performed in the Port of Greater New York whether on piers or terminals controlled by them, *498 or whether through direct contracting out, shall be performed by ILA labor at longshore rates." Ibid.

After the 1959 agreement was reached, the development of container shipping accelerated. In 1967, ILA demanded in collective-bargaining negotiations that longshoremen stuff and strip all containers crossing the piers. Following a lengthy strike, ILA and NYSA in 1969 adopted, as part of their 1968-1971 collective-bargaining agreement, the Rules on Containers (Rules). The terms of that master agreement were adopted by other ports on the North Atlantic coast, including Hampton Roads and Baltimore. The Rules were slightly modified in 1971, after another long strike. In 1973 ILA and the Council of North Atlantic Shipping Associations (CONASA) executedthe door manufacturers since before the adoption of the agreement. We would perforce have determined that the object of the agreement was work acquisition, not work preservation.
Similarly, Pipefitters involved an agreement between a subcontractor and a pipefitters' union that pipe threading and cutting were to be performed on the jobsite. Relying on the agreement, the union refused to install climate-control units whose internal piping had been cut, threaded, and installed at the factory. The Board held that the provision was a lawful work preservation agreement, but that the refusal to handle the prepiped units was an unfair labor practice because the units had been specified by the general contractor and the subcontractor had no power to assign the employees the work they sought. Neither the Court of Appeals


OPINION OF THE COURT

1974 Rules on Containers

CONASA-ILA RULES ON CONTAINERS

PREAMBLE
This Agreement made and entered into by and between the carrier and direct employer members of the CONASA Port Associations (hereinafter referred to collectively as "CONASA") and the International Longshoremen's Association, AFL-CIO ("ILA"), its Atlantic Coast District ("ACD") and its affiliated local unions in each CONASA port ("locals") covers all container work at a waterfront facility which includes but is not limited to the receiving and delivery of cargo, the loading and discharging of said cargo into and out of containers, the maintenance of containers, and the loading and discharging of containers on and off ships.
CONASA agrees that it will not directly perform work done on a container waterfront facility (as hereinafter defined) or contract out such work whichbe subject to the grievance or arbitration provisions of any CONASA-ILA Agreement.

Rule 9Enforcement of the Rules on Containers
To assure effective, fair and non-discriminatory enforcement of the above Rules, the following regulations shall apply:
(a) A Committee in each CONASA port represented equally by management and union shall be formed and shall have the responsibility and power to hear and pass judgment on any violations of these Rules. Any inability to agree shall be processed as a grievance under the applicable contract except as limited by Rule 8 hereof. A joint committee, known as the CONASA-ILA Container Committee, represented equally by management and labor and made up of representatives (to be mutually agreed upon) from each CONASA Port, namely, Boston, Rhode Island, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Hampton Roads shall


90’s as a ‘home from home’ community based shared care scheme to help support families with a learning disabled child. The scheme facilitated short respite opportunities ranging from a few hours to overnight stays and weekend breaks. As the years progressed the scheme evolved into offering care breaks for adults with learning disabilities. Today the structure of the programme is split into adult and children placement services.

“In 1990 Josie opened her home providing a safe and caring environment for the children, many of whom had very challenging behaviours.

“After Eddie and Josie got married in 1996, they continued to work as a team providing the short breaks and supporting families in caring for their learning disabled child. When the scheme started to accommodate adults with learning disabilities, Josie andremained virtually unchanged for over 460 years.

When the School was founded over four and half centuries ago, the City of London gathered up ‘fatherless and poor children’ and cared for them. Through the generosity of the citizens of London smart new clothes were provided for the children of Christ’s Hospital.

The early uniform was, in accord with Tudor style, very colourful. There has been much speculation as to why blue and yellow was chosen. It was thought that both these colour dyes were not expensive, and blue and yellow could also have been chosen to distinguish the children in the care of Christ’s Hospital from those attending other schools. The linings of the coats were dyed yellow and their ‘stockings’ were always knee length and also dyed yellow.

The buttons


Republican presidential candidate New Gingrich says Congress should cut off funding for U.S. military efforts in Libya.

The former U.S. House speaker and Georgia congressman issued the challenge Tuesday during remarks to about 100 people at a Savannah Tea Party event.

Gingrich said pulling the plug on funding is the right response to what he called President Barack Obama's "deluded" approach.

He spoke as Obama and the GOP-controlled House continue to wrangle over the legality of American military efforts against Libyan dictator Moammar Gadhafi.

"They have an obligation to cut off the money in Libya given the president's attitude," the candidate said.

Gingrich lambasted Obama's citation of authorizations by the United Nations and the Arab League as grounds for U.S. intervention.

He insisted that the United Nations can't authorize an American president, calling that"a fundamentally unconstitutional thought."

Gingrich said the U.N. has "an amazing number" of corrupt and dictatorial governments and called the league "a collection of monarch and dictators."

"The idea that an American president would take either seriously as a moral force shows how deluded he is about reality," Gingrich said. "This is not real."

" ... What the president told them is so totally unacceptable and so totally against the American Constitution that it needs a direct confrontation from the Congress."

His comments came during a question period following a presentation that seemed more like a history class than a campaign appearance.

It was dominated by the screening of "A City Upon a Hill," a documentary produced by him and his wife, Callista.

The film contends that, because of its founding principles, the United


States has a special role in history.

Gingrich, himself a former history professor, and his wife are principal narrators. But businessman Donald Trump, who recently toyed with a White House bid, and U.S. Rep. Michele Bachmann of Minnesota, who is running, have roles.

The documentary contends that the spirit of "American exceptionalism" might be yielding to European-style socialism. "Get off your duffs" and resist, it challenges viewers.

"I think the people in this room firmly believe American exceptionalism is not dead," said Savannah Tea Party co-founder Marolyn Overton as the audience applauded.

Gingrich was on two-day Georgia campaign swing as he sought to rebound from recent major defections from his staff.

The exit of two others - both involved in his apparently sagging fundraising efforts - was reported Tuesday.

He refused to answer alaugh.

As for actual acknowledgements, I want to recognize and thank Andrew Marx for the very first review of Rylae's Storm, and Bobb B for the second review. Both of these folks left me nice reviews on Smashwords, and I appreciate them wholeheartedly. Reviews are like gold, and I'm going to have those two melted into a pendant so I can wear it around and tell others to look at my reviews.

Even my mother didn't bother to review my book, so I'm very thankful for those two random readers.

And, of course, I also thank all the rest of you who read Rylae's Storm and wanted to actually spend money on this book. That means a lot to me, too. I don't write to make money. I write because I


and science), in mana battery development, in technology creation, and as caregivers in hospitals. Occasionally an adept is found later in life and uses their untrained ability for different purposes, but these are rare.

# CHAPTER ONE

Commander Rylae Westiel, Terra, Admiralty City, Year 7401 (current day, age 124), Autumn

I love being right, even if I'm the only one who knows I'm right.

The UCST Corsari has been docked on Terra for almost three weeks since our last mission on Stenchstone, and it's been fairly busy. Being the Executive Officer of a starship is very detail-oriented on the best days, but even more so when we're docked. Finishing the tech inventory and creating detailed requisitions of everything we need to restock has filled a lot of my days, and sorting throughI was when I received it, but it's still a bit crazy.

Vice Admiral Railmaker, the dwarf in charge of the list, offered me an immediate position on a message ship, but I declined it, passing it farther down the list. Message ships are good, but their only mission is to land on a world for a few days, connect the routers to collect and disseminate messages, then fly to the next world. They also carry a small number of travelers who need to world-hop. After spending years on an ambassadorial ship, and after my last mission, I feel that's a bit beneath me. I hate feeling like that, but I know I can do more important work on a different type of ship.

I was also offered a position


stuff. I don't understand why he can't get new things, like a desk with a terminal in it. None of this old stuff is in style anymore!

Going past some of the chairs, I come to a row of rocking chairs. Okay, rocking chairs are at least sorta nice. They can be fun. I find a wooden one with a little padding and sit in it, slowly rocking back and forth while I look around the shop.

Father wanted to go 'antiquing' today, which is how we ended up here in the first place. I guess the other old folk wandering around the shop are also 'antiquing', whatever that means. Probably means 'buying old stuff because we're boring'. I don't understand why some elves are so obsessed with old junk.

"Becauseyou if you promise to quit fangirling! It's kinda embarrassing. For you, I mean."

She grins. "I can be good!"

I wave for her to follow me and walk back toward the desks. "They were over here somewhere when I last saw them, but they were being gross with each other."

Saeralyn's voice behind me replies, "Maybe we should look for them near the beds, then?"

I gasp and stop cold, causing her to walk right into my back, knocking both of us to the floor. Rolling over, I look at her with wide eyes. "That's terrible!"

She starts laughing so hard she can't breathe, and that makes me laugh again. I stand and look down at her. "You're gross, but you're funny. Let's go find my old gross parents."

"Maybe your 'old gross


small ship, and being on-world every three days like clockwork, the Terra-Tairngire doesn't need very many things. I still remember helping them inventory their stocks during my time on it. But since they need a little of everything, lots of different delivery folk from different warehouses are moving stuff around.

One of them notices me and snaps into a salute. The rest quickly follow suit. I salute back and wave them back to work. A problem with walking around in a ship uniform is being immediately recognized as UCST personnel, but that can also be a benefit if I have to work with any of them directly. Fortunately, from this distance, I don't have to go through the trouble of explaining to any of them that this isn't reallyseeing just some elf girl in a red sweater and jeans.

As I get closer to him, I pull my UCST identification card from my pocket. Since I almost never use it due to spending most of my time in a uniform, it still looks as fresh and new as the day they gave it to me eight years ago when I received my Commander rank. The picture of me inked on the front looks eight years younger, too, but I haven't exactly changed much.

Before he can say anything, I hold up the card. My name and rank are in large bold lettering at the top, so he can see them clearly enough to stand and snap into a salute before I get to the awning of his building.


about it or the craft, then step in the front as I turn off my rain barrier. I set the terminal for the Academy Hospital, then sit back as the landcraft pulls away from the storage area. It would normally take about ten minutes to get there, but the landcraft goes slower due to the rain it 'sees' with its proximity spell.

I try to look at the scenery while riding, but the rain and gray sky make everything blurry. Even in the rain, though, Corsari looks a lot like Admiralty City, just with many more trees between small areas of development. Given the choice, the elves of Tir Tairngire decided they'd rather walk further from one place to another, especially if there were small forests to walk throughbut there's not really anything in them. Some spellsand, some ink pens, a pile of cosmetics that look like they've been here since we were young, a... umm... I remember that toy... why would she still have it, and why would she just leave it in a desk drawer? Has it been here all these years? Wow. That's embarrassing. I close the bottom left drawer, glad no one can see me right now considering how warm my cheeks feel.

I shake that off and open the bottom-right drawer. A pile of school supplies fills that drawer like it fills mine. I start to close it, then stop. Saeralyn and I would often reference things to each other simply by making similarities. The best code is the simplest one. She


go to the food store, too."

With a nod, Father walks to the door and opens it. He steps outside and starts to pull it closed, then stops and looks at me. "I'm glad you're home, Rylae. We've missed you." As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he closes the door and goes to his landcraft.

It's all I can do to stop myself from crying. I've known that old elf my entire life, and he just doesn't say things like that. He jokes around and dodges, but never comes right out and says things. It's all a part of the game he makes of it. Hearing him actually say it catches me completely off-guard.

As I wipe my eyes, I stop to think about it and wonderstops crying, straightens her back and wipes her eyes. "Sorry."

I smile as I hand her a hankie. "Don't be sorry. I knew it was going to happen."

She punches me in the arm as she takes the hankie and wipes her face with it. "Thanks for being a jerk about it. Anyway, this is Poppa's desk. This is what the key should open."

She pulls a small metal key from the pocket of her jeans. She'd received the key in a package about a year ago. There were two packages that arrived within a day of each other. The first package contained a packet of information from the clerk her parents had retained to manage her trust, which became available to her when she turned 80. Aside from the storage


until he takes his merchandise around a corner before I leave.

The clerk's office has a heavy wooden door sealing him away from the outside world. That doesn't really surprise me, given the often-confidential ways which clerks operate, but it does make the visit a bit intimidating. The door itself is sealed, so I touch the charm on the side and wait. Above the charm is a small sign that reads, "No new clients accepted."

After a minute, the door opens to reveal an older elf in a gray business suit. He's shorter than I am, with silvery white hair and a hooked nose on his wrinkled face. He looks me over with tired eyes, but says nothing. I put on my nicest smile for him. "Excuse me, sir. I'mwhile you're simply walking up and down the aisles. Since Mother isn't with me, I'm not planning to buy much, but I don't know the layout of this store so I still have to visit every section, meaning an hour or so of nothing but thinking.

I don't know everything that's going on by a long shot, but I know the basics now. I know Saeralyn's in the middle of something big. Definitely bigger than the small job she had me help her with on Firefork. I wonder if there is anything else I can remember about that job that can help me with the problem today.

Firefork, City of Burnmire, Year 7399 (2 years ago, age 122), Autumn

Our mission this trip is to act as protection to the UCST


is standing slightly in front of me with both arms out, palms of her hands toward the piles of ash. For a second I swear I can see a flicker of flame on her fingers.

She turns to me, and I can see her orange eyes are sparkling. She's smiling that sheepish grin I remember from when we were younger. "So, yeah... there may be some things about me that we didn't know when we were kids."

My jaw drops. "You're a fire adept?"

She nods, then points at the burning house. "Yeah, but I'm not very controlled. Case in point right there. That's going to attract attention I didn't really want. Sorry, Rylae."

I look around, and my eyes alight on the shed. I look between the shed and the houseof Burnmire, Year 7399, Autumn

It's the next day when I finally get out of the Overseer's office after explaining things for the twentieth time. Diplomatic immunity is a great thing, but when you _really_ have to use it, the spectacular mess still needs to be explained.

I told them that I was at that house because I was considering buying it. I was looking for a vacation house. The driver that took me there knew the neighborhood and wanted to show it to me. I don't remember what the driver looked like or his name and he obviously didn't stick around when a group of armed goblins showed up to find me.

I told them that I didn't know who the goblins were or why they were hunting me. There


it.

"Yours always,

"Saeralyn"

I close the message, move to my bed, and lay down so I can stare at the ceiling. Again she manages to give me something important to think about. I don't entirely know what to make of it yet. But I will. I just need to think about it for awhile. Maybe I'll find another answer she doesn't realize exists.

ǂǂǂǂ

I thought about that for awhile, and all that day did was make me angrier and more disappointed in my best friend than ever. I felt used, and hurt, and left behind all over again. I felt like Saeralyn was specifically hiding all the answers from me and pushing me away again. I didn't know then even half of the things I know now.

I can now recognize thenotes were hand-written, and in a different language at that. A hand-written note is harder to intercept than a terminal message. I learned how easy terminal message routing can be tampered with during the capture of Grovr Darkmuck.

If this contractor war has been going on for as long as I know it has, then maybe she _couldn't_ send me messages. Maybe I've been mad at her for years for something completely out of her control.

So how was she able to send me that message on Firefork? That's actually an easy one. Our ships were connected directly thanks to Nub's communication spell. The message went straight from her ship to mine with no possibility of interception. Captain Tallinos must have given her that detail so she could send me


"Sorry to hear that, babe. He's definitely an ass."

I chuckle a bit. "I guess they deserve each other, then, because Aethwen's a huge ass herself!"

That makes her chuckle. "That sure is the truth!"

I wrap my arm around her waist and give her a light squeeze. "Thanks, dear. That makes me feel a little better. At least I never did anything with him I would regret now!"

Her arm tightens around my shoulders. "No kidding. Just let it go. He's not worth your anger or heartache. He's slime."

I snuggle into her shoulder a bit. "Be glad you don't have a boyfriend. Boys are a total pain in the ass and I wonder why we bother with them."

I feel her fingers tense on my shoulder. "Yeah, they are."

Something doesn't quite soundshe smiles. "Thank you, Rylae. You saved my ass that day. I knew you would. You always do. I wish that reunion had gone a lot more like this one, but I'm still glad I brought your ship out there with us."

I smile with her, accepting the compliments, until the last words out of her mouth stop me cold. "Excuse me? Care to explain that last comment? How did _you_ cause the Corsari to be assigned the mission to Firefork?"

She shrugs as she turns to her backpack which is sitting on my bed. "I didn't have any other backup agents available that I could trust, and I didn't like going into that job alone. Too much potential for something to go ass-up on me. A rather valid worry,


clerk. "Four weeks to zero."

He makes a notation. "Thank you, Miss. I will pass the information along to your associates at their next update times."

"Thanks, Melisand. Have there been updates from any associates since I was here last?"

"No, Miss."

"I didn't think there would be. Thank you, Melisand. I'll come back for another update in four days."

She places the parchment back in her pack and shoulders it as she stands. We leave the office and return to the landcraft. As we get in, she inputs an address and the craft starts moving.

Turning to me, she smiles. "Since you're already dressed for work, I figure I should go show you my current office. I think you'll like it. It's very... flowery."

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

There's one particular thing about Tir Tairngire thatof the Mare's remaining agents. A few went to work for the opposing contractor, obviously determining his side was the 'winning' side. A few others went to Melithas to the other contractors."

She turns to me with an evil grin and a sparkle in her orange eyes. "At that point, I decided enough was enough. I kept doing jobs for The Professor, but I now had a goal of my own: revenge. I started connecting with other agents that used to work for the Mare. A few of them were interested in helping, but mostly only so they can clean up the spoils after the war is over.

"The Professor wanted nothing to do with it, saying that another contractor will eventually appear to fill the void, and this is


But since I'm not and everyone's enamored with the tournament, I don't expect to hear anything for awhile.

I pick out a light blue top and jeans, then look over at the basket of clothes on the floor. I'll fully admit to being spoiled with Halder always cleaning my clothes on-ship. It's nice to just throw them in the basket and have them magically reappear in my wardrobe later. Since I'm home, though, I guess I'll have to clean them after I clean myself.

Once I'm done in the washroom, I grab the basket of clothes and walk back to the laundry room. I set the basket on the folding table and touch the charm on the clothes cleaner to activate it. It's a simple device with two metal barsquivers of arrows; all wearing leather armor. One male commander has a scar across his face and short brown hair. One female commander with blonde hair to her shoulders has a limp favoring her left side. The other obvious commander is a bald male with a red band around his right arm who loves to yell.

Satisfied, I settle myself in to see what happens after nightfall. I'm getting a little hungry by now, but I know I'll be fine once I focus back on the task at hand. We didn't discuss a particular time to meet back at the office beyond 'sunset tomorrow'. Since we're out here for two days, it was decided it's best to each manage ourselves during that time. Less chance of failure that way.

Shift


and worry less about the sounds I make. For another, getting around is just generally not very easy in darkness. I eventually find each of my landmarks and get back to the proper tree before I'm completely demoralized.

I find the office and search for the handholds. The carvings are harder to see in the darkness, so I move slowly up the tree but eventually get there. When I do, I see I'm alone and I try not to let that bother me. I know Saeralyn's doing her part of the mission, and I know she's better at this kind of thing than I am, so I remind myself to trust her to be okay while she's doing it.

I pull a sandwich and water bottle from the backpack andan agent himself. It's unclear exactly how it happened, but I tend to believe the story that the previous contractor, The Dagger, sent him on a suicide mission. When he managed to actually live through it, he came back and killed his boss, taking over The Dagger's entire business."

I nod as I follow along. I've never been a fan of history, but this stuff is actually kinda cool. I want to ask more questions, but the landcraft comes to a stop and I look around. I know where we are! This is the restaurant where I agreed to become Saeralyn's girlfriend. Technically, I guess it was our first date.

She grins as I turn to her. "I thought it might be fun to sit in a corner booth, drink


fighting skill would be great to have on our side."

I chuckle. "That's not all. They want to bring, as they put it, 'nine or eighteen friends', which means they want to know if we need a squad or two from the elite soldiers in the battalion to come with them."

She immediately shakes her head. "No. Definitely not. The bastard will see them coming before they even board the ship to get over here. Three or four folk we can hide. Two squads of battalion members, we definitely can't. As much as I'd love the force, it'll be too showy and give us away."

I hadn't thought of that, but this is Saeralyn's plan and she understands what to look for. "Got it. I'll tell them they can't bring theira week before the assault. I'm excited to see them, but I still don't know what we'll do with Tanna yet. I'm going to have to sit her down for a talk and find out what she's thinking. Maybe she already has some kind of plan for herself, even though she has no details about our assault.

I spend some time outside practicing with weapons when no one's home, but otherwise fill the remaining time reading stories, going shopping, spending time with my parents, and other vacation-type things. It's nice to relax for awhile, especially knowing my vacation is quickly coming to a close. I try not to spend any of it thinking about what's going to happen after that.

Eventually, the time disappears and the Terra-Tairngire is scheduled to


I return, and walks away to the staircase. I take a few steps back to Saeralyn to wait for my team to come out.

As expected, Lada is the first one to walk out of the door. What isn't expected is the light blue dress she's wearing. I never expected Lada to wear dresses. She's never really seemed to me to be girly enough to wear a dress. I watch her as she checks the perimeter, seeing us and the landcraft, then motions behind her for everyone else to follow as she walks down the stairs.

Gimmir follows her out, with Simon right behind him. They're both in UCST shirts and jeans, but even out of uniform they look like two folk you just don't want to get on theat the side of the room. We move toward it and stand against the side of the wall. Saeralyn slowly opens it inward and looks out. She makes some gestures telling me there are two guards outside and to the right, which I'm thinking must be the front door. She gestures two more elves on the left, but not as firmly as she pointed out the guards. Those might be workers or something.

After another minute of looking, she silently closes the door and turns to me. "The portal wall must be on the left. I can't get a good look at it past the walls. We might be exposed if we make a run for it."

Just then, a commotion happens outside. Saeralyn cracks open the door again as


and point my dagger at the body near my feet. "He's calling for his guards. I don't think we should disappoint him." Saeralyn opens the door and steps inside as I follow.

A male elf, maybe around 200 years old, sits at a desk looking through some papers. I step to the side and aim my spellshooter at him as Saeralyn walks up to the desk. "Supervisor, it appears you're being attacked."

He shakes his head. "Impossible. Tathanion's fighters would take care of it. Whatever is _actually_ happening out there, go down there and stop it!"

She slams a bloody sai on top of his papers. "I believe I said you're being attacked, you insufferable prick."

That finally gets his attention and he looks up at Saeralyn. His eyes narrow. "Who inback to the vacant house to pack our equipment tomorrow, but there's nothing more for us to do at the compound. I'll probably have dinner with my parents tomorrow if you and Sen want to come and see them before we go."

She shakes her head. "I wasn't talking to my boss just then. I was talking to my best friend. Rylae... what's wrong?"

I feel the tears start to run down my face as I shake my head. I can't open my mouth to make words come out, so I just point to the door of the quarters building then point up. She nods and follows me as I walk to my quarters on the top level.

Once inside with the door closed, we sit on the bed and I


a few seconds. I don't think it always works, though. He seems to enjoy when I knock him down. I think he has a crush on me."

Tanna almost hurts herself from laughing so hard. "I didn't know you knew about that! He's had a thing for you for years! You can do so much better, though. We'll still have time to find you someone on Terra before we launch again. Want me to find a girl or two to keep you company when we get back?"

My eyes go wide as I process the offer, then I hug her tight. "No, but asking means a lot to me. I don't think it's really a realm you'd be comfortable looking in anyway. Stick with what you know. Besides, I thinkher associates yet. Are you here to provide an update?"

I nod. "When Orfindan told me she hadn't been by, I knew she hadn't told you. The operation was successful. The Supervisor has been deposed, and has been replaced by Fire Demon. There were no losses on our side of the operation."

He pulls out his book and makes some notations. "Fire Demon is Miss Gwalindiel?"

I nod. "She is. Her associates are helping her with the transition, but should be leaving to return to their contractors in three days or so."

He looks at me. "That is excellent news. Are you going to be working closely with her in her new position?"

I shake my head. "I will not. In fact, you can update your instructions to remove any authorizations in my


you to your ship as soon as possible, Commander. Have a pleasant trip." He turns on his heel and walks away.

I watch him as he leaves, thinking The Supervisor was far from the only insufferable prick I've had the pleasure to be acquainted with on this trip. I check again for my daggers, wishing just a bit that they'll actually be there this time, then relaxing with a sigh when they're not. I test my balance, and think I can walk and carry stuff without problem, so I collect the empty glasses and dishes onto a tray and carry it over to the dish area.

A head of light blue hair appears to my side and helps me with the dishes. I look over and recognize the pretty littlemy head and sigh.

Tanna pokes me in the shoulder. "What about you? You're awfully late today. I'm guessing you were up much later than the rest of us. So what were you doing?"

I give a brief account of my encounter with the XO and how it ended. The women look at each other for a second, then turn back to me. Sen's the first to speak. "Sounds like the XO's a bit of an ass."

I shrug. "Maybe. My immediate reaction of 'defensive stance' wasn't exactly the most flattering thing ever, though. I've been a bit on-edge with the assault and Saeralyn and everything. It might be at least partially my fault." That sounds believable, but Romara's reaction last night makes me think there's more to it. I won't


he gets out. "Zaxn. Hang on a second."

He turns to me but doesn't look me in the eye. "Commander."

I shake my head. Nerdy goblin boy is back in full force today. "I just wanted to tell you that we're okay. I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen, because it did happen, but I'm not going to focus on it. It'll stay between us, and I'm not upset about it, so you shouldn't be, either. Deal?"

He shrugs. "I'll try. Thanks, Commander." With that, he turns and leaves. There's not much more I can do about it, so I let him go.

I'm about halfway back to the corner table when I hear a voice say my name. "Commander Westiel, do ya have a moment?"

I turn to see Captain Rubyhewer.the right way or place to handle this. I need to get my own foothold on the situation, which means getting out of the Captain's office with as little offense as possible.

I nod. "Captain, I'm distressed to hear this. If I can be frank with you, I can tell you that the information you heard is not completely correct, but I know the danger of creating a situation where it's entirely one officer's word against another's. This is especially true when one of them is an officer that you implicitly have to trust. You and I don't know each other except in passing. Your XO is quite new to you as well, but he's your XO and you have to trust him."

I stand. "For now, I will promise


things from you.

"Obviously, this was about more than revenge. The revenge was nice, and I still couldn't have done it without your help, but it was always about more. I wanted what my parents never did. They were the best, but they never wanted to be in charge. I wanted to change that for myself.

"I also wanted you back. I thought that you'd stay if I got you involved in my work. I couldn't get you to stay the first time, but I wasn't good enough back then. I was hoping you'd stay once I became a contractor. I was hoping you'd decide I was finally good enough for you to stay. I was hoping you'd decide that working with me was something you wanted to do.

"I guessin 2016, Laing played three seasons with the Toronto Argonauts. In 44 regular season games, he notched 63 defensive tackles, 15 sacks and two forced fumbles. The Argos ninth overall selection in the 2012 CFL Draft had his best career season in 2015 when he posted career highs in tackles (34) and sacks (8).


their inaugural season. The Lugnuts had the benefit of being entirely new for Lansing — a new stadium, Lansing’s own minor league baseball team, a new cornerstone in its identity, and the beginning of the resurrection of a downtown district. There were also years of anticipation about the possibility of minor league baseball in town.

The Ignite, on the other hand, happened quickly — announcing their existence in October. The USL League One club is a new tenant in a stadium that still glistens but is hardly a new experience.

You can look at Lansing Ignite’s start a couple ways:

One, that their average of 2,285 tickets sold through four league games is more than double what Lansing United used to average at the East Lansing Soccer Complex during five seasonssummer months. Ideally, same for the Ignite.

Among the club’s challenges this first summer is that the established Lugnuts — whose Midwest League schedule takes precedence — have the stadium for most of the primo summer weekends. That’s just how the schedule fell.

The Ignite have just three weekend home games during the three summer months — Saturday, June 22; Saturday, July 13; and Saturday, Aug. 3. The Lugnuts, meanwhile, have seven full weekend home series during June, July and August, and two other Friday night home games, which, because of the time it takes to flip the field, prevent the Ignite from playing at home those weekends.

The Ignite do have three straight Saturday night home dates in September — all Michigan State football game days. Those should still be


Film and Anime Reviews – New and older releases!

The Great Wall (2016)

1,700 years to build. 5,500 miles long. What were they trying to keep out?

How’s this for a concept — the frenetic big creature battles of Starship Troopers (1997) meets the scope and majesty of ancient China! Cool huh? Throw into the mix the luscious eye for design that respected director Zhang Yimou, House of Flying Daggers (2004), usually brings to the table, along with a healthy U.S. budget and leading star Matt Damon, Jason Bourne (2016). It’s all very promising. The trouble with The Great Wall, ironically, begins once the plot is made clear, as it becomes plainly apparent that the many talented hands involved in the project were never quite sure where they wanted to takebrain shuts down, and my subconscious takes over.
Above the water,...

Supplemental Essay: “Why us” school essay

143 Words

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When I was a sophomore, my father and I went on a quick college tour. When we stepped onto the Duke campus, I was stricken by the beauty of the school. After the information session and the walking tour, I told him I was done searching: I was home, and I was staying. I was amazed by the enormous sense of spirit coming from all of the students and how much they love Duke. I'm very interested in Duke's highly-ranked...

Supplemental Essay: Issue of personal significance

907 Words

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Last summer, I biked 3,181 miles from Charleston, SC to Santa Monica, CA. I traveled with 11 other high school students and 2 college-aged leaders. The trip was


Command & Conquer – The Ultimate Collection (17 games, $8.00)

Command & Conquer is one of the best-selling RTS franchises of all time. Rediscover the groundbreaking, action-packed strategy game-play that changed PC gaming forever with Command & Conquer The Ultimate Collection. Fight as the Global Defense Initiative or the Brotherhood of Nod as they clash over the rare mineral Tiberium in the classic original series. Challenge the red menace in an alternate universe in Red Alert, then step into the near future with Generals as China and the United States battle the Global Liberation Army, a terrorist organization hell-bent on bringing the world to its knees! Rule all three Command & Conquer universes and more with this incredible value – including 17 games and more!

Command & Conquer titles comethe EA Origin account is required for activation and installation.

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IndieGameBundles is the worlds first bundle aggregator. Online since March 2012, our small website based in Croatia (look it up on the map, kids) is operated by just 2 indie loving people passionate about bringing you all the news about pc game bundles, free steam keys and other free games, digital game deals and indie game reviews.


Kessel touts LI’s power future

As the economy begins to round the corner back toward recovery and hopefully prosperity, the need for power will also see an upswing.
So says Rich Kessel, the former head of the Long Island Power Authority and current president of the New York Power Authority, who spoke before a meeting of members of the Long Island ...Pages

14 August, 2009

The Dahomey Expeditions

Here are the two rival expeditions heading up the Alpouro to discover the fate of Dr. Gaspard de Châteaubriant.You may recognise the title from an earlier teaser here

The British expedition led by the dashing Commander Abraham Simpson D.S.O., a grizzled group of British veterans marches upriver, armed with Lee Enfields and aided by their trusty native porters...

Advance Group under Cpt Bailey

Main Column led by Cmdr Simpson

Rear Guard under Esn Harper

The American expedition under Playboy millionaire H. Jack Vanderbolt embarking with a disparate bunch of adventurers, along with some overwhelming firepower...

1st Squad led by Sarge Hannigan

2nd Squad and Gun under Vanderbolt

3rd Squad led by Porter

The vehicles being used by the Vanderbolt Expedition are being shipped up the river at a later date due to mechanical


Iranian UAVs [unmanned aerial vehicles] also frequently shadow U.S. carrier battle groups in the area.

For those who want more on this, UK-based analyst Martin Murphy also works a lot on Iranian swarming tactics.

The 30-minute incident was far from the most serious altercation between U.S. and Iran in recent history. But, as long as there's no dialogue between the two countries, even innocuous interactions can quickly become dangerous.

The vast majority of the time, the U.S. and Iranian navies maneuver peacefully through the Persian Gulf and the Strait of Hormuz... Still, the U.S. can't help but see unusual behavior through the prism of the 2000 attack on the USS Cole, when 17 sailors were killed, and in the context of more recent threats. In other words, 30 minutes on aJacob’s feet hurt from trying to make his way through the brambles and bric-a-brac within the seemingly endless forest of the Furling kingdom. He was not accustomed to long marches, even in the time when he’d been a young man in the Airforce he’d had relatively limited experience with long distance hiking through the wilderness. Selmak was more accustomed to roughing it than he was, but even the Tok’ra tended to have supplies and resources with him when he traveled. There was a small pouch of flint, tinder, and some emergency rations that Selmak and Jacob kept with them just in case of an emergency, but it was sitting in his quarters back at the SGC next to the ruck sack full of clothing and a Zat gun


slowly, keeping his hands in the air so as not to spook her.

“So did you just miss the entry level “how to be a Fairy” class that they give at orientation?” The woman snorted, her lip quirking up as Jacob walked towards her. Her expression turned to one of utter disbelief as Jacob crossed the trench that she’d dug in the fine brown dirt around her camp-site. He took care not to disturb the trench as he passed over it, noting idly that it formed a circle around the place where the woman had built her fire.

There was an immediate shift in the woman’s mood when he crossed that threshold. She was no longer idly amused by his presence. While she hadn’t stopped putting food into the pot,were not the worst thing Selmak had witnessed.

“Unlikely.” Selmak replied aloud, his eyes flashing as he looked up to stare into the woman’s gaze. Their eyes met and suddenly Jacob was transported elsewhere. He was not alone. Draped across his neck and shoulders was an elegant serpent with a skin pattern like white marble ending in the curious frilled head of the Goa’uld symbiotes. He knew in an instant that it was the Tok’ra, Selmak.

He tried to speak to the serpent, but found himself unable to make works, only to experience the rush of images washing over him. He witnessed glimpses of the woman’s life. He saw vague memories of what might have once been parents, insignificant wisps of forgotten memories from those who’d left her life in


infancy. He caught fragments of the lonely life of a foster child, never quite staying in one place for long enough to belong until finally someone adopted her. He saw a happy family, an adoptive father and brother on a farm – until he saw those feelings of familial love for her brother shape into something different, but no less pure. He saw the feeling of betrayal as her adoptive father became a monster, doing terrible things to her in the pursuit of power.

He was having difficulty understanding the specifics, the woman’s conflicting emotions displayed a myriad of conflicting images of the same scene. Some showing her supplication to her adoptive father, some showing her begging and pleading not to do what he demanded. And then the worlderupted into fire. Her adoptive father, dead. Her brother turned lover, the source of the flames – a beacon of rage who wished her dead as he had brought death upon her father. And then fear. He saw images of a woman who grew up in hiding, beholden to the debt she’d incurred in order to flee the righteous wroth of her lover and a shadowy cabal of cloaked men with glimmering blades.

He felt her shame, and her hope, and her fear and her guilt. Decades of guilt. Decades of loneness in which she hadn’t allowed herself another’s touch for fear that she might bring the doom upon them that she brought upon her first love. Decades in which she feared to be alone with any man for


fear that she might become victim to mesmerism or mind magics. He felt the love she had for the Summer Court of the Furlings, paired with the absolute terror she had of what she owed them. It was a debt she might never be able to repay – a fate worse than death if it ever were called to task.

He snapped back to his body, keenly aware that Selmak’s visions within the woman’s mind had been different from his own. He would have to compare notes with the Tok’ra later when they had a moment. The woman was not fairing as well for having seen the inside of his and Selmak’s heads. She stood stock still, just shivering as a white glow shimmered across her eyes, her lipasphyxiating as the ship's interior was exposed to the cruel vacuum of space. The near pitch black of the moon's surface was highlighted in staccato bursts as weapons fire brought a brief respite of illumination to the inky void.

The hull still glowed from where their attackers had burned their way through, casting a hateful red glow where molten metal spread across the floor. They must have brought some sort of advanced plasma weaponry to generate the requisite heat to burn through the re-enforced hull of a Goa'uld mothership. The structures were hardened to prevent damage from staff weapons or debris. They had melted more a five-foot-thick slab of re-enforced alien composite materials for their point of ingress in a time period that Sam wouldn't have believed possible without


the use of a mothership's main weapons, and done so with close enough proximity to the discharge of the plasma apparatus that Sam would have expected them to have been fried or irradiated by the discharge.

By all accounts it shouldn't have been possible. But Sam had seen many impossible things since joining the SGC. The advanced races of the galaxy treated physics as more of a polite suggestion than a strict law, and supplemented the practical with the unlikely whenever possible. Skepticism was a luxury for people not defending an alien pyramid from space Romans on the moon. Doctor Daniel Jackson and LT Johnson barely had time to take position in the corridor before their attackers were upon them.

She fired at the closest Roman, retreated back behind Daniel,covered his retreat, and so on as they followed the Colonel's plan. Kill as many of the boarders as they could manage on their way to the ring room, meet up with the re-enforcements Colonel Makepeace had radioed for, and assault the enemy with superior firepower when they were at their weakest.

"Fire in the hole," Shouted Colonel Makepeace as he tossed a metal ball down the corridor and at the face of an approaching Roman. Sam ducked back behind her pillar, taking the chance to catch her breath as a cloud of debris and metal shards showered the man's boiled leather armor. When she turned back the Legionary was bloody but still standing. His skin and armor rippled briefly, blistering into black scales as the man clutched at


gaping wounds across his body. He fell to his knees, holding at the seeping wounds across his flesh to keep the shimmering ruby blood within his body.

His compatriots formed moved around him, planting black shields and long spears between their wounded comrade and their attackers. They were highly disciplined, as Carter and the Marines opened fire upon them they showed no fear even as bullets ripped through their shields and into their bodies. Carter watched hot led pierced men's faces and bodies, dropping them to the ground but there always seemed to be a man to take the place of the man she shot.

At first, Sam felt bad for how outmatched the Romans seemed to be. Their spears and shields provided them with little protection against modern weaponry,as long as Carter and Daniel continued to tactically retreat with SG-3 in the direction of the central ring room they would be sufficiently thin the herd so that when SG teams 5 and 6 arrived the boarders would be easy pickings. Or so she'd though till one of the Romans she shot was replaced by a roman wearing torn armor and a bullet ridden shield, a man she was certain had been wounded by the grenade. His wounds had healed over, angry pink flesh meeting patches of thick scales where his wounds had been when the shrapnel hit.

"Oh no," Sam groaned as she shot a Roman through the head and he just staggered, reaching up to clutch his headwound.

"I'm running low on Ammo here." LT Johnson snarled,


slapping another magazine into his rifle as he covered Major Warren's retreat.

"Major Carter, I could really use a clever idea here!" Colonel Makepeace tossed another grenade stalling the shield wall and forcing the rank behind it to climb over their wounded brethren. Carter flinched at the reptilian eyes in the darkness, flashing back with every burst of her weapon. They were looking less and less like men with every wound they took, seeming more and more like what would happen if an Unas and a human were ever to produce a viable infant.

Carter's magazine clicked – she was out of ammunition for her rifle. Furious and cursing her luck she reached down and pulled the alien pistol from where it was holstered at her hip, letting the cobrahead it snap to attention with an angry zip-hiss of electricity. She squeezed the firing mechanism, sending four bolts of lightning zipping down the corridor. They did not, as a zat-weapons normally did, cascade across the man she fired them at. No, their collision caused something Sam hadn't ever seen before. The bolts ripped through the man's shield and armor, causing them to evaporate into smoke as they ripped through his form. Where they touched his skin spidery patters of blue lightning spread out, thick pustules of sickly liquid bursting from under scaly skin. He howled in agony as his body expanded like she'd started to inflate him like a balloon, right up till his body erupted into a shower of meat and ruby-red blood.

The Romans did not


take the death of their compatriot well.

Colonel Makepeace didn't even need to bother yelling "retreat" as a confusing stream of glowing projectiles streamed down the corridor. Balls of swirling lightning, torrents of acid, black gouts of flame, and any number of other noxious and caustic weapons followed Sam as she grabbed Daniel, ducking down into a large antechamber off the main corridor to the ring room. The tile he'd been standing on shattered as a huge spur of bone coated in orange liquid landed on it. Purple smoke rose from the smoldering rubble, sending yellow sparks in every direction.

She kicked the bulkhead controls to slam down the door behind her, separating her allies from their pursuers.

"Dr. Jackson is there some sort of a Legend about Roman Legionaries thatSam ripped the crystal from the door controls, sealing a bulkhead between themselves and the Romans. "Because I feel like even as a Goa'uld trick, that one should have made the history books."

"I think it did." Daniel pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I think that they're dragons."

"Dragon lore is extensive – some just describe them as being unthinking monsters but others, especially the Eastern mythologies, describe them as beings of powerful magics." Daniel pulled his Zat gun from his hip, activating it. "And considering that they're currently trying to burn through the bulkhead with their fire breath, I'm going to go out on a limb and say 'Dragon' given that the Lord Warden literally told us that Dragons were going to come and try


energy. Given that Zat weaponry disrupts the bonds between electrons their effects upon any creature who isn't native to this dimension's laws of physics must be catastrophic. Once the phase state of any individual particle is disrupted it causes a cascade effect." Sam wondered if the Zat weaponry's effects upon dragons was an ancillary benefit discovered after the weapon had been designed or if it had been the weapon's intended purpose from the start.

The sparks that had been spitting under the door stilled, a sudden and terrifying quiet coming from the other side of the bulkhead after the sudden clash of heavy feet coming to attention as spears were brought up against shields. There was a sudden and haunting quiet from outside the room as the sound ofa man's shoes clacking upon the ground echoed down the corridor. They came closer, step by step, a hitched and labored pace to them as though the man making them was walking with a slight limp. The slight drag-thump of the man's walk was somehow more foreboding than the ravenous cries of the dragons had ever been.

And then a word was spoken.

It was not a complex word, astonishingly simple really. Two syllables spoken in the imperative.

"Open."

The Door burst inwards, knocking Sam off her feet as it ripped itself from the wall and few inwards. She fell backward tail over teakettle, scrambling to pick her Zat back up off the ground as a man entered the room. She raised her weapon to fire at the man only for another


imperative to ring our across the room.

"Stop."

And just like that Sam stopped. She stopped moving, she was barely breathing, even her eyes were struggling to move as she willed them to examine her companions. They were all trapped in similar predicaments, twitching as they attempted to fight the overpowering sense of stillness.

"Remove their weapons." Spoke the man. There wasn't the same resonance to this sentence, the immediate and immutable fact of what had been spoken wasn't there, but there was a regal sense of command in the man's cultured gravely rumble.

He shambled into Sam's line of vision as the Dragon soldiers entered the ring-room. The rage that had filled their very being when they'd chased Sam and her allies was replaced with a combination of reverence and terrorfor the man who now stood before her. He was tall, of an obviously muscular build and clearly knew how to use that muscle. In contrast to the others, he was wearing a light grey three-piece suit that wouldn't have looked out of place in an executive board room accented with a white silk shirt and a bright green tie.

He had likely once been handsome, in a severe and rugged sort of way. The esthetic as marred, however, by the seeping red wounds covering half his body. One of his hands was bandaged, having been cut and mangled to a degree that she could discern which fingers were missing even though the swaddling. Someone had gored the man and lit him on fire, recently. He examined her through


the eye that was not swollen shut and drippling ruby-red blood, thin trails of smoke coming from his dimples as he smiled at Sam with a mouth full of very sharp teeth. Paired with the red stains on his silk shirt where his wounds had seeped into the fabric and it gave the man a sharkish appearance.

He looked her up and down with a sort of predatory masculine appreciation as he pulled the weapon from her fingers, even as her body vibrated with the effort of trying to pull the trigger. "You will find me to be more capable prey than the scion you dispatched."

Sam's jaw twitched as she tried to speak, furious that her muscles were betraying her. The man tutted, clicking his tongue against his teeth.I will listen."

He looked at the Colonel, taking in the man's rank as he walked over and pulled out the man's dog-tags. "Colonel Makepeace. How long until your re-enforcements arrive?"

The Colonel's mouth twitched as he fought the urge to speak. The man in the suit spoke again in the imperative. "Speak."

"Two response teams are coming. They were on call to suit up and teleport in within twenty minutes of a distress call I sent ten minutes ago." The words rolled out of the Colonel's mouth, seemingly against his will.

"Do they know that I am here?" Asked the man.

The Colonel's lips twitched again, sweat beading across his brow as he fought the urge to speak. Sam was pretty sure he'd ruptured a blood vessel in his eye from the


officer's lips at break neck speeds, he couldn't seem to get the words out fast enough. "We told them everything we knew about you which was essentially "you're here" and "you're attacking."

"Are they going to bring the Goa'uld who owns this vessel with them from?" Asked the man. "Your patron."

"No." Replied the Lieutenant, genuine surprise in his voice.

"Where is your patron god." Repeated the man, a twinge of the imperative in his voice. "Tell me where the Goa'uld is so that I might liberate his skull from his neck."

"I don't know." Replied the Lieutenant.

Anger was in the man's voice, the vocalization of which felt like a knife stabbing into Sam's ear. "Do not lie. This is a Goa'uld ship. You are onboard it, where is the Goa'uld?"

"He isn'there." Sam shouted, willing her mouth to move. The man turned around to face her, an amused look on his injured face. Sam looked him dead in the eye. "He isn't even in this Solar System. He left through the Stargate."

Sam's eye twitched, it was a slight motion but it was apparently enough for the man to turn to Daniel and ask his question again. "What planet did the Goa'uld go to."

"Nekheb." Daniel replied. "The Lord Warden called his planet Nekheb."

"Nekheb…." The man's face betrayed no emotion. A saurian aspect of stillness in him as he froze in place, contemplating that fact. "You are certain of that?"

"Yes." Replied Daniel.

There was another pause as the man examined Doctor Jackson. "You are less ridiculous in those fatigues than I would


have imagined when I met you five years ago. It was amusing to see men dismiss truth so emphatically even as it was spoken from the mouths of babes."

"You have been honest with me so I will reward you in kind." He snapped his fingers, and the Stargate team members suddenly found themselves able to move again. "Remember that that which has been given can be taken away."

Sam fell to the ground as her legs gave out under her, falling to the ground. She looked around the room, thrilled to just be able to move her neck again. The men who had been dressed like romans, the ones that the man referred to as "scions," had filled up the room. While a small contingent of them had takenplace in a protective perimeter to prevent Sam, Daniel, and the Marines from escaping, the majority were pawing through the contents of the stargate team member's backpacks. They removed each of the items in turn, speaking to each other in a guttural grunting language that Sam recognized from earlier that day.

It was the same language spoken by the little girl she'd found in the cargo-ship. They seemed to be engaged in a debate over what constituted appropriate clothing. They seemed to have realized the anachronistic nature of their garb and were attempting to correct it. There was not an accord in how to achieve this goal, however. Some seemed to have shifted their clothing into something closer to the man's suit while others were changing their appearance to


resemble the Stargate Team fatigues. A few more indecisive scions had tried to combine the two esthetics with limited success, their skin and clothing kept rippling as they communally tried to generate a more perfect Colonel's lip curled in disgust as one of the Scions shifted his appearance in imitation of the Colonel, including the rank insignias.

"Colonel?" Asked the man.

"What do you want?" Asked the Colonel, the Marine's tone appending a litany of swear words to the end of his sentence.

"I want you to use your radio to tell your leadership precisely how many soldiers are up here. I want you to inform them of precisely how hard they are to kill. I want you to inform them that I have taken you hostage for safe passage." Thepurple residue that stained her light chocolate skin. The fluid sizzled across her tattoos, shimmering green where it touched. Given just how much of her there were tattoos on, it was actually a bit of a light show.

The woman in front of Jack was extremely naked, a fact that was exacerbated by how little she seemed to be bothered by being naked in the middle of the passageway. There was no amount of trying to maintain eye contact that was going to allow Jack even the pretense of respecting her apparently absent concept of modesty. He knew that as the ranking Officer present for… whatever the hell it was that had happened in the priestess' quarters, he was going to have to conduct the preliminary incident inquiry. But


he wasn't going to be able to focus on anything until the woman had some damn pants on.

"She's pretty." Spoke the small voice of Emily, reminding Jack that the child had accompanied him when he'd gone to do his laundry. She pointed to the priestess, seemingly entranced by the woman's many glimmering piercings – a fair number of which were attached to places that Jack was a little embarrassed to even think about on a woman he hadn't bought dinner for. "Mine?"

"You can't own people." Jack grumbled, rooting in his laundry for something that wasn't a uniform item and pulling out a ratty pair of black nylon gym shorts and a polyester shirt so old you couldn't even make out the Bass Pro logo on it any more.Emily watched the exchange, muttering in her guttural native language something that sounded less than impresses by her inability to own the priestess.

To his surprise, she took them – shimmying up into the gym shorts in a way that was practically pornographic in spite of the fact that she was actually putting on clothing and putting her arms through the sleeves of her shirt. She did not button the front, leaving the loose bits of shirt to hang over her breasts and expose her midriff.

"For crying out loud," Jack put down the hamper and walked over to her – doing the buttons so that she wouldn't give some passer by a show if she turned too quickly. She said something that might have been a snake version of


"thank you" to which he replied, "You're welcome." As he turned to the SFs who'd rushed into the Priestess' room only moments prior.

The senior ranking SF looked at the priestess warily, speaking to the Colonel slowly and deliberately in a friendly tone while smiling – too deliberately for his convivial tone to be honest. "Sir, you need to back away from that woman."

"Airman?" The Colonel replied, taking a step back to put himself between the SF and the priestess.

"Sir there are… things… in that room. I don't know what they are. She's covered in their blood." The SF spoke slowly. "They were disguised as Doctor Frasier and two members of the SGC when they showed us their IDs. I don't know what they are or how many ofthem there are walking around this base but we have to assume that they came here with the Goa'uld prisoners. They're the only ones outside of the SGC who would have had prolonged time alone with the doctor."

Jack walked over to the door, gently holding Emily's hand in his and keeping her behind him as he poked his head in to look at the "things" in question. Three chitinous monsters were gored in the space, body parts spread about the room in ways that had left patterns of neon-purple ichor across the room. He clapped his hand over Emily's eyes as she looked into the room and started screaming in her growling, guttural native tongue. He cursed himself for having let the kid see that. Alien gore or


not, kids didn't need to see that degree of death.

"Understood." The Colonel replied to the SF, remembering how adamantly the recent defectors from the Warden's cadre had been to remove the priestess from their presence. Perhaps they were afraid that she would blow their cover – the tattoos across her body seemed to have technological properties to them that affected the purple shelled species greatly. "Take her down to the stockade, I'll get the General to put the base in lockdown till we can parse out who is a shapeshifter."

"Roger." The SF replied, nodding in assent before his head exploded. Jack flinched as Emily screamed, her voice like a siren as a group of Marines opened fire down the corridor, trying to kill them. Jack dragged Emily intoan alcove, furious that he was without a weapon. He reached out to the dead SF's shoulder, grabbing him by his combat webbing and dragging him across the ground. Emily kept screaming, grabbing Jack so hard around the waist that he was having trouble breathing. He reached past her, smashing his hand over the red button on the wall warning of a base incursion.

Nothing happened.

Jack blinked. That was bad. There were only a couple of people who would have the authority to cancel that legitimately – at least two of whom had to be compromised in order to disable the system. One of whom had to be General Hammond. These things had either tortured, compromised, or snaked General Hammond into giving them the codes to disable the alarms.

Time


for plan B.

He kissed the top of her head even as bullets cracked the wall near where they hid. "It's going to be ok Emily." He said in a calmer voice than he felt as he yanked the SF's weapon out from under his body, turning it to automatic fire and pulling himself from her embrace so that he could move. "I promised to protect you, and I mean it."

"Protect." Emily said in a particularly small voice, as though unconvinced of his capacity though not his sincerity.

Jack looked across the corridor to where the other SF and Priestess were hunkered down. The SF, to his credit, was managing to stay relatively calm in spite of having seen his fellow watch-stander die. He'd already slain one of the faux-marines,exposing it's chitinous purple form in death. He fired into the face of another, hoping against hope that it was a shapeshifter as he had otherwise have slain a man he'd known for two years. Jack flinched, realizing that he wasn't going to know if anyone on base was a friendly any more. If these things actually managed to get off base they would be a nightmare.

He would have to tell someone if he lived. A prospect that felt increasingly unlikely as the "not-marines" received reinforcements in the form of chitinous purple soldiers carrying Earth weapons, they were not cloaked by whatever technology concealed their fellows. There was an exit in the opposite direction from the approaching shape-shifters, but it would require that Jack and the others expose


themselves out of cover for thirty feet before they hit the elevator. Even assuming that the elevator was on their floor, it would be suicide to try to reach it.

He swore as a bullet tore through the stomach of the remaining SF, piercing the man's belly and exiting through his back to spill out the man's innards. He dropped to his knees, clutching his wound. Their attackers took advantage of his suddenly exposed form and ripped through him with another ten bullets. The priestess pulled the dead man's pistol from his holster, pressing her finger pointlessly against the trigger – either unaware of or unable to operate the Beretta's safety. Jack's eye twitched, wanting very much to grab the gun from her hands. A weapon in untrained handswas potentially as dangerous to an ally as an enemy.

He shoved Emily back into the corner as she tried to get a better look at the action. "Stay down!"

The invading force was getting harder and harder to keep suppressed. They had a tactically superior position and greater numbers. Even if someone were to arrive who weren't some sort of shapeshifting crustacean they'd been hard pressed to tell who they were supposed to be assisting. He needed a distraction and he needed it fast. He ducked back into the alcove, taking stock of his available resources. He had a gun that was easily a quarter to a halfway through its magazine already, a three-inch pocket knife, and not a whole heck of a lot else to play with.

He was


out of good choices so he made a bad one, ducking out of cover to grab a flash-bang grenade from the SF's belt and fling it down the passageway. He dropped to the ground behind the dead man's body – hoping against hope that they corpse would provide some obstruction to the attackers as she shoved his fingers in his ears and slammed shut his eyelids. His ears rang with the explosion as he stood up, grabbing the wrist of Emily and the now blinded priestess of Nekheb and rushing them towards the elevator.

The crab-men must have had sensitive eyes, they fired wildly while screeching a warbling cry of pain. Bullets soared down the hallway at random, grazing the meat of Jack's thigh and shoulder. The priestess criedshe would have to actually aim the weapon seemed alien to her. She also didn't seem to have a good grasp of ammo scarcity – she just kept pulling the trigger till she was entirely out of ammunition.

Jack kept swiping his card and the elevator kept displaying the same error.

The elevator wasn't coming.

They were going to die.

It was at roughly that moment that Jack accepted his inevitable demise that the corridor exploded into flames. Emily's puffed out her cheeks like a chipmunk, parting her lips and blowing hard in a whistling pucker that directed a gout of black fire tipped with plumes of emerald. The fiery torrent spun in geometric patterns that no fire ought to have obeyed, spreading out into a searing latticework of pain that gouged


across the floor and ceiling of the corridor. The crab men screamed and retreated as the fire impacted their front lines, exploding in a corona of shimmering black that collapsed inward, crushing their bodies.

The concrete and steel lining the corridor's ceiling in front of the Priestess' room collapsed on the crab men – crushing them under rubble and exposing the level above them. Jack's brief moment of panic that someone from the level above might have been caught in the collapse subsided when he remembered that they were on level 12 of the SGC. The only items housed on level 11 were the checkpoint from the main elevator leading to NORAD and the water purification plant for the SGC – a fact re-enforced by the sudden rush ofword, the term used for when a hostile alien force had penetrated far enough into the SGC that they'd managed to compromise the facility. Once declared it could not be invalidated except by senior leadership outside of the SGC – specifically that of the NID. They would be tasked with coming to the SGC, purging the threat, and ensuring that lingering forces did not continue to compromise America's security after the threat has been removed from the SGC. It was not a term to be invoked lightly.

It took a while for Jack and his female companions to safely scale the rubble and reach level 11 by which time Siler and the SF's had executed the necessary procedures for shutting down power to the elevator and locking off access


softly rising and falling chest of those closest to her gave the doctor hope that her fellow prisoners were alive, though their macabre prison of rotting meat was less encouraging.

Janet kicked against her bonds, only managing to sway gently back and forth for her trouble. She kicked harder, using the momentum to carry her to the nearest prisoner. She overshot her mark the first time, hitting him harder than she meant to and knocking the wind out of herself. Not hard enough to wake him up apparently – whatever cocktail of drugs or alien technology had to be potent. She took a moment to catch her breath before trying again, impacting against his side with less force and managing to grab ahold of the man’s belt.

She didn’t dareprohibition on carrying knives with them into the SGC unless specifically authorized. Not that this individual seemed overly bothered by regulations, Janet gagged as she realized she’d stuck her finger into an improvised spittoon that the man had made out of a plastic bottle and placed in his pocket.

She wiped off the water against the man’s leg and smiled, feeling the plastic hilt of a knife near the man’s boot. Not in his pockets then, he’d elected to strap the knife to his leg. She debloused the man’s boot, reaching up to grab the weapon. She let go of the man going back to dangling in place as she sawed at the thick, meaty vines suspending her from the ceiling. They were putrid, fusty things. As her knife


sawed though the thick purple fat she sliced through glowing green cysts of liquid that made her gag. The closest scent she could remember to this was back at med school when she’d been given her first cadaver.

She stopped sawing through her bonds at the sound of a woman retching to her right. A dark-skinned SF was ripping her chitinous gag from her face, swearing profusely in a thick New Jersey accent. It had been a while since Janet heard that many different grammatical uses of the F-word.

“I don’t know.” Janet replied, reaching out to rip the gag from the second SF and tilting abruptly as the rope of flesh she’d been sawing through gave way midway through. The doctor dangled at an awkward angle from the remainingthough the wind had been completely knocked out of her in the fall. She stood up uneasily, prying the chitinous harness from her to let it clatter to the ground and reaching for the light-switch only to pull her hand back when her finger touched a chitinous tumor growing over the box. She wiped the slime off her hand on her pant leg, jumping in surprise as another body hit the floor followed quickly by a second. It would seem that the first SF had her own knife, and had seen fit to cut down the second SF.

Janet was once again treated to a litany of creative swear words as the women removed their chitinous bonds and pulled flashlights out of their body armor to survey their surroundings.


Janet was less inclined to quiet them as she began to understand the gravity of their situation. There were dozens of bodies suspended from the ceiling. How was that even possible? Janet looked at her watch – she’d only been unconscious for half a day. She looked out the window of the storage room they sat within and swallowed as she realized that she could see the outlines of more feet dangling down in the next room.

Had the entire command been captured?

“Turn off those lights!” Janet hissed, motion from the next room catching her eye. Someone was walking in to the next room, likely someone unfriendly.

The next room was bathed in light as a quartet of men walked in. Two purple armored alien looking warriors holding weapons thatfrom the first. The insects pulled the bones from her meat, seeming to prefer them to the ones the man had started out with, chewing them and using them to form a paste that they secreted, spreading it across the man’s rib cage and forming thick plates of bone.

They mixed and matched from the two bodies, adding in their own technologies as was required, rebuilding the man from the ground up. By the time they were done he was nine feet tall and his carapace was barely recognizable beneath thick, black fungi. A set of terrible jaws were in his mouth, bearing a mismatched set of the woman’s teeth and thick, knife-like tusks the insects pulled from the seemingly bottomless bags they carried. Two sets of eyes looked


small grooves that wrapped up and down the naquadah-laced metal. He found great comfort in that feeling, as much now as when he’d believed that the staff was actually infused with the might of his god. Staff Weapons, he now knew, were not divine instruments. They were merely tools, given power through the mechanisms and secret workings of the universe within which they lived. It was a power, to be certain, but nothing of divine or infernal origin.

Major Samantha Carter had taught him the science behind the weapon as best she could, though without her width and breadth of the physical sciences Teal’c had only been able to follow the gist of what she’d explained to him. He had endeavored to educated himself in the specifics of theTau’ri understanding of natural laws since reaching the first world in the hopes that he might be able to operate on a level playing field to his compatriots, but there was only so much study that one could do while living an active lifestyle. He could not hope to match the many thousands upon thousands of hours that Major Carter had invested into learning the intricacies of the physical world. She had a way of wrapping math and logic into a sorcery as potent as any Goa’uld ritual that he had ever witnessed or participated in.

Somehow, she had managed to master the intricacies of the celestial realms without ever believing in them. The unknowable was, in the Majors opinion, something to be dissected and documented until the divine


the cultural divide between Teal’c and his adopted world.

He still felt like a stranger just leaving the subterranean parts of the SGC to let the sun touch his face above ground. The very nature of his birth meant that he was a secret of the American government, something to be spirited away and kept behind locked doors. Every moment that he was not under lock and key was a moment in which the fragile illusion of isolation might be shattered and the Tau’ri would have to face the existence of a greater universe beyond themselves.

Teal’c had not questioned the wisdom of this in public – he had, after all, sworn his oath of loyalty to the Americans – but it had always seemed amazingly odd to him thatdeath obsessed snake with delusions of godhood and two scientists against an army of shape-shifting warriors capable of disabling the world’s most capable soldiers. Perfect, she was insane in addition to being telekinetic, Simon thought to himself. This day just kept getting better.

The Goa’uld raised her hands to the sky. Inky tendrils of power washing out across the room from her, the whole world shifting to a shade of azure in an instant. Simon shivered, a cloying cold washing across him as he exhaled and watched his breath turn to steam. He reached out to grab a book that fell from his pockets only for his fingers to pass through the solid object entirely. He yelped in shock, scrambling from the item as though he’d been scalded.

“Mortal, the


last Tweet

It was not an unusual state of affairs for the man, given the programs he was part of and the secrets he kept, there was generally something worth being worried about in his life. But as of late, a number of failsafe programs had been activated, none of which had transpired to be over reactions to the relevant threat category. Actions were transpiring that defied previous expectations, threats to the USA arising in avenues that seemed contrary to any degree of rational sense.

It was as though the world started falling apart after Halloween. Something had happened on Halloween night, something of global significance that set a number of non-state actors into motion with a ferocity not previously observed. But try as he might, Harry had not beeneven early rumbling that they were trying to obtain WMDs. Criminal enterprises known to be part the major cartels had openly started conflicts across the globe, but nobody quite seemed sure why or with whom they were engaged.

The former Soviet countries had seemingly similar activity, with early reports suggesting that some of the smaller garrisons around Arkhangelsk were deploying their forces in a defensive posture around seemingly irrelevant asset. They were protecting areas without any clear benefit to the Russian government, often to its apparent detriment. A sudden re-deployment of forces was confusing; a sudden re-deployment of forces in a way that left them weak to NATO assets was baffling. Stranger still, not all elements of the Russian government seemed to have been properly inbriefed on the circumstances


opinion of the NID leadership – one that Maybourne shared entirely - that the Air Force was overly reliant on a tactical nuclear weapon as a first line of defense, given that the upper level of the facility contained the senior leadership of one of the largest Joint Commands in the military. As far as Harry was concerned, anyone unlucky enough to get a posting at NORTHCOM NORAD should be getting front line combat pay commensurate with the daily threat of total nuclear annihilation.

But the NID was a civilian agency, and the military was loath to bow to the demands of a civilian agency. They would most certainly not bow to the whims of an oversight agency whose members were viewed as “the enemy” for demanding that they-- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet

Jacob Carter felt the immediate bite of a Chicago Autumn, cool air frigid against his soaking clothes. The rough spun wool and leather only seemed to distribute the biting whip of afternoon air rather than mitigating it in any measurable way. His feet trembled in his boots as he stepped through the rip between worlds, following his guide into a dingy alleyway.

Elaine pulled the cloak from her shoulders, stashing it in a bright nylon backpack as she pulled a length of chain from inside it. She wrapped the chain around her arm, letting the excess hang loose. Its tip sizzled ominously and smelled vaguely of ozone. There was a look of caution in her eye, the carefully emotionless mask of readiness that Jacob knew


could only mean that she was genuinely worried about her immediate safety.

Is this not a district of one of the most developed cities of the First World? Queried Selmak, the symbiote's voice more curious than worried. Odd that she is so troubled in its heart.

"Not exactly." Jacob thought back to his mental co-habitant. "Fuller Park is one of the worst neighborhoods in the city by almost every metric. I would be hesitant to drive through here, and we're on foot."

Are not the streets policed? Selmak replied in mild confusion. The symbiote's experience with the home world of Humans had been highly structured thus far, the military wasn't going to risk its alliance with the Tok'ra by putting Tok'ra representatives in undue danger.

So the locations chosen for the Tok'ra'ssee, nor apparently hear him. Elaine managed to only giggle a bit at his frustration, biting back the sarcastic jibe he just knew was at the tip of her tongue. The woman’s soul had been awash with sarcastic wit that he was in no mood for at the moment.

O’Neill’s inevitable cavalcade of Bewitched references was going to be bad enough once this was all over. Using witchcraft to safely navigate the streets Chicago was going to haunt him, he just knew it. Jacob turned at the keening whistle of a train, loaded with cargo and heading north past the park from which the neighborhood got its name. He could see a baseball diamond and some tennis courts, but they had a dinginess to them that felt incongruous to


hell with that.”

She swung the chain out, grinning as the troll held up his arm to block it. The thick iron chain wrapped around his wrist and began to smoke before she spoke a word and lighting arced down the length of it, making the troll’s muscled body convulse in pain. The creature foamed at the mouth, its piggy little eyes bulging in hatred as he smashed down his club in her direction.

She yelped and jumped back, maintaining her hold on the chain. As she moved back the red hot links of chain tightened around the troll’s arm, cutting into the creatures flesh with an ease that didn’t seem possible. It ripped through flesh and bone, mauling the arm as she pulled away from him.

“Well then, I thinkmisplaced. The members of SG4, SG3, and SG1 were, by and large ignored. The ten of them just sort of stood in an awkward circle feeling naked without their weapons.

Now their captors they weren’t under the direct supervision of their leader, they seemed to consider the human prisoners to be a near tertiary concern behind jabbering with each other in their guttural hissing speech and making sure that they were properly dressed.

Their captors were no longer garbed as Roman Cavalry, having abandoned that illusion for an imitation of the Stargate uniforms. The man who’d chosen to mirror his image to that of the Colonel, the man Daniel presumed to be second in command after the one who’d gone to negotiate, had impressed his will upon the other scions


at scions with mangled hands and cracked nails.

Before Daniel had even really properly had a chance to register the macabre image of the mangled men and women descending upon him, he found himself lifted in the air by an eviscerated little girl. She couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve, but she’d grabbed Daniel by the throat and was choking him to death with her blood covered fingers. Her eyes bulged, hatred within them that Daniel couldn’t have ever imagined on one so young.

He gasped for breath, the awful, rotting stank of her overpowering him with every pathetic breath he took. He kicked her in the chest, only for his foot to pass through her and come back out, dripping with a clear, viscous fluid as thoughupper levels under the assumption that any combat would happen in or around the gate room. Now the fate of the world might well be resting on the shoulders of men who’d never even been old enough to vote in a presidential election.

Christ they seemed young. There was a shout of pain and a man fell to the ground – grasping at the red stain coming from his shoulder. Jack put the SF from his mind. The kid would survive, he would probably lose the use of his left arm unless they got him immediate medical attention, but he would survive. Battle necessitated a brutal and often souless calculus of need, saving the man's arm was less important than saving the base.

He could just barely see the aliens


from the hole in the floor. He grabbed the little girl by the arm and tried to lead her away from the room. Emily was not so easily moved. She held fast against the grown man’s attempts to pull her away from danger, contemptuously shaking off his grasp.

She wriggled out from the man’s grip, her body shifting into a serpentine black mass of scales and smoke as she tore herself from the confused Master Sergeant’s grip. There was a predatory howl loud enough for Jack to hear it over the sounds of battle as a horse-sized creature that Jack could only possibly describe as a dragon pounced directly towards a chitinous soldier crowning the ridge.

Whatever the attacker had been anticipating on reaching the top of the hill, dragonsgod help him Jack heard it actually let loose a girlish giggle as it sauntered over to the priestess. Jack wasn’t great at the Goa’uld language, but he was positive the priestess was enjoying a similar exchange to the one Jack had just endured.

The Priestess, however, just seemed to generally accept the dragon’s pronouncement of ownership, bowing her head and replying deferentially in the language of the Goa’uld. Jack shook his head. “Crazy as a loon – both of them.”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose as he realized that the dragon had two long bloody marks where something had cut off what he was damn sure had once been wings. No wonder the little girl had been found with scars along her back, someone had clipped her


from the shadows from behind him yet again, whispering words in his ear without warning. It had nearly been enough of a shock for him to revert to using the metallic voice of a symbiote host – under the circumstances and suspicious origins of their new companion, Ban had suggested that discretion would be the better part of valor. Kanan found himself agreeing wholeheartedly. Regardless of his apprehension for the Tau'ri's feelings regarding the revelation of Kanan's status as Tok’ra, Kanan scrambled reflexively up from where he'd been hiding and instinctually put the large man between himself and the Furling - glad for the barrier between him and his terrifying savoir.

The dark-skinned man held some sort of power or authority that the Furling treated with caution, though certainlynot with any degree of respect, and Kanan was grateful for any degree of stability in the chaos of his current situation. Sanya was without weapons or armor, but the man seemed to be largely untroubled by the situation unfolding around him. There was a serenity to the man, a clear sense of purpose that felt unburdened by the blind panic playing in both the mind of Kanan and his host. His expression was serious but never worried, as though victory against their long odds was a foregone conclusion.

The Furling licked at his paw, running a rough tongue over fur stained with the glowing blood of the Stragoth. An action Kanan was certain had to be purely to intimidate the Furlings companions, there was no way that the


blood of the Stragoth tasted anything other than foul. It purred through the grooming, cat's eyes quivering in amusement at Kanan's overt disgust. "The sentries were insufficient and their mortal devices of scrying have been disabled."

Sanya nodded, "And the patrols?"

"One is never without danger, but mine own power of illusion is more than sufficient to conceal the approach of two mere mortals." Cat Sith purred, flexing the claws from his ichor soaked paws. The razor like protrusions shredded concrete as he kneaded at the ground reflexively, reveling in the recent violence.

"Good. I do not like the idea of fighting before having properly armed myself." The dark skinned man replied.

"Your disability is noted." Cat Sith pried a bit of carapace from his maw with the littlest of his talons,next to Sanya in outright defiance of gravity in order to avoid the steel grating along the ground, stepping carefully around the metal pipes and sparking wires as he did so. Circumnavigating a space covered in as much steel as the Tau'ri favored proved ineffective. The furling purred in ecstasy, hissing with what might have been laughter. "He gives his true name to any who ask and then proceeds to murder his way across the mortal realm without any regard for long term consequences."

"He is fighting SPECTRE and Blowfeld." Replied the dark skinned man in his heavy accent as he jiggled the handle of a nondescript office, rolling his eyes in irritation when the lock clicked prohibiting entry. He said something in his native tongue and kicked forward


with his freshly pilfered black combat boots, busting the door inward. He continued his defense of "James Bond" as he huffed with exertion. "Violence is occasionally necessary to defeat a greater evil."

"It is not the violence that amuses me, Knight. It is the suicidal lack of self-preservation. Though I do not expect one of your order to have any vested interest in surviving the lunacy of your own adventures." The predatory Feline's tail flicked up and down, trailing after the great Malk as he jumped sideways, landing on the ground in apparent reversion to the normal laws of gravity before hopping up on the table at the rooms center to sit directly on top of a pile of old looking books and scrolls.

"The Sidhe understand what they wishto understand and little else." Replied the man jovially as he rubbed at his chin looking around the room. "Now where did they put it?"

"The safe." Replied the Furling. "The blade is ancient, and this is where the Scholar keeps his artefacts."

"You are certain?" Queried Sanya.

"As certain as I can be without having previously had cause to enter this room." The Malk replied dismissively. "I'm well informed, not clairvoyant."

"It's probably in the safe." Supplied Kanan, pointing to the heavy metal container. "Assuming that it is of value."

"Incalculable value." The dark skinned man ran his fingers across the dial, considering it. "This scholar, is he a man with many things on his mind?"

"Doctor Jackson is reputed to be a man of great learning." Kanan supplied. "His knowledge of Goa'uld


dialects and the esoterica of human histories are without compare."

"So he is a man regularly overburdened with ideas." The massive man nodded, looking around the room and observing the various stacks of books and artefacts before his gaze fell upon a tiny pamphlet wedged between a volume describing the fall of Ancient Rome and a paperback written in what appeared to be the script of Lord Yu's domain. He picked the pamphlet, taking care to remove the plastic package from its back, and started thumbing through the pages. "Yes. a man regularly overwhelmed. He is a man too busy with his profession to be bothered with mundane details."

He flipped through the pages, skimming through with a pleased expression on his face as he pulled a plastic packet fromthe back of it, eyeing the seal of blue tape along it with boisterous confidence. "Let us see if he is a man too overwhelmed to change his combination from the default."

He spun the lock, deftly navigating to three numbers before pulling down on the handle. The safe's door made a loud clanking grind of metal on metal as it swung outward, exposing a cache of ivory and gold within - those artefacts too valuable and easily pocketed to just leave out in the open for fear they might be pilfered. Somewhat precariously balanced between a jeweled cross and a tribal mask vaguely reminiscent of those favored by Olokun's Jaffa, was a long saber housed in a modest scabbard.

Kanan had to actually grab the table to keep himself


from falling over at the sight of it. It was beyond overwhelming to just glimpse it. His host, Ban, had to take over entirely as Kanan's symbiote body started spasming wildly in the presence of that thing. Kanan was vaguely aware of him addressing the Tau’ri, demanding that he shut the safe immediately. The Tau’ri, unfamiliar with the native tongue of Ban’s people, held him off with one arm as he plucked the blade from the safe and held it firmly in his hand.

The presence of it was overwhelming, a song that resonated in the very fiber of his being as Kanan forced himself to face the weight of it. It was like touching an electric current directly, the sheer magnitude of it wasn’t something that could beand Greek pantheons - well, other than Ammit but that lunatic held her holdings until long disaster struck, and slaughtered her way across the first world until even she had to admit defeat. The pantheons of Ba'al and Marduk had not been initially forced to flee their First World holdings but something, reportedly the same power that had stolen men and manpower from Ra before the Fall of Thoth, had defeated them utterly and cast them from the first world in shame. Was this perhaps that same power, still in action?

He had no cause to suspect that power or powers, and yet he was entirely convinced there was merit to the supposition. Yet another wisp of memory from his mother, a memory she'd been unable to purge. Why


purpose, it had long since left her. Blood of Apep, she hadn’t just come to document and bring the word of Nekheb’s god. She had been sent to demonstrate the fire and fury of her god’s might with her own flesh and blood if such a thing was necessary.

The god of Nekheb had said that he was not worshiped through word and prayer, but through great deeds. Many great deeds had already been done this day. And many more were to come.

Blood thundered in her ears as she felt the ensorcelled marks along her flesh ripple with ambient magic. Small sparks flashed from the gold piercings along her body, shimmering static arcs dancing along the delicate decorative chains. She’d been forced to cast aside the garments provided togarment she accepted would just end up soaked in ichor or burned away from magical discharges from her tattoos. It was a waste of time and perfectly serviceable garments. The man was not easily dissuaded from his intent to clothe her, but eventually just gave up on the attempt in disgust given the array of more pressing concerns.

Many men and women became casualties or fatalities as a result of the conflagration between the Tau’ri warriors and the crustaceans. And while at least some of the living were trained in triage, their current capacity for healing the wounded was greatly limited. Aisha was not a healer within her own people’s traditions, and she hadn’t even the faintest clue how to help the methods of healing favored by the Tau’ri.


Men and women were administering treatment to their charges with strange implements and arcane fluids whose purposes she didn’t even begin to guess.

What she could do, however, was comfort the living and see to the souls of the dead. The largest point of triage was a communal space just adjacent to the main corridor. There were several tables lined with green felt that had been turned into makeshift operating tables and a number of chairs positioned around altars topped with black boxes built around a glass panel. Those still capable of sitting were perched atop the metal chairs before the altar. Those less lucky were either on the felt tables or lying next to them as treatment was attempted.

She was immediately drawn to the sobs of a youngman clutching the hand of his fellow warrior as a healer did her best to keep the fellow warrior alive. He sat next to his friends, shaking with fear and confusion. The young man had skin like a shadow that stood out in stark contrast to the pale skin and ginger hair of his wounded compatriot, especially given that the already pale skin had gone deathly white from blood loss. The dark man still held baby fat in his cheeks, having just barely reached manhood. A fact that was punctuated by the way he was pleading with his friend to live. She didn’t have to speak his language to understand his meaning.

The boy was pleading with the universe not to take his friend, and Aisha knew quite well


that the universe had no intention of listening to him. The fair-haired boy had taken a wound to the abdomen. Based off of the smell, the wound had ruptured his bowels. He was not long for this world, no matter what the young woman trying to heal him did – he would die. The man begged with tears in his eyes as his friend’s face clouded over into stillness, taking the first steps of his final journey to Duat.

He broke down completely as the healer stopped trying to heal the corpse and moved on to another wounded man, stripping off her purple gloves and dropping them on the bloodstained table. They were unapologetic sobs of agony, the sort of emotional pain that couldn’t be suppressed or diverted –they could only be endured. Aisha had spent enough of her life comforting the living to recognize that pain, it was the sort of hurt one could only feel when one had been only exposed to death in its rawest form in the most limited capacity imaginable. But this was a grown man – surely he’d lost someone, hadn’t he?

There was scarcely a soul on Nekheb who hadn’t lost several siblings or cousins by the time they reached puberty, let alone into adulthood. How could a child of the First World, the mythical home of nightmares, have reached majority without experiencing death? People always dealt with grief to different degrees, but unless these two men had been lovers it stretched the bounds of credibility. Perhaps they had been