shatters the tension. The Kolonel crumples to the floor, lifeless. Horgfells lowers his weapon with a sneer. “Not anymore.”

  The room is deathly silent. Every officer present stares, unmoving; except one. Mahjor Linel Rohtad stands rigid, her face pale, hands trembling at her sides.

  Horgfells rounds on her. “It’s yours now.” His voice drops to a deadly whisper. “Find out who did this. Find out if any of those one thousand men and women survived.”

  The last words erupt in a roar as his fist slams against the table, sending papers flying. One officer jumps. Another turns away, his face contorted in barely suppressed terror. A third wets himself.

  Without another word, Horgfells storms from the room, leaving behind only silence and the lingering scent of gunpowder.

  Reflections:

  Thirty metres below and slightly to the north of where Horgfells stood lay a vast, abandoned underground rail station and tunnels. The electric railway, built over a hundred years ago, had fallen into disuse as more and more people took to the roads in their fancy m/cs. An abbreviation for motorcarriage; just like on Earth, though the people of Vegema had never shortened it to motor car, instead going even further.

  Tunnelling had been part of their way of life long before the first Goa’uld arrived. When Cronus took this world, he made his presence felt, seizing the humans of Vegema as hosts. Yet no matter how much he suppressed them; he never broke their spirit. Enough of them remained visible on the surface to keep up the illusion of submission, but neither Cronus nor those who followed ever suspected what was happening beneath their feet.

  In a large common room within the underground network, a place where people gathered to relax when not working, only one man sat at this late hour. James had come here every night for the past three days, always taking the same spot on the same sofa, staring at nothing. Because for six weeks before that, this had been their place; the spot where he and the woman who had stolen his heart would sit and talk.

  James had never been much of a talker. Growing up on a vast Midwestern farm, his world had been one of wide-open fields, long days of work, and the quiet company of animals. His schooling had been a chore, requiring him to stay with his grandmother because his parents’ home was too far from town. He had learned early on that words weren’t always necessary. But Cate; Cate had changed that. That golden-haired Australian had drawn him out in ways he never imagined. With her, words had come easily. He had told her about his childhood, about the way he’d always felt out of place in a town school, how he found solace on horseback, riding for miles through open country. She had laughed and told him she understood. That she had been the same way. And when he had asked her about home, she had spoken of the vast Outback, of red dirt roads and endless skies, of a country just as wild and untamed as his own.

  She could sing, too. God, could she sing. He had once joked that if the Australian Air Force hadn’t snapped her up, Nashville would have. And Cate had just laughed, shaking her head. “Nah,” she had said. “The world doesn’t need another country singer. Besides, I like what I do.”

  He swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat. The world had felt smaller, quieter, without her in it. And as much as he wanted to believe she was alive; he was losing faith.

  A voice behind him broke his thoughts. “We’ll find her, James.”

  He barely turned his head. He didn’t have to look to know it was Allienna.

  “I’ve given up hope,” he admitted, his voice rough. “We would have seen her walk through that door…” His thumb jerked toward the opening behind them. “…by now, if she was still alive.”

  Allienna stepped forward and settled beside him, her presence as steady as ever. James didn’t know how she did it. Every day, she turned up in a spotless uniform, its woodland camouflage pattern resembling that of the US Marines. Every day, she went out on the surface, fighting, running recon, taking risks. And yet, she still showed up here, composed, determined.

  She placed a hand on his knee, grounding him. “Before the Alliance showed up at the river two nights ago; presumably to start their own search for survivors or whoever was responsible; we spent twenty-four hours combing as much of the site as possible.” She tapped her bottom lip with a pen, considering her next words carefully. “All the wreckage and bodies we found were on the eastern, seaward side of the bridge, James. Cate, Morena, and Tyra were last seen on the far northwest bridge pier, just before the charges went off.”

  James sat up straighter, his brow furrowing. “And?”

  Allienna held his gaze. “That portion of the bridge is still intact.”

  For a moment, he just stared at her, his brain struggling to process what she was implying. “So, you’re saying…” The words formed in his mind, but he couldn’t force them past his lips.

  “There’s hope, James.” Allienna’s voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. “If they jumped, they might be trapped on the other side with no way to cross. When you and Major Coren had to pull out, there was no time for a full search. Catherine would have known that.”

  James exhaled sharply, the tension in his chest shifting; just a little.

  Allienna stood, pulling her dark hair back into a tight ponytail. James had seen that gesture before. It meant she was about to do something reckless. “I have to go,” she said, her voice lighter now. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” She paused, then added, “But know this, James; we will find her.” And then, as silently as she had come, she was gone.

  P3C-249:

  The settlement around the Stargate was a bustling hub of construction and activity. Jaffa warriors, engineers from Earth, and representatives from dozens of allied worlds moved through the developing city, working together to build what was rapidly being called ‘New Dakara.’ Traditional Jaffa homes stood alongside ultra-modern structures, a testament to the Federation’s growing connections across the galaxy.

  In the midst of this, at the heart of what would become the Federated Free Jaffa Parliament, a heated debate raged.

  Inside the Council Chamber:

  Amid the sounds of hammering, machinery, and distant voices, fifteen figures sat around a heavy wooden table. Twelve were Jaffa, dressed in various traditional and modernized warrior attire, while the other three were outsiders; Colonel Cameron Mitchell, Dr. Daniel Jackson, and Teal’c. The visitors were not alone in their argument; the legendary Bra’tac sat beside them, lending his presence and authority to their cause. They were here to secure military support for Plaxia; troops and ships to aid in the resistance against the enemy.

  Two days of negotiations had yielded little progress.

  “This is madness,” scoffed Lord Vih’lak, a broad-shouldered warrior with deep scars lining his face. “We have shed enough blood in wars that were not our own. We must focus on our people.”

  “The war against the Goa’uld was not merely your own, and yet we all bled together,” Teal’c countered, his deep voice carrying through the chamber. “The Federation of Free Jaffa must be more than isolated worlds clinging to survival. We must be a force for justice.”

  Bra’tac leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the table. “If we turn our backs now, we may find no allies left when we are in need.”

  “Aye, well, you’re assuming they’ll come to your aid,” Cam interjected. “Problem is that only works if you set the precedent first.” He looked around at the seated Jaffa. “Plaxia needs help. Your fleet has been growing, your warriors are trained. Two ships, a few thousand troops; you can afford that.”

  A murmur ran through the council. Jenna of the Hak’tyl, one of the few women present and the interim President of the council, exchanged glances with Solacia of Chulak. Jenna tapped her fingers on the table. “The question is not whether we can…it is whether we should.”

  Solacia nodded. “We are still rebuilding. Not all of our people wish to fight again so soon.”

  Daniel, quiet until now, adjusted his glasses and leaned forward. “You all know what’s happening in the galaxy. The void left by the System Lords is being filled; by criminal syndicates, rogue Goa’uld, warlords with no sense of honour. If the Free Jaffa do not step up, someone else will. And you might not like who that is.”

  The murmurs grew louder. At the far end of the table, Lord Kar’lon, who had remained silent, finally spoke. “There are already… dealings in place,” he said carefully.

  Cam narrowed his eyes. “Deals with who, exactly?”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Bra’tac’s expression darkened. “The Lucian Alliance.”

  A heavy silence fell over the table.

  Mitchell exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Oh great. Now I definitely have a migraine.”

  Jenna sighed and stood, lifting a ceremonial staff. “We shall reconvene after a recess.”

  Cam blinked. “That’s the fifteenth adjournment.”

  Daniel sighed. “Welcome to Jaffa politics.”

  Teal’c nodded. “Indeed.”

  Meanwhile, in the Marketplace:

  Unbeknownst to the debating men, another strategy was being deployed.

  Colonel Samantha Carter and Vala Mal Doran strolled through the marketplace, passing stalls filled with spices, fabrics, and various Jaffa relics. They weren’t just shopping; this was reconnaissance.

  Jaffa society had always revolved around strong warrior traditions, but their domestic structures placed immense respect on the role of matriarchs. And here, in the bustling market, the wives of the councilmen could be found.

  Vala adjusted the belt of her tunic. “So, remind me again how this plan doesn’t involve me getting stabbed?”

  Sam smirked. “Because we’re just talking.”

  “Yes, well, last time I ‘just talked’ to the wife of an important Jaffa, I nearly ended up married to his brother!”

  They approached a group of Jaffa women inspecting bolts of fabric. One of them; Jenna’s sister, Kyla; glanced at them. “You are the Tau’ri women?”

  Sam nodded. “That’s us.”

  Kyla studied them carefully, then gestured for them to follow. She led them to a quieter corner of the market. “I know why you are here.”

  Vala grinned. “Wonderful! That saves time.”

  Kyla’s lips twitched, but she remained serious. “My sister is under great pressure. Many fear another war. They do not wish to send our young men to die.”

  Sam met her gaze. “We understand that. But the war isn’t just coming; it’s here. And Plaxia needs help.”

  Kyla frowned. “Why should we interfere?”

  Vala shrugged. “Because if the Free Jaffa show their strength and lead now, your sons and daughters may not have to fight alone later. And besides…” She gestured vaguely. “Men take forever to decide anything. We figured we’d have better luck with you.”

  Kyla’s mouth quirked into a smirk. “You are bold.”

  Sam offered a small smile. “We’re honest.”

  Kyla exchanged a glance with the other women. A moment later, she turned back to them. “I will speak to Jenna.”

  The Verdict?:

  Later, SG-1 walked toward the Stargate.

  Cam massaged his temples. “I swear, if I have to sit through one more Jaffa recess, I’m going to start throwing things.”

  Daniel adjusted his glasses. “It was tedious. And typical of a Jaffa day.”

  Teal’c simply said, “Indeed.”

  Sam and Vala fell into step beside them.

  “So how’d it go?” Cam asked.

  Sam smiled. “We spent too much.”

  Vala grinned. “Oh yes, entirely too much.”

  Daniel frowned. “Spent too much of what?”

  Vala simply winked, while Sam smirked knowingly.

  As they disappeared through the gate, the council chamber behind them remained in session; because this time, Jenna and Solacia had new voices whispering in their ears.

  The tides were shifting.

  The River:

  Three days ago, just before dawn, a mighty series of perfectly timed explosions ripped a good three-quarters of the Tey River bridge apart, sending a fully laden troop train into the icy, deep waters below.

  At late autumn, the snows had already fallen on the Apaxien (pronounced Ap’ashen) mountains, ninety miles due west of the coast. That mountain range, running the entire spine of the eastern coast of Plaxia, at times soared to 32,000 feet above sea level; the way the Earthlings measured things. Most of the year, the rivers that ran to the sea, even those in the upper north, were cold, but a hardy person could swim in some of them. But at this time of year? A few minutes in the water, and you were dead. Hypothermia, they called it on Earth.

  Darlen Tesk knew cold. He was born on Imdemia, a frigid world within the Lucian Alliance. Where Tesk was raised; the wastelands of the centre-west; a warm summer’s day barely reached 12°C. His father used to tell stories of the ‘heatwave of 997’, when temperatures climbed to 16°C for an entire week. Their year stretched across fourteen long months, with Urgur (winter) consuming nine of them. Troal (the melt) barely lasted two, Rentapio (summer) a mere one, and Crexot’a (autumn) another two.

  Imdemia, apparently, wasn’t always like this. Over two thousand years ago, it had been a standard galactic backwater; Earth-like, uninhabited except for some exotic fauna. Then came Kel, a minor Goa’uld with an overabundance of ambition. He liked to tinker, fancied himself a master of terraforming. He was not. When his experiments went sideways, he was left with a planet barely habitable for human life. Worse, the human slaves he’d brought with him far outnumbered his Jaffa. When they revolted, Kel didn’t stand a chance. The humans won. But at a cost; the Goa’uld’s ships still held most of the technology and knowledge. When the dust settled, the four remaining Hat’aks sat grounded, their purpose long since eroded. The people of Imdemia adapted, warred, and eventually one dominant faction rose. They were one of the first to join the Lucian Alliance.

  That was Darlen’s history. But right now, history didn’t matter. Survival did.

  He was a section leader, in Earth terms, a Sergeant. Sitting in the second carriage back from the locomotive tender, he had no real reason for choosing that spot. First and second platoons had been assigned there, so he sat with them. All the way north, through the yard and into the canyon leading to the bridge, he’d felt uneasy. Couldn’t put his finger on why.

  "Something’s off."

  He shifted in his seat, gaze flicking over his troops. Most were dozing. A few murmured quietly, too tired or resigned to the endless movements of war. Thoughts crowded his mind.

  "We’ve got no air cover. No ships. Just a train. A bloody train. What century is this?"

  His lips curled in a grimace as he looked out the window. The tracks stretched ahead into the cold morning haze, the bridge barely visible in the distance.

  "Why use the railway at all? We never used it before. Why now?"

  He adjusted his rifle in his lap, exhaling slowly.

  "Maybe I’m just paranoid. Maybe… "

  The world exploded.

  The first blast didn’t register as sound; only pressure. A violent shudder ran through the train, rattling teeth and bones. Then, a second explosion rocked the car, and suddenly, everything lurched sideways.

  Darlen barely had time to react before the carriage beneath him tipped, metal groaning as it snapped free. A hollow, stomach-churning moment of weightlessness.

  "Oh, shit."

  Glass shattered. Wood splintered.

  The river came up to meet them.

  For one heart-stopping instant, he saw his own reflection in the icy water below; wide eyes, mouth half-open, frozen in time.

  Then the impact.

  Darkness. Cold. Silence.

  Survival:

  The carriage hit the water intact, a steel coffin for the 115 men and women inside. Darlen had already smashed his window, his rifle stock still clutched in one numb hand. He had just enough time; just enough space; to slip free.

  The shock of the water nearly stopped his heart.

  "Move, damn it, move!"

  The current dragged at him. He kicked. Fought. His limbs felt sluggish, but survival screamed at him to keep going. The train was sinking, pulling everything with it. He was barely a man of average strength, but on Imdemia, survival was a skill learned young. He kicked harder, gasping as he surfaced, coughing up river water.

  Above, the bridge was still collapsing. The first explosions had been precise, controlled; whoever set them had known exactly what they were doing. But the last detonations... those were something else. The entire structure tore apart, twisted metal and shattered stone raining down into the canyon.

  Then came the worst part.

  The bodies.

  His fellow soldiers, barely recognisable, dragged under, flung against the rocks, crushed beneath falling debris.

  "A thousand men and women. Gone. Just like that."

  A wave of heat rolled over the water, stealing what little warmth he had left. Molten metal; sections of bridge, train parts; glowed red-hot before vanishing beneath the surface, heating the water in pockets.

  "If I don’t get out now, I never will."

  He forced his body forward, arms screaming in protest. The nearest support pier loomed ahead. If he could just get behind it, maybe…

  His fingers found rough stone. He pulled himself up, wedging his body into a corner beneath an overhanging support beam. Clasped his hands over his head.

  And waited.

  Waited as the last explosions finished their work.

  Waited as the final carriages plunged into the river.

  Waited as the sounds of death and destruction faded into eerie silence.

  By the time it was over, his face was wet with more than just river water. His uniform was burnt in places, smouldering. But he was alive.

  At midday, Darlen sat hunched over a small fire on a ridge east of the bridge. He’d stripped off his wet clothes earlier, drying them as best he could in the weak sunlight. His hands shook slightly as he rubbed warmth back into his fingers.

  "Survive first. Think later."

  His mind was already running through his options. The river was too wide to cross here; he’d need to head east or west to find a better spot. Maybe another bridge, if one existed.

  A sound snapped him out of his thoughts.

  Voices, across the river.

  He peered through the scrub. Soldiers. Not his.

  "Well. That complicates things."

  He settled lower into the underbrush, tugging a blanket over himself.

  "Wait until nightfall. Move when they’re not looking."

  The day passed in a blur of exhaustion. He didn’t remember falling asleep. Only that when he woke, the sky had darkened, and across the river, campfires flickered in the gloom.

  Gathering his things, he crept north. The riverbank turned rocky, cover growing sparse. It didn’t matter; the canyon walls obscured the enemy’s view.

  Then he heard it.

  Voices.

  Not from across the river.

  From below.

  Warm air brushed against his arm. He turned. A crevice in the rock, barely two metres long, no more than a handspan across. And definitely; impossibly; coming from within, the unmistakable sound of people talking.

  The Plan:

  A week had passed, then two. Brazenly personnel were beamed back and forth to the ships, as it appeared after a little testing, the Alliance were unaware that their beaming jammer was dysfunctional. The Daedalus had returned with SG-1, they in turn had met with Allienna and her growing group of young commanders and those assigned to her from Earth.

  In orbit above Vegema now, was the Invincible, Chekov and Daedalus. Of course, the air wing of the Invincible knew of Cate’s disappearance, Dusty, like James down on the planet, was having daily worry sessions, but hopeful for Cate’s return. Dusty though for strictly professional reasons, she was his CO. At least that’s what he told himself.

  A new meeting was convened for 1300 hours Zulu time, all the ship’s clocks were set to Central Mountain Time USA, essentially the time at the SGC. It gave people a routine by not having to jump around all over the place with time changes. The meeting was scheduled to be held in the Wardroom of the Invincible, ship’s commanders and landing force officers.

  “How much longer are we to stay here Colonel?” Chris Di Palma of the Odyssey asked.

  This was going to be a very weird conversation Cam thought to himself. Like an echo chamber. Almost like a private Colonel’s club. ‘Screw it.’ Cam thought. Everyone in this room was a Major or above, and Cam knew practically all of them reasonably well. As for Di Palma; he’d known the man for at least twenty years, even went to the same Staff course.

  “Well Chris, according to the SGC, the blockade will remain in place until either Horgfells surrenders, or we are in a position to launch the invasion.” Straight up, that was how Cam worked.

  A few grumbles around the table, men and women looked at each other, studied the laptop in front of them, or sipped on their coffee. Lieutenant Colonel Jeffries, the Invincible’s marine commander made a few quick notes, then looked up at Cam, then across to Teal’c. “We won’t be in any position to put boots on the ground until we get some serious back up. Anymore word on the Free Jaffa?”

  The big former Jaffa stood. All heads turned in his direction. “The Council deliberates as they always do. Old ways are hard to change. But I believe some progress was made, was it not Daniel Jackson?”

  Doctor Jackson wiped his glasses; he appeared distracted by something. “What, erm, oh, you’re talking to me Teal’c? Well, um, yes there was some progress made. You’d really have to check with Sam.” Passing the buck, that always worked well in most situations.

  It was Elle’s turn this time, and Cam was starting to get a kinked neck. “And Sam is where now?” She had wondered why the Colonel wasn’t at this meeting.

  “Colonel Carter is in conference with Allienna I believe.” Teal’c intoned deeply.

  The Debate:

  Sam paced back and forth, arms crossed, her expression tight with frustration. “I don’t like it, Allienna. It’s dangerous and reckless. Have you really thought this through?”

  Allienna, standing tall with her hands resting on the edge of the large map table, barely flinched. “Of course, I have. Every step, every contingency.” Her tone was calm, measured—but unyielding.

  “Then explain to me how faking a cave-in to sneak out 150 prisoners from a mine patrolled by 200 hardened Lucian Alliance troops isn’t reckless.” Sam stopped pacing and faced her directly. “If they figure out what we’re doing before we get them out, it won’t just be a failed rescue. It’ll be a slaughter.”

  “The patrols are predictable,” Allienna countered. “The mine entrance is watched, but the tunnels? They don’t have the manpower to monitor them all.” She pointed to a schematic. “We’ve already tunnelled into the lowest shaft without being detected. We just need to trigger a controlled collapse in one of the upper chambers, diverting their forces to what they think is an emergency. That gives us the opening we need.”

  Vala, lounging against the table with her arms folded, scoffed. “Right. Because Lucian thugs are famous for their concern over worker safety. What if they don’t take the bait?”

  “They will,” one of the Marine officers cut in—Major Kendrick, a battle-hardened commander from the Invincible’s landing force. “We’ve seen it before. When an incident like this happens, they send in half their damn company to ‘restore order.’ That’s our window.”

  Sam wasn’t convinced. “And what about the other half? The ones still watching the mine?”

  “They won’t be watching for an escape from underground,” Allienna said. “They’re stationed at the entrance, the work areas, and the supply routes. The shaft we’re using doesn’t even appear on their old mine records.”

  “Fine, say you get the prisoners out,” Sam shot back. “Then what? The moment they realise what’s happened, those two hundred veterans are going to be on us in force. And they’ll be pissed.”

  “We exfiltrate north into the hills,” Major Ellis, another Marine officer, spoke up. “We’ve already got three fallback routes planned. We won’t be staying to fight. We’ll be moving fast, and we’ll have the terrain on our side.”

  Vala rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, running for our lives through the mountains with 150 exhausted prisoners—what could possibly go wrong?”

  “I get it,” Allienna said, finally showing some frustration. “This isn’t a perfect plan. But waiting isn’t a perfect plan either. Every day we sit here, those people are being worked to death. And if the Alliance catches wind of what we’re doing, there won’t be a rescue mission left to argue about.”

  Sam exhaled, rubbing her temple. “You have too much faith in this plan.”

  “And you don’t have enough faith in me,” Allienna said, her voice quiet but firm.

  That stung, and Sam knew it. The room fell silent for a moment.

  Sam looked around. The Marines were backing Allienna. Even Captain Robyn ‘Bobbie’ Jessop, who had been silent so far, looked hesitant but not opposed. She arrived not long after Cate’s disappearance, to fill her place. A cool, calm infantry officer, highly skilled in tactics.

  “Alright,” she said at last. “We do it your way. But I want contingencies in place—extraction points, backup signals, diversionary tactics. If anything goes wrong, we pull out before this turns into a massacre.”

  Allienna gave a small nod. “Agreed.”

  Vala threw up her hands. “Fine, fine, but I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ when this inevitably goes sideways.”

  Sam sighed, knowing that this wasn’t over—but for now, the decision had been made. The mission was on.

  To be continued.