A/N #1: As a writer, one of the things I appreciate most about fanfiction is the medium it provides to wrestle with difficult but real-life issues in a … more approachable … setting. If you have read my FBI: MW series, you've probably (hopefully) already noticed this. Thus, here follows a general content/trigger warning for this fic. I will try to not be overly graphic, but one will encounter discussions of/references to/instances of: Mental Health Issues (PTSD, rampant survivor's guilt, self-worth)

Biological Warfare
Genocide (not committed by the Furlings)
'Human' Experimentation and Mass Graves
Chronic/Terminal Illnesses and Chronic Pain
Wars/Battles (and everything that comes with them)

This list will be updated as the fic continues. If there is some element of this story that a reader thinks might need to be on this CW/TW list but is NOT currently on this list, PLEASE feel free to mention that in a comment or send me a message on Tumblr. Even though some tough topics will appear in this story, I still want readers to enjoy it and want to be able to give any needed content/trigger warnings upfront.

A/N #2: This story is a rewrite of a very old story of mine called Ripples in the Deep. Note, as in the original story, I have changed the order of episodes just slightly: Enigma takes place after Thor's Chariot in this verse.

A/N #3: This story has footnotes because I am a nerd who does lots of research and likes to figure out random worldbuilding details and I need a way to share those details without shoehorning them into the narrative, those footnotes—except where I need to link inspiration pictures/maps/links/etc.—are written as if in Daniel Jackson's voice. For the chapters not in his POV where he would not be immediately aware of what is going on that is being footnoted upon, imagine that he is commenting on a story later being told to him or commenting on a narrative of these events being written at a later period.

A/N #4: I am much indebted to this site , especially for helping me with names and name consistency/similarity among members of the same species. I have taken some inspiration from Star Wars, Tolkien, Grimm (American TV series), which you might see traces of through this story. I have borrowed the name for one particular species from The Elder Scrolls—if you are familiar with TES, you'll recognize it when you see it—because I just liked how the name somehow randomly fit with the species, which I created long before I ever knew TES existed. Also, one of my sub-species ended up somewhat similar to the Khajiit—and one of my pictures for my main OFC is a Khajiit—but I originally devised those characters and their appearances close to ten years ago, long before I ever knew TES existed, either. Just wanted to say this up front.

Should I write an Author's Note to apologize for all the Author's Notes?

*Grin*

Now … onto the actual story!


26th of Xuxiq, Fall, 6544 A.S.
(c. March 8, 1998)
Uslisgas, Asteria

"Fair morning, Supreme Commander," the words of the artificial intelligence program that oversaw the functioning of her house, its voice an interesting mixture of organic and artificial tones that sometimes seemed familiar or disturbing depending on the day, woke Sujanha Sta?fastur from a dreamless sleep, "It is half past the 6th hour, and time to rise."

And with those words, Sujanha knew it was going to be a good day. Whatever else happened that day, whether long, dull meetings or mountains of paperwork that were the trial of any officer in any military, it was going to be a good day.

One would not expect that waking in the morning to be striking.

Or that waking at that particular hour to be striking, either.

For Sujanha, however, it was.

The Supreme Commander of the Furling Fleet always planned to rise at half past the 6th hour, but it was a rare day when she could actually sleep that late. It was a rare day when the house AI actually needed to fulfill this function and actually wake her, instead of her finally rising from bed at some point before her alarm after starring at the ceiling for hours.

Muscular weakness and chronic pain had been her constant companion for the last two Ithell.[1] The ever-present aches and pains, the necessity of judging every step, planning every movement in advance had become second nature, but today … today was a rare day, which was becoming rarer every year that passed, where that pain was muted. The tremors in her right arm seemed lessened, or at least for the moment, her arm moved in small random motions less over the bed coverlets. The pain, sometimes fire-like, sometimes knife-like, sometimes a bone deep ache as if she had gone ten rounds in a sparring match and lost each one in spectacular fashion, was muted. Not gone. The pain was never gone, but it was faded, and Sujanha even felt a little hungry.

Me … a little hungry.

Won't that amaze the others?

Pain had a way of sapping the appetite, and the medicines that her healers made her consume daily made food taste differently. Sujanha tended to drink more of her food than eat it, and getting her to eat usually required both gentle prodding and not-so-gentle bugging by her aids and her bodyguards.

The chill of the room brushed across her arms as Sujanha pushed the blankets of her bed away, the cloth slipping smoothly across her black fur. The second month of fall was over half-way gone, and there was a chill in the air. She had opened her bedroom window the previous evening so that the scent of the hardier flowers that still boomed in the garden could permeate the air.

I just did not intend to leave the window open all night.

Ah, well.

"My thanks," Sujanha finally remembered to reply. Courtesy was never a fault, even to an advanced program created by the brightest minds her people had produced and continually updated over the past Xurth,[2] "Are there any messages for me?"

"No, Supreme Commander," was the immediate answer.

Stars above, I wish it would stop that.

Sujanha sighed and restrained an immature rolling of her eyes, an act more suited to her brother's young children, than to one of her age, however young she might still be by comparison to the lifespans of her people. Because of the circumstances of her birth and her current position in the Furling military, she was no stranger to courtesy and formality, but being continually addressed at home of all places as "Supreme Commander" annoyed her.

Not even my subordinates call me that …

"Commander" was the usual form of address, and aside from during introductions, Sujanha only insisted on being called Supreme Commander either when she was extremely angry or attempting to make a point.

A petty annoyance.

Just ignore it. You have for years.

Despite telling herself that for years, Sujanha had still been meaning, also for years, to one day do something about how the AI addressed her. She had not the skill in programming, however, to effect the change herself, and the military programmers who had created the AI, which was usually used on her ships, had better things to do than cater to a petty whim.

Maybe one day.

With one paw steadying herself on the bedpost, Sujanha rose to her feet carefully, waiting to see if her weaker leg would waver under her weight or would hold. A few seconds passed. Her leg held, and a pleased feeling slept through her. It was going to be a good day. With long, careful strides that still held a hint of what was once an easy, rolling gait, Sujanha crossed her bedroom to the chair beneath the open window. This was an old house, and its windows, unlike its doors, were manual, but it closed easily beneath her strength, though that was a fraction of what it once was.

Sujanha quickly removed her night-clothes and draped the garments neatly over one free arm of the chair and then sat down. A leg brace lay within easy reach, one of the most advanced pieces either the Iprysh had made, with smooth lines and no rough edges that would abrade her fur or the skin beneath. After hundreds of years of fastening and unfastening the brace almost every morning and night, it was quick work to fit the brace, which stretched from hip to ankle, over her right leg and fasten the pieces together. As soon as everything was fastened, the seams and clasps disappeared until all was smooth.

Ah, the wonders of nanotechnology.

She pulled on pants of warm dark cloth over the leg brace, and then Sujanha grabbed her tunic off the back of the chair. It was of dark blue, nearly black cloth, the same as the pants and had small, unobtrusive pockets that were convenient for stashing the occasional thing. A jacket went on over it all, but no shoes were needed, not by one of her kind.

"Lights," Sujanha said, stepping toward the doorway, in a quiet voice that still echoed in the silence of the large, empty house, and the lights in her bedroom immediately dimmed behind her. She had all she needed. Once her morning ablutions were completed and she got some food, it would be time to go to work.

Her morning ablutions were quickly completed, but the polished mirror drew her gaze as she drew toward the end. The same face starred back at her as it had for the past nearly fourteen hundred years. In face and form, she almost appeared as one of the Maskilim, one of the two eldest bloodlines of the Furlings.[3] With fur as black as a starless night sky,[4] she was built as one of the great hunters of the Dark Forest.[5] Yet, two things marked her as different.

Large—over-large and out of proportion to her face—pupil-less black eyes starred back at her, not the golden eyes of her people.

And when she looked down, she would see the same out-of-proportion limbs—length-wise—with short, stubby, claw-tipped fingers that made some fine-work hard.

Both marked her as being one of the G?tir.[6]

Sujanha wondered sometimes if her life would be different if she were not one of the G?tir, if what Asgardian blood there was in her mother's veins had not combined with that in her father's lineage to run true in her only daughter and not in her son, if she lacked both the mental facilities and physical weaknesses of the Furling's closest and eldest ally. It had been tens of millennia since the Asgard had ceased to reproduce sexually and cloning had become their only means of survival. For the Furlings, however, that was not that many generations back, and Asgardian blood still ran in many family lines, including the families of both her parents.

What would be different?

There was almost certainly a parallel reality where the answer might be playing out at that very moment, but it was not for Sujanha to know. There was too much to be done in her universe to waste time wondering about her parallel lives.

It does you no good to speculate.

The present had enough problems without speculating on how the past might have been different if her father's blood had run truer than her mother's.

Leave the past in the past.

The present has its own problems without the shadows of the past.

Either way, it was the Great Maker that sent forth children in his will. It was the Great Maker that determined the bloodlines. It was foolish to question him. What might have been, what could have been, it is not our story to know.

Shaking her head and giving a low rumbling growl, Sujanha grabbed a brush from the shelf over the wash station, trying to force those thoughts from her mind. Her gaze was again drawn to her reflection in the mirror. Her long life had been hard in many respects, and her health was poor compared to most of her people. As a result, the fur across her muzzle had grown heavily touched with white, and her paws were becoming speckled with white, as well. Despite her vanity's dislike of the white, which should have been a mark of advanced years on someone two to three times her age, there was too much now to conceal it with a deft brushing of her fur.

Sujanha's bedroom was one of three rooms on the second floor of her house, and the only one currently occupied. By anything more than my excess belongings. A steep spiral staircase of gleaming metal led down to the main floor. The downstairs still smelled faintly like cleaners, which meant that the lady who cleaned the house must have been by the previous day. I was too tired or too distracted to notice last night, though I should have.

Sujanha went straight to the kitchen, but to her mingled annoyance and amusement, the cold box was empty. More often than not these days she slept in her sleeping chamber at Headquarters, and it had been days since she had actually come home to sleep … although the weekly days of rest had just passed. And thus, you forgot to have more food sent. Ah, well. It was simple enough to eat in the food hall at Headquarters, instead.

A few more long strides took Sujanha out of the kitchen and into the entrance hallway, where her gauntlets sat on a small table near the door. The gauntlets, when not on a person, were formed of what appeared to be two pieces of metal the width of one's forearm that hinged on one side and fastened on the other. There were no visible buttons or moving parts or control mechanisms. Almost everyone in the Furling military wore them, and they contained a personal shield and an emergency beacon and also functioned as a communication device and a beaming controller. Like with her leg brace, as soon as Sujanha fit the gauntlets over her arms, the seams and hinges disappeared, leaving only smooth metal behind. It looked, outwardly, as if she was wearing metal sleeves.

Time to get to work.

It took only a brief thought to set the beaming coordinates, and in a flash of light and a hum of noise, Sujanha disappeared.


Moments later Sujanha reappeared, standing in a cobble-stone plaza adjacent to a sprawling six-story stone building, which had been expanded over the years until it was more of a complex than a single building. The Headquarters of the Furling Military, both her fleet and the army under her brother's command, were intentionally quartered within the same building. It made coordination and planning much more efficient, Sujanha found, than having the fleet and the army headquartered separately.

Faster to travel between floors than between buildings ... even in something this size.

Before she could take more than two strides toward the building after shaking off the momentary disorientation of beaming, a voice brought her up short. "Fair morning, Sujanha."

Sujanha's ears twitched to catch the sound, and then she paused mid-stride and turned, waiting. She did not smile as the Zukish[7] did. For one of the Maskilim, whose mouths were filled with sharp teeth that could tear through flesh like a knife, smiling and exposing teeth held a different, more dangerous meaning, but she gave a slight bow of greeting.

One alike to her was approaching at a fast pace. Anarr. Her brother and only sibling. Her elder by two years. Her fellow commander, the Supreme Commander of the Furling Army. Together, they were likely the two most powerful siblings in the surrounding galaxies. Brother and sister divided by the worst war Asteria had ever seen or would ever see but reunited by the same war. Brother and sister, who had been raised apart for almost their entire childhood, whose bond was forged forever and unshakably by fire and war and death and the weight of staggering responsibility …

That was how it had been.

That was how the story still should have been able to be told.

That was what had been true for five-hundred years … before everything had changed … before that relationship had fractured.

But that was the past, and the past could not be undone.

Anarr and Sujanha were almost identical in appearance, though they were not womb-mates.[8] Unlike Sujanha, who looked like one of the Maskilim but was G?tir, Anarr was Maskilim and Maskilim alone. Takes after father by blood. Thank the Maker! Anarr, too, was as one of the hunters of the Dark Forest, whose fur was of the darkest night to enable them to hide in the shadows during long and dangerous hunts, though his eyes were a piercing gold.

"Fair morning, elder brother," Sujanha replied formally as her brother drew up beside her, "Are you well?"

Anarr gave a slow nod. A measure of concern was clear in his eyes, "I am. But you? You are late this morning."

Late? I suppose so, if you judge by when I arrive when I can't sleep.

"Compared to my usual routine, I am," Sujanha replied, "Only because I usually rise early. Today is a good day. The pain is dimmed for once, and I slept until I was awoken."

And thank the Maker for small blessings.

Furling Headquarters was a towering and sprawling edifice of stone, glass, and metal. The interior of the first floor into which the two commanders entered was spartan and utilitarian in construction and decoration with sweeping clean lines and a minimum of fuss. It was not long past the 7th hour, and already hundreds of soldiers and aids, who served in both the fleet and the army, were arriving for the first day of work for the new week. Their faces and forms were varied, showing the diversity of the galaxy, the Furling Empire, and the Furling military. Even among those of the same species, there were subtle differences that distinguished one person from their companion, and no two looked exactly alike. None dressed alike either. All wore dark, unobtrusive colors, but the styles, cuts, and cloths were unique to the difference races. The only distinguishing features between those who served Sujanha and those who served Anarr was that those in the Fleet bore a silver insignia in the shape of a five-pointed star and those in the Army bore a gold insignia of a long staff.

All made way immediately for Sujanha and Anarr when they noticed the arrival of the two Supreme Commanders, saluting the two in the Furling fashion and bowing in respect, and the two found themselves slowed down by the number of salutes and by those who stopped to speak with them or greet them. Sujanha bade her brother farewell in the entrance hall and, leaving him speaking with one of his generals, took the lift to the second floor.

The lifts were located at the center of Headquarters, and Sujanha's lift opened up onto a long-hallway that stretched the length of the building. The hallway was as plainly decorated and as utilitarian as the rest of the building. At regular intervals, multiple doorways led off the hall to other rooms or offices. Sujanha made her way half-way down the hall, stopping in front of one particular door. What looked like a small blue stone was set into the wall a little above waist-height, and the Commander waved one paw across the stone.

With a soft chime, the door slid open smoothly and silently, revealing a large office within. A large desk, large enough for at least two people and covered with papers and tablets, dominated one side of the room directly across from the door, the wall behind the desk being lined with shelves covered with more tablets and papers. A large table was set up along one wall, with ornate blue lamps set high on the wall casting a strange glow over the table, its contents, and the rooms. The rest of the furniture in the room only consisted of several chairs. An opaque door led off into another room.

The office's occupants were as varied in appearance as those officers whom Sujanha and her brother had passed on the lower level. Two sat at the desk, and two sat in the other chairs scattered across the room. All four looked up immediately as the door chimed at its opening and Sujanha entered.

"Fair morning, Commander," rumbled the larger of the two figures not sitting behind the desk. Ragnar was a tall, broad fellow, more than a head taller than Sujanha, who was herself reasonably tall, though her Gaetir blood kept her height on the lower end of average. He was Furling like Sujanha, but as one of the Sukkim rather, his appearance was as one of the great pack hunters of the north.[9] His fur was every shade between white and black, making him overall grey, and his paws were the sizes of some serving platters in the food hall.

With a wave of her hand, Sujanha waved all four back into their seats, her two bodyguards—Ragnar and his younger brother, Ruarc, also one of the Sukkim, whose build was lither and his fur as black as night—and her two aids—Asik Geatam, a slight human with weary features, and Jaax Nenth, a humanoid figure with uniform grey eyes, black fur, and flat, almost smushed, facial features.

"Fair morning to you all," Sujanha greeted them familiarly, "Any messages for me?"

"Not yet, Commander," Asik replied, his voice thin and reedy, his words rapid-fire.

Unlike many galaxies, humans were the minority in Asteria. Only about 75 years had passed since the end of the Great War, which had itself lasted for over 3000 years. That horrible war had nearly proved the doom of the Furlings and all their allies. Many worlds had been annihilated, with some species being reduced to a fraction of their former numbers. The Furlings themselves had lost more than half of their entire population, galaxy-wide, but the Cesneors, Asik's people, …

A once thriving people. Now only one or two hundred are left.

The blood of the Cesneors would live on, but without more genetic diversity, as a race, they would die out within an Ithell or two. At least, their memories, their history, their culture would live on in some form or another, the Furlings would ensure that. Archivists were already racing to copy, record, and collate everything they could … before it was too late.

It saddened Sujanha every time those thoughts passed through her mind. The Great War had cost them all so much, and though the war itself was over—no more battles still raged—the entire galaxy was living with the consequences and would be for generations.

And there were some wounds that even time could not heal.

Time could not save the Cesneors from extinction.

"Very well. I thank you," Sujanha said, waving her hand to open the inner door, and stepped into her private office.

Sujanha's desk and chair stood straight in front of the door, and into her chair, Sujanha sank carefully, wary of exacerbating any pains though she was feeling better that day. There was a large table with several chairs on the left side of the room and a medium-size pedestal with a decorated control stone sitting on top of it on the right side of the room. In front of Sujanha's desk was another chair. Behind her desk was a large opaque window that let in light but prevented anyone from seeing through from either side. A lamp stood on Sujanha's desk along with a tablet, a sheaf of papers, several tablets, and a handful of control stones for various pieces of technology.

There was a quiet murmur of voices in the outer office. Then Ruarc appeared, padding quietly into the room and sinking bonelessly into the chair opposite Sujanha in what was technically a grievous breach of protocol.

Not that I care.

Sujanha was too old and tired to see the need of sticking to protocols and hierarchies within her offices when it was just her, her aids, and her bodyguards. Save for Asik, who was much younger, they had all been together for hundreds of years through some of the darkest moments of the Great War.

There was a time for military protocol and ceremony.

In private, with the closest thing I have to friends, is not the time.

Sujanha finished paging through a series of holographic screens she had brought up with a wave of one paw, reminding herself of what had been accomplished the end of the previous week and over the rest days and what was on the agenda for the day, and then looked across at her bodyguard with what was, for a Furling, a questioning look.

"Have you eaten yet?" Ruarc asked bluntly.

Sujanha laughed internally. Never let it be said we are not a straightforward people.

Ragnar and Ruarc had been assigned as Sujanha's bodyguard almost five-hundred years previously, handpicked by Anarr himself out of the Imperial Guard, one of the elite shock-troop units of the Furling Army. Given the assassination attempt that had nearly killed her not many years prior and left her with lasting physical consequences, their original job had been protecting her from outside threats, especially when she went left the confines of Furling-controlled planets or the safety of her warships. That job, at least in their minds, had evolved over the following years into as much protecting her from (so they saw) herself.

And thus, reminding me to eat and making sure I sleep and bugging me if I don't.

"No," Sujanha replied, "There was no food in my cold box." Her voice took on a note of chagrin, "I haven't been home for some days, but I am a little hungry so if you could have sent down for some food, you would have my thanks."

Are you going to object that I worked on the rest days?

Ruarc's mouth had opened right after Sujanha's no, exposing a hint of razor-sharp fangs, as if he was expecting to hear that she both had not eaten and was not hungry, but at her actual request for food, his jaw snapped shut with a painfully audible clack of teeth. His surprise was evident in every line of his body.

A sad testament to my general health that me requesting food is that much of a surprise.

Sujanha's general lack of appetite was well known among her staff, and getting her to eat usually involved some amount of polite bugging, gentle cajoling, and periodic threats to get Kaja, her personal healer, involved.

Also a testament to your surprise that you don't remonstrate with me for sleeping here … again.

Ruarc's eyes had gone wide. "Of course, Commander. What would you like? I'll go down myself."

"Tea,[10] of course," Sujanha replied, "Some bread, but only if it's fresh, and one of those blue fruit I like."

"Of course, Commander," Ruarc rolled back to his feet in one smooth, silent motion, a notable display of quiet agility—You always have been light on your feet … more so than your brother—and with a nod departed as quietly as he had entered.

Sujanha returned to her work, reviewing reports from the shipyards, the training grounds, and the armories, and it seemed like only a few minutes had passed when Ruarc reappeared bearing a heaping plate and a large mug. A quick glance at the chronometer on the wall showed that over twenty minutes had passed. As Sujanha had requested, the mug was full of a sweet, spiced tea, the recipe for which the Furlings had gotten from the Gadhabin, one of their Zukish[11] allies in Asteria, as well as three thick slices of bread and two blue fruit.

Feeling hopeful, are we?

Ruarc got a half-sheepish expression under the slightly fond glare Sujanha sent his way but then answered promptly, "You might get hungry later, and the fruit will keep. Save us the trouble of going back down later."

Definitely feeling hopeful.

Sujanha shook her head fondly and shooed her bodyguard out with a quiet word of thanks. Reaching for the mug of tea, she took a cautious sip, wary of burning her sensitive mouth if the tea had been freshly brewed and was piping hot. The tea proved to be nicely warm but not scalding hot, and the blend of spices and the tanginess of the fruit within burst across her tongue. The tea had been her favorite drink all her life. Mother made it for us when we were children and we were scared by the reports of the war. The sweet, hot tea had done good things for their nerves, even though neither Sujanha nor her brother could taste the sweetness in the tea or other foodstuffs.

An interesting quirk of Maskilim genetics.

Having no conception of what sweet things tasted, Sujanha never could decide if this was an annoying quirk or not. No Furlings or half-bloods with predominantly Maskilim blood could taste sweetness of any degree, whether the natural sweetness of a piece of fruit to the sweetest of sweetcakes made in the imperial kitchens.

You could fill my mug half-full of flower-juice,[12] and I still couldn't taste it.

I wouldn't know the difference until the healer had to attend to my rotting teeth.

Sujanha found herself hungrier that she had even originally thought, and she quickly devoured all three slices of bread and, when no twisting in her stomach was forthcoming, then slowed her pace to leisurely gnaw chunks off one of the blue fruits with one long tooth. The fruit had a crisp texture and a tangy taste that Sujanha had enjoyed since childhood. The fruit had a long and complicated name in the language of the Etrairs, with whom the Furlings traded significantly. Although Sujanha was well-versed in many languages of the empire, as befitted a scion of the imperial house, the name for that one solitary fruit, she had never been able to pronounce with any level of accuracy, and thus "the blue fruit," it had been christened, and thus it had been called ever since.

It was good to eat actual food, fresh food. As hard as the cooks tried onboard her ships, food during long campaigns where supply runs could be less consistent was never quite the same. Sujanha had a tin of Asgard ration tablets in a desk drawer that she could eat off of anytime she wanted, but her aids and her bodyguards, especially them, would fuss if she didn't eat real food when she could. Unlike many, Sujanha actually enjoyed eating the ration tablets, though how much of that was from growing accustomed to them after eating them daily for months on end during the worst days of the Great War or was from them being one of the few foods she could stomach consistently when pain soured her stomach, she wasn't sure.


The rest of the morning and the early hours of the afternoon passed quietly, but about the 14th hour, there was a chime at Sujanha's office door—who closed it? It was open earlier—and when it opened at Sujanha's command to enter, Asik appeared, letting the door slide shut behind him. There was a slightly puzzled look on his face.

"One of the Vos-Mell is here to speak with you, Commander. He says he brings a message for you," her young aid spoke.

(Sujanha was young by the standards of her race, only having seen about 1400 years, but she felt old, and those of the shorter-lived races of Asteria always seemed young to her.)

One of the Vos-Mell?

The Vos-Mell were a non-humanoid species native to the Ida Galaxy, the long-separated ancestors of the Azhuth who dwelt on snowy Idroth in Asteria. Massive creatures with a build like the lone tundra cats of the Furling's ancient homeworld and the ability to change the color of their fur depending on their physical environment,[13] the Vos-Mell (like the Azhuth) were as intelligent as any two-legged species Sujanha had ever met, and more intelligent than some specific individuals I have met, though they thought differently and dealt with issues differently than two-leggeds did. They were a telepathic species, which was how they communicated with all other sentient races they interacted with, and because of their size, speed, and fighting ability, they were often hired as bodyguards or volunteered their services as bodyguards or warriors in other races' militaries.

"Which one?" Sujanha asked. Many Vos-Mell currently served under both her command and her brother's.

A sheepish look swept across Asik's face, "Forgive me, Commander. He didn't say, and I … forgot to ask." He found them quite intimidating, and not unreasonably so. He was much shorter than Sujanha was and more lightly built, and a tall Vos-Mell could almost look her in the eyes while on all fours … without her having to crouch to look them in the eyes.

Ah, yes, the fundamental problem, physically, of dealing with the Vos-Mell: they all look the same.

The only way to tell them apart is their mental touch.

"Very well," Sujanha set aside her work and pushed herself slowly to her feet. She kept one hand on the desk for a moment, waiting to see if her leg would hold … without the interference of the locking mechanism in the knee of her brace. It held. A good day. "Let us see what he has to say."

The outer office was empty, unsurprisingly so, of the messenger. The hallways and doorways of Headquarters were not built with the bulk of the non-humanoid Vos-Mell in mind, and they tended to find the spaces claustrophobic. The only one of them who frequented Headquarters with any regularity was her brother's bodyguard, Long-Claw, who had a specially renovated room across from her brother's office just to accommodate his bulk.

Sujanha liked Long-Claw.

So did Anarr … usually.

He did find his obsessively single-minded watch-care somewhat exasperating at times.

Privately, Sujanha considered that well-deserved pay-back for her brother's appointing Ragnar and Ruarc (as much as I do like and respect them) as her bodyguards without even asking her first.

And Long-Claw, he was waiting in the hallway. Sujanha recognized him by the notch of flesh missing from his left ear. He had lain down on the floor as he waited, and his giant white-and-black-striped bulk almost entirely blocked the hallway. Long-Claw rose to his feet as the door slid open and Sujanha exited the outer office. Their heads were about on a level for a moment, but then he bowed his head until it almost touched his paws.

Sujanha pressed one paw to her chest and gave a shallow bow in return. "Fair day, Long-Claw," she greeted him in Furling, "You said you brought a message for me."

*Fair day, Supreme Commander,* Long-Claw's mental presence was weighty, weighty enough that his sheer presence had almost made her knees buckle the first time she had felt it, and his mental voice gravelly, *I returned by Stargate a short time ago, and a message had just preceded me from Gaia. It was for you.*

From Gaia?

For me?

Why?

The Alliance of the Four Great Races had long ago dissolved. The Ancients had fled Avalon because of a great plague, found themselves in an unwinnable war in a distant galaxy, and then had ascended to a higher plane of existence, breaking the Alliance with the loss of its founding and most powerful member and dumping all of their responsibilities first on the shoulders of the Asgard alone. When the Furlings had returned from their wanderings, they had done their best to shoulder part of the burden the Asgard bore, trying to maintain the spirit of the Alliance, but the galactic-wide wars both races had been fighting or were still fighting prevented those two races from doing as much good as the Alliance had once done. The Nox had long since retreated to Gaia, which they rarely, if ever, left, and had no more dealings with any other races save for the Asgard and the Furlings, and even rarely so with them.

It had only been three months since the yearly envoy had gone to Gaia with messages for the Nox High Council from Ivar King and returned with return messages and other news.

Have they ever sent messages between envoy visits? Sujanha struggled to recall. Not for years upon years, at least.

"Why?" Sujanha asked, a scowl sweeping across her face and eyes, "Has ill befallen them?"

If there were great trouble, they wouldn't be sending messages to me. A call for aid would go to the High King and then my brother and I.

Has something happened to Ohper or Anteaus or his family? The thought sent a chill up her spine. Maker preserve them!

*Nay, my lady,* Long-Claw replied, *The message stone you gave to the elder Ohper was sent back. He wishes to speak with you regarding a possible asylum case for a Midgardian.*

Now that got Sujanha's attention. She had known Ohper (and the others of his family-unit) for many years, having spent some time on Gaia recovering her health after the Great War. Ohper was one of the eldest living of the Nox, and for him to recommend an asylum case to her … that was serious.

"A Midgardian, you are sure that is what the message said?" Sujanha asked, puzzlement seeping into her voice. The Midgardians were the people of the first world, the origin of all Zukish[14] life in Avalon, and more in the Asgard's purview at present … somewhat. The Asgard had only interacted with them recently during a near disaster on Cimmeria, a planet under the Protected Planets Treaty. When the Hammer had been destroyed and the planet invaded, several Midgardians had aided the inhabitants to contact the Asgard and beg for aid. Thor had spoken at length to Sujanha of those events at one of their recent conferences.

The way the war with the Replicating Ones is going, I wonder how long before Thor's ships can no longer protect those worlds … and we must step in. It had not come time for that yet, though. Preparations were not complete, and the time had not yet time for the Furlings to make their presence known once more in Avalon.

*That is what the message said,* was the reply.

How odd!

Why send him to me?

Why not go to Thor?

He's become rather interested in the Midgardian after what happened on Cimmeria.

I wonder how long before Midgard is added to the Protected Planet's Treaty.

Even though the Nox had not involved themselves in the affairs of the galaxy for years unnumbered, the Furling envoys still kept the Nox High Council apprised of everything that was going on in Avalon (that we know of) and of the events taking place in Asteria and Ida.

The near-disaster on Cimmeria would have been mentioned, I would think.

Oh, no matter. Ohper wouldn't ask for me without due cause.

"My thanks," Sujanha finally replied after a moment, "for going out of your way to bear this message to me."

*Of course, Supreme Commander,* Long-Claw bowed again, *Fair day, and safe journey.* He turned and padded away down the hall to the lifts.

Sujanha starred after him for a moment, her black eyes gazing off into space, as she considered the odd message, and then turned back towards her office. The door had remained open behind her when she exited, and she stepped back inside, signaling the door to shut behind her. Her aids had returned to their desks, and Ragnar and Ruarc were both on their feet, gathering their things.

"How soon do you wish to leave, Commander?" Ruarc asked.

You know me very well.

Sujanha gave a rumbling laugh, "As soon as you have your things. No work constrains me here." She turned to Asik, "Keep things running in my absence. Send a message to Algar that I am leaving for Gaia for the rest of the day. If there is an emergency, forward it to Algar, and then send for me."

Algar was Sujanha's right arm, the senior of her two High Commanders. In the event of her incapacitation or death, he would succeed her.


The Hall where the Stargate was located and Headquarters were both on the Acropolis, the heights which towered above the lower city of Uslisgas, which was unfortunately both the name of the capitol city of the Furling Empire and also of the planet where the city was located. I wonder whose idea it was. With Ragnar and Ruarc on her heels, Sujanha walked the short distance to the Hall. She was enjoying feeling well enough for slightly lengthier walks and liked the warmth of the sun on her fur.

A long series of steps surrounded the Hall. Walking up them, I like less. Sujanha could have had them beamed to the top of the steps, but since she wanted to walk anyway, being beamed from the bottom to the top of the stairs … would have been a frivolous use of technology.

Once the three reached the top of the stone stairs, it took only minutes to enter the correct passcodes to first enter the outer gate, traverse the identical hallways into the inner reaches of the Hall of the Stargate, and then, after entering another passcode, beam into the inner sanctum, the Great Hall where the Stargate was itself located. The Furlings had learned out of necessity to have multiple layers of protection guarding the Stargate. There were jammers that, unless they were disabled—access to them was limited and highly guarded—prevented beaming directly into or out of the Great Hall from anywhere or to any location on the planet.

"Gaia," Sujanha spoke aloud once the white light of the beaming technology had faded, and she saw the Stargate in front of her.

Sensors would pick up the sound of her voice and transmit the request to guards in another chamber where the dialing device was located. They would dial the gate for her.

I should have grabbed the auto-dialer from my desk and saved us the trouble.

The auto-dialer, a piece of technology the Furlings had borrowed from the Asgard, which would bring them back to Uslisgas from any other world, always stayed with her. The others, not so much.

No matter. It would not take the gate that long to dial, and impatience had no place.

Sujanha shifted her weight semi-comfortably onto both feet—she tended to stand with her weight on her stronger left leg—and spent the short waiting period gazing about the Great Hall. It was a massive hall about a hundred yards from end to end and twenty yards across.[15] The walls were made of large, polished blocks of stone, so finely cut that one would be hard pressed to fit a slip of the finest paper between them. Far above the heads of Sujanha and her bodyguards, the walls curved inward, where there were support beams of stone-colored metal that would almost invisible to the eye unless the light caught them and reflected off. In the center of the hall was a circular raised platform, up to which several steps led.

Here stood the Stargate.

What always drew Sujanha's attention the most were the alcoves that lined the walls of the Great Hall. Many of the alcoves were currently empty, but many were filled with exquisitely carved, lifelike statues that towered above any passing through. Those statues depicted figures of all forms, not just Furlings. The Great War had involved almost every race across Asteria in a horrific struggle for survival. By the end of the 3000-year-long war, there had been enough heroes whose acts of bravery, service, and sacrifice were worth honoring to line every hall of the Royal Palace with statues … at least once, perhaps twice over. Those whose acts were worthy of special renown were accorded statues in the Great Hall of the Stargate, though none of the others will be forgotten as long as our people survive.

Sujanha could spend hours starring at these statues. Of those who had lived during her lifetime, she knew many of them personally, the others only by name and reputation.

Lapith.

Boii.

Ipyrsh.

Furling.

Asgard.

Etrairs.

Getae.

Dovahkiin.

Vos-Mell and Azhuth.

Cesneors.

And more.

They were of every race and every rank from simple soldiers to Supreme Commanders and High Commanders and High Generals.[16]

Here was a statue of a Dovahkiin engineer who had sacrificed his life, dying a gruesome and painful death, to single-handedly keep his mothership functioning during a battle under the tenure of Sujanha's predecessor. His sacrifice had spared the other engineers and kept shields functioning long enough for another mothership to arrive and evacuate survivors.

There was a statue of an Iprysh commander who had become legendary for his blockade running, carrying supplies through enemy lines to besieged worlds where the Stargates had been cut off or buried. The food he had carried had saved thousands of lives.

Here was a statue representative of all the Azhuth and Vos-Mell warriors who had fought for the Furling Empire, who had guarded the flanks of the army, who had harried the enemy lines when the Furlings and their allies were hard-pressed, who had found secret trails allowing for ambushes.

There was a statue of Odin, the previous Asgard Supreme Commander, who had brought ships from Ida to the support of the Furlings, leaving Thor, his chief lieutenant, to continue the fight against the Replicating Ones in his stead. For his sacrifice, he had met an agonizing death without time to transfer his consciousness to a new, cloned body.

The stories went on and on, and many Sujanha knew by heart. Every statue was a reminder of the personal and professional cost of war. Only the Honored Ones—the dead—had statues here, and every person represented was a husband, a wife father, a mother, a son, a daughter, a brother, a sister, a friend, a sister-son or brother-son, or a sister-daughter or brother-son, who never made it home again.

My statue will one day be here.

I wonder what storage world they have it stuck on.

Sujanha's health had been failing by the end of the Great War, and most had thought she would not long survive the war's end. I barely did and only by the Maker's mercy. The statue, her brother had later told her, had been built while she was off-world trying to piece together the shattered pieces of her health.

Few expected I would live to return.

I certainly did not.

She wasn't sure what she thought about having her statue in the Great Hall one day.

Her people revered her, called her a war-hero. Yes, her strategies and leadership had helped directly lead to the end of the Great War, but so had the strategies of her brother and many subordinates. And without competent subordinates to carry out our battle-plans, all our work would have been fruitless. And if my final plans had gone astray … It was hard to focus on all that … past … the lists of the dead and the memory of all those who had never returned home, those who had died in agony, fighting so that some might endure.

No victory comes without sacrifice.

I would give up all that I have, all the honors bestowed on me … if only they could be returned.

Tears pricked at Sujanha's eyes, and she forced them back by sheer will, blinked until her vision was clear.

As Supreme Commander, she was extremely conscious of how every decision she made affected those under her, was extremely conscious of what the potential cost of every decision might be.

Many had died because of the decisions she had made for the good of the Empire as a whole.

Many had died because of the orders she had given.

And Sujanha felt the weight of them all.

Some deaths she felt the weight of more than most, though. Much of the Imperial Family had died during the war. Her father had fallen in battle, and her mother had died of grief soon after. Both deaths had come while Sujanha was still a child, being raised off-world, and her memories of them from her youngest years were few. The Queen had been poisoned and had died in agony. So many of her family had died so quickly that their bodies had been temporarily interred elsewhere until the Royal Crypt on Numantia could be expanded.

The one death that she felt the most, the one person whom she would give up anything for most of all to bring back was her brother's eldest boy, Odin, and her former chief aid. Odin, named for the previous Asgard Supreme Commander whose statue stood nearby, had been barely out of his majority at his death. He was too-young with skills and a temperament not well-suited to a life of war, but he had been determined to do his part nonetheless. Sujanha and Odin had been poisoned through betrayal at the same time.

Sujanha had, somehow, survived.

Her young sister-son had died … in agony.

He was so sacred.

Anarr couldn't even be there.

He was so scared.

Terrified, really.

The mercy ships had been almost full in those days, and there had not been enough healers to spare one to sit with the dying so that they were not forced to make the final journey to the shores of the Sea of Night alone. A healer, trying to be kind, had moved Sujanha and Odin into the same room to aid the healers trying futilely to ease their passing and, at least, to keep them from dying alone.

They thought it a mercy that we would, at least, have each other.

It had almost been the height of cruelty, instead, in a way.

Her young brother-son's howls of agony and his tears would haunt her dreams forever, the cries that had lasted for hours upon hours until his voice had quieted, unconsciousness having mercifully claiming him or his throat having been shredded by his screams. Sujanha had been too weak and in agony herself to determine.

Sujanha had forced herself to be strong even when it felt like she was burning alive. Until her brother-son had passed beyond all pain, she had forced herself not to scream however much she hurt. There was still a chunk of her tongue missing from where she had bit through it, and thick scars still lined her lips and the insides of her cheeks from where her razor-sharp teeth had torn through the soft tissues of her mouth until her mouth had filled with blood multiple times over.

He was so scared.

Why him and not me? Why did I live, and he die? That was a question that would also haunt her forever.

Two Ithell,[17] and Asta has still never forgiven me. Her brother's mate had not wanted her son to go to the front lines and blamed Sujanha for her son's untimely death. And it's said a Dovahkiin can hold a grudge!

Sometimes Sujanha wondered, too, if she could have done anything differently, whether Odin might still be alive if she had made different choices.

He might have avoided one fate only to meet another. We were together at the end, for what small comfort that brought him.

"Commander," a paw touched her arm. Ruarc was looking at her with concern, "The Stargate."

The Stargate had finished dialing while Sujanha was thinking. The Great Hall brought up many memories, both good and bad.

"Thank you. Let's go."

Ruarc nodded, and he and his brother stepped forward into position in front of Sujanha. As always, they went first in case of danger, and together the three stepped into the Stargate.


Gaia, which had been the homeworld of the Nox for as long as the Furlings had known them, was a lush world. The Stargate rested upon a stone pedestal, several steps high, that stood on the edge of a steep slope. Just a few paces from the left edge of the Stargate, the ground dropped away sharply into a broad wooded valley. Further on, the ground rose and fell in gentle slopes, and a thick mist often covered the valley, preventing a view of the mountains beyond. The Nox were pacifists who would raise a hand against neither animal nor person, and animals and birds roamed freely across Gaia, unafraid of those who crossed their paths. Gaia was a paradise that always reminded Sujanha of Ilea, a similarly idyllic world in Asteria that served as a rest world for soldiers and for all who were similarly mentally or physically affected by the Great War.

The idyllic nature of Gaia concealed the true technological advancement of the Nox, who had been one of the most advanced races native to Avalon in ancient times. (Whether that was still the case, Sujanha did not know, as she knew little of what went on in Avalon outside the broad strokes of the atrocities of the Goa'uld Empire.)

And those worlds that the Asgard protect … or try to.

The power of the Asgard was waning. Their war with the Replicating Ones still stretched on and on and on, occupying much of their attention and military might. The Furlings did their best to aid their oldest and most stalwart ally, but our forces and our population have not recovered from the Great War, and the latter will not for many, many generations. And as generations were among the Furlings, who numbered their lifespan in ages[18] and the maturing period as an Ithell, that was a long time indeed.

But your mind is wandering again.

Sujanha had found that her mind wandered more now in the wake of her long convalescence. Hours spent thinking and listening to the stories being read to her had been her only escapes from the pain and then the utter boredom of complete bed-rest for years, and unfortunately the tendency for mental wanderings, still an escape from pain, had remained.

Even at inopportune times and places.

In the field, she frequently reminded herself, that could get her killed.

Sujanha knew far too well that even friendly worlds could conceal hidden dangers. The poison of the Great Enemy that had felled her and her brother-son both had been slipped in their drinks during a meeting on an allied world.

When the Goa'uld have fallen and I retire, then and only then will there be time aplenty for wandering minds and reminiscing.

That time was not now.

Another reason it is good Ruarc and Ragnar with me. Ragnar and Ruarc were focused and tireless, skilled fighters with weapons or their bare paws, veterans of thousands of battles.

As the three Furlings had entered the Stargate on Uslisgas, so they exited the Stargate on Gaia, a galaxy away. Ragnar and Ruarc were a step in front of Sujanha, always prepared for danger or any surprises on a foreign world. And though they advanced forward several steps and down the steps of the Stargate platform, scanning with eyes and sensors for any dangers, today there were no surprises.

When both of her bodyguards relaxed their vigilant posture, Sujanha let herself relax out of the mental posture that would have brought up her personal shield with a bare thought. Her left paw pulled out of her sleeve where it had been hovering over the controls on her gauntlet that would have activated a distress beacon, which would activate an alarm on any Furling or Asgard ship within the galaxy.

There were three figures waiting in the clearing where the Stargate stood. Two were Nox, their short and slender builds and grassy hair marking their race clearly. The third was a Zukish, almost certainly the Midgardian Ohper's message had spoken of. He was tall and slender with shaggy brown hair and a friendly, open expression with wide eyes, half-hidden by eye-circlets, which were used by some of the Zukish in Asteria to aid poor eyesight.

Ragnar and Ruarc stepped aside, leaving Sujanha room to step forward to greet Ohper. Though it had been some years since she had been on Gaia, the elder looked almost unchanged, though age had heavily touched his features since she had first met him long ago.

Sujanha bowed her head deeply and brought one fisted hand across her chest, a gesture of deep respect for the Nox elder who had hosted her during the early years of her convalescence before she had gone to Drehond and the family of her childhood. The care she had received from Ohper, Anteaus, and Lya and the few years of rest she had spent on Gaia, free from all cares of her position and from thoughts of war, immediately after the war was one of the main reasons that she was still alive.

Ohper bowed lower when she had straightened, an acknowledgement of her higher rank. (In comparison of age to average lifespans of their races, however, he was much her elder.) "Thank you for coming so quickly, Supreme Commander," he graciously spoke in Furling in deference to her lesser command of Nox.

(All scions of the Imperial House of the Furlings were expected to be fluent in all the languages of the former Alliance. That expectation had fallen by the wayside during the Great War. Anarr spoke no Nox at all and had the barest knowledge of Ancient, though he, like Sujanha, was perfectly fluent in Asgard. Sujanha only knew some Ancient because of her study of the military books in the Great Library, and despite years dwelling on Gaia, her command of Nox was extremely limited, and from the polite winces, my accent is abysmal.)

"Of course, I am glad to be of assistance, Honored Elder," Sujanha responded with a regal incline of her head. The price of being a woman of rank, tedious introductions before we can get to the point. "Is all well with you and yours?"

"Yes, we are well," Ohper responded, "Is all well with you and your family and the High King?"

"I am well enough," Sujanha answered, "My brother and his family are well, and our king enjoys good life and years of peace by our Maker's Grace."

With those formalities over, Ohper and Sujanha both relaxed, and Ohper smiled gently, knowing her preference for straightforward conversations, "It is good to see you again, child. Thank you for coming."

"I owe you a debt I can never repay. I am truly glad to assist where I can," Sujanha turned towards the Zukish standing some paces away, noting the way the young man almost shivered under her gaze, "Is this the Midgardian you spoke of in your message?"

Ohper nodded and took a half-step backwards, turning towards the young man and gesturing with one hand. "This is Doctor Daniel Jackson of Midgard, a member of SG1 and a political exile from his planet. Among his people, he is a eminent scholar of the past."

SG1. Now this is an interesting coincidence.

Thor had spoken at length of the events on Cimmeria and the Midgardians who had aided its people in requesting aid from the Asgard.

Daniel Jackson, that was the name of one of them

This will be an interesting story.

The words Ohper directed to Doctor Jackson—doctor must be a title of some sort, perhaps referencing his status as a learned man of his people—were incomprehensible to Sujanha. Though whatever language the people of Midgard spoke was probably distantly descended from the language of the Ancients, none of the words Ohper said sounded familiar, except for the names of Sujanha and her bodyguards. Granted, there are few words in introductions besides names and titles. As we speak, hopefully there are some familiar words to aid me. She hoped Ohper had been circumspect in what title he had chosen to introduce her by. She preferred that her status as a member of the Furling Royal House and as Supreme Commander was not widely known.

At least, during the Great War, the higher your rank, the more important a target you were.

Doctor Jackson spoke a string of meaningless, sing-songy syllables back to Ohper, which he turned back to Sujanha and translated as, "Daniel says that he is honored to meet you, though he wishes it were under better circumstances."

Once we are on our way to the village, I must Ohper about the pattern of whatever strange language it is that Doctor Jackson speaks. There was no way to even attempt to correlate words between languages until Sujanha had some idea of what words came where.

Sujanha looked at Doctor Jackson and gave a courteous nod in a wordless reply.

Nafrayu, the somewhat impetuous and ever energetic youngling that he was, had been up to that point waiting patiently … mostly … back near Daniel, though he was almost vibrating in place, waiting for the introductions and greetings to finish. Now, his patience was at an end, and he dashed forward to throw his arms around Sujanha's waist, while chattering quickly at her in Nox … something about an animal and about Doctor Jackson. I wish you would slow down, child.

His enthusiastic greeting forced Sujanha back a step, and she felt her right leg give way for a moment before the brace caught, the knee-joint locking into place. She quickly shifted her weight to steady herself, waving off Ragnar, who had started forward with the slightest shake of her head. Sujanha smoothed a paw across Nafrayu's grassy hair, noticing that the top of his head was creeping ever upward.

You've grown.

Sujanha had only met Nafrayu a handful of times over the years since his birth, but he had become uncommonly attached to her for some reason she couldn't comprehend and to Ragnar. Not that it bothers me. For how could one be truly bothered by such a sweet child? Doting on him from time to time like she could not do for her brother's children would probably be the closest thing she ever had to having children of her own. If this visit had not been done in such haste, she would have brought him a small gift.

Sujanha smoothed a paw across his head again and then nudged him in Ragnar's direction. I know what you've been looking forward to, child. Nafrayu enthusiastically hugged Ragnar. Her bodyguard shot her a look, a wordless request for permission, which she granted with a nod.

"Up you go, youngster," said Ragnar in Furling, which Nafrayu understood somewhat, and reached down a hand to help the boy scramble onto a perch on his back.

He will make a good father someday.

Ohper then motioned for them all to follow, forgoing the need of saying the same thing twice in two separate languages by using gestures instead. The entire group, now doubled in size, made their way back through the trees toward the village where Ohper, Anteaus, Lya, and Nafrayu lived. The walk took only about a quarter of an hour and was over easy terrain, but by the time the trees thinned out into the clearing where the huts were, Sujanha could feel the ache in her right leg rising and was glad the walk was about to end.

This might not have been wise after-all.

Ly and Anteaus came out to greet them, and cordial greetings were exchanged, and then Lya showed them to their seats. Sujanha gratefully sunk to a seat on the mossy grass, leaning her back against the thick log that was probably supposed to be her intended seat. Ragnar let Nafrayu scramble off his back and then stepped away to patrol, while Ruarc sunk cross-legged to a seat next to his commander. Nafrayu curled up next to Sujanha, tucking himself into her side, and she wrapped an arm around him, accepting a steaming bowl of fragrant, spiced tea with her stronger left hand.

This tea is so much like what we drink at home.

I wonder if we received the recipe from the Nox long ago.

When all were seated and had received bowls of tea, Sujanha began to speak, her gaze flicking back and forth between Ohper and Daniel. "Before you tell me the story of the events that led to your exile, I would like to know more about the background of your planet's use of the Stargate?"

Ohper nodded and turned to Dr. Jackson, translating what Sujanha had said into the Midgardian language. Inglich, I think Ohper called it. She listened carefully, listening for patterns and familiar words now that Ohper had told her of the language's pattern.[19]

Dr. Jackson seemed surprised by the request if the widening of his eyes and his slight start were accurate tells to go by, but from his tone of voice, the two words he spoke next were an affirmative of some sort.

Ohper confirmed this with a slight nod.

"How long has Midgard been using the Stargate?" Sujanha asked first.

That question also seemed to puzzle the scholar. His brow furrowed behind his eye-circlets, and he hesitated before finally replying. "We rediscovered the Stargate about 70 years ago," Ohper translated, "It was used once 53 years ago, but we have only been using the Stargate regularly for a little over a year."

Rediscovered?

Was it lost?

Sujanha turned to Ohper, "'Rediscovered,' are you sure you translated that correctly?"

He nodded.

"The Stargate was lost?" Sujanha asked.

Doctor Jackson nodded, replying through Ohper, "Long ago, there was an uprising against the Goa'uld." I knew that much, "The Stargate was buried in the desert and lost."

Desert? That word translated easily between languages. How strange! A world's environment could change over millennia, Sujanha knew that, but the records the Furlings kept had said that Avalon's Stargate had been far to the south in the cold and snow.

Our records from the Asgard are not that old, ten thousands years perhaps.

To change that drastically … or perhaps the Stargate was moved.

"How long is a year?" Sujanha asked, "I know time is measured differently among races."

Doctor Jackson was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed again. Explaining time measurements between worlds while dealing with a severe language barrier was not the simplest of questions. "On earth …" Ohper began to translate.

What is that word?

"Earth?" Sujanha interrupted.

"Their word for their planet. Midgard."

Sujanha nodded and made a motion for Ohper to continue translating.

"On Avalon, we measure time by how long it takes our planet to rotate on its axis, which is a day, or complete one rotation around the sun, which is a year."

"My people do the same," Sujanha replied through Ohper.

As do most of the peoples of the Empire.

How long each 'day' and each 'year' is, that depends on the world.

Dr. Jackson spoke several long sentences. "A year is made up of 365 days, and a day of 24 hours," Ohper translated, and by that point Sujanha could guess at the meaning of several untranslated words. Repetition is a wonderful thing. What words are repeated multiple times when he translates and what words did he speak before Ohper translated. "An hour is roughly the time that passed between when Ohper sent the message and you arrived."

It was not a perfect explanation, considering Sujanha did not know exactly how long had passed between the message's arrival and Long-Claw's arrival at Headquarters. Long-Claw would have hurried, and the arrival of the message was close enough to his return for him to still be in the Hall, so not that long. It was enough for approximations.

Sujanha nodded, "I thank you. As a scholar, how did you come to travel though the Stargate?"

"I had lost my previous job, and the Air Force recruited me to translate the hieroglyphs on the cover stone. My translation work helped us to reopen the Stargate. Well, the rest is a long story." Doctor Jackson stopped at that point, letting Ohper translated, but then he frowned and added on several more sentences, "Hieroglyphs are an ancient form of writing on my world. Few people know how to translate them. The cover stone that was used to bury the Stargate bore them."

Interesting. A story for a later time, perhaps.

What is an "Air Force," though? Is that like my fleet? Midgard had no fleet, though, as far as Thor knew.

"And this 'Air Force,' they are part of your world's military?" Sujanha asked after pondering those things for a minute.

Doctor Jackson shook his head, clarifying, "Part of my country's military."

So your country does not control your world, whatever a country is. That was not unheard of in Asteria, if Sujanha understood closely enough what a 'country' was. There were some worlds with two or, rarely, three races per world, though one was most common.

"There is more one of these countries on Midgard?" Sujanha asked to confirm.

"Earth has about 200 separate countries currently," was the reply.

Two-hundred, and only your country controls the Stargate.

Two-hundred … how does anything get accomplished?

How does a world become that fragmented, for that matter?

Stars above!

Sujanha grimaced, biting back an incredulous choke, and then made a gesture of dismissal with one paw. There were more important things to discuss than how a world became that fragmented. "So you said you helped your people reopen the Stargate?"

There was a nod of assent.

"Have you been involved with the work of the Stargate since that point?"

"We, my team and I," the SG1 Thor spoke of, "traveled off-world to specific worlds for missions," Ohper translated, "but we continued to live on earth, though I lived on Abydos," not a planet I know, "for about a year."

Doctor Jackson's eyes had darkened with grief at the mention of Abydos, and his head bowed for a moment. Someone he loved must be among the Honored Ones in the north.

Sujanha kept silent for a moment, as if she were pondering that answer, though she just wanted to give the Midgardian scholar a moment to quiet his grief. Finally, she asked, "And about these missions, who was involved in them?"

"The military of my country, mainly, though many scholars were also recruited. Many … most … I'm not sure … work at our base and do not go off world generally."

Interesting.

Mostly military. Did the memory of the Goa'uld endure so they were careful of again interfering in affairs on the galactic stage?

"And what was the purpose of these missions?" Sujanha asked.

"To procure knowledge and advanced technologies that could benefit the protection of Earth and its inhabitants."[20]

"And it was during your explorations that you encountered those ill-events that led to your exile?" With enough background knowledge to help give her a basis for understanding for the story of what led to Doctor Jackson's political exile, Sujanha turned the topic to her reason for being called to Gaia.

An affirmative word.

"Then, tell me the story with as many details as possible," Sujanha requested.

Doctor Jackson took a deep breath and then began to explain what was sure to be a painful tale, speaking at length for some minutes. Finally, he stopped, taking a sip of tea, and Ohper began to translate. "My team and I had traveled to a planet called P3X-7763 by us and Tollan by its people." I do not know that world either. "When we stepped through the gate, we found the planet on the brink of utter destruction because of volcanic activity. The planet's temperature was rising. The atmosphere was full of ash and thick smoke. There were lava runs opening up on the surface. The planet was soon going to be totally uninhabitable." That sounds like how Drehond could have been long, long, long ago.

Ohper continued, "As we were about to dial home, we found a number of survivors from the local population, near death from exposure and suffocation. We called in reinforcements from Earth and evacuated them back to our world. We treated them at our base the best we could but quickly found out that they were from … a much more advanced culture compared to us. The Tollan—also the name of the planet's people—were generally rather arrogant because of how advanced they were. This made it difficult for us when we tried to find them a new home until they could travel to their new home—these survivors we rescued had stayed behind to close the gate—which did not have a Stargate."

Sujanha's personality and cunning mind were more suited to the battlefield than the complexities that were the potential minefield that was politics. No race is immune to the convoluted mess that is politics. That being said, after nearly 1400 years of life navigating multiple royal courts, Sujanha was no stranger to political tangles, and her mind sorted through Doctor Jackson's story piece by piece as he told it, parsing everything that he said, everything that he did NOT say, and the way he said it all.

I have a bad feeling.

I should send word to Thor. With his interest in these Midgardians … if this story is as serious as I fear—why else would Ohper send for me—Thor will wish to know.

It took several minutes for Ohper to translate the first part of the story, but once he had fallen silent, Doctor Jackson continued. "We settled the Tollan as best we could in our base while we tried to find a world among our allies where they could settle temporarily. Unfortunately, the Tollan survivors deemed all our allies too primitive. In the meantime, word about the Tollan's advanced technology spread outside the SGC, our base. The President of the United States, the country I'm from and the one where the Stargate is right now, sent Colonel Maybourne from the National Intelligence Department—the NID—to question the Tollan about their technology. Colonel Maybourne also brought orders from the President that released the Tollan to the custody of the NID, which would make them prisoners of our government in all but name. The NID was willing to hold the Tollan by force and make them cooperate by force, even though the Tollan had clearly stated repeatedly that they were unwilling to stay and unwilling to share their technology."

Sujanha felt sick hearing those words. It was easy for her to read between the lines, and she knew all too well what would have likely awaited the Tollan if this National Intelligence Department had been allowed to take custody of them. Midgard was in a perilous position. After years unnumbered without contact with the wider galaxy, they would have received a hard reintroduction to life in a Goa'uld-controlled galaxy. And a desperate world, a desperate people … could go to terrible lengths to seek means to protect themselves.

Torture.

Experimentation.

All in the name of survival.

It was a fate, the risk of, the Supreme Commander knew far too well.

There was a terrible reason the Enemy's poisons grew more effective as the Great War waged on … as the lists of the missing increased in number. Some of the dead had been found ended when enemy strongholds were captured, and how they had suffered before death had come … as a mercy… was still sickening to remember. Many more had never been found, their bodies desecrated and unburied.

So many lost … so many families sundered.

That the Honored Ones whose bodies had never been recovered had never been forgotten by the Empire, that funeral rites had been carried out for them with all honor due to the fallen brought Sujanha little comfort.

Too many died.

She still smelled the burning pyres for the dead some nights in her dreams.

Too many died.

Doctor Jackson's face had twisted as he retold his story, and he seemed greatly affected, horrified by the prospect of what the sect of his government might do. Finally, Ohper finished translating, and he continued. "General Hammond, the commander of the SGC, tried to stop Maybourne from relocating the Tollan but failed, so my teammates and I came up with a plan to help the Tollan escape. All the soldiers on base, their hands were tied for fear of military justice, perhaps even for treason, if they disobeyed the orders of the President, but I am not in the military so I … thought I was safe ... safer. I told Omoc, the Tollan leader, about the Nox, and he was able to send a message here. The Nox were willing to help, so I led the Tollan to the gate. Maybourne tried to stop the Tollan from leaving; he even authorized the guards to shoot the Tollan to stop them from leaving. He threatened me first with a court-martial, but, when he had learned that I was not in the military, he said I would be charged with treason for disobeying a presidential order. With the influence Maybourne and the NID had over the president, I knew I was in trouble. When Lya motioned me to come with her, I took a chance, and here I am."

Treason. For disobeying an unethical, immoral order.

Treason. A charge whose penalty among the Furlings was execution or eternal exile.

Treason. For not obeying an order that no one with a conscious and a sense of decency would.

Treason. For not following an unconscionable command.

Treason. For not being complicit in actions that, if they led to the end Sujanha expected, would be considered war crimes, the penalty for which was usually death under Furling law.

It was always in keeping with the laws of the Maker to do what was right and just whatever the cost. Sometimes, though, that cost was terribly high.

Doctor Jackson had finished the last part of his story in a rush of words. Anger, bitterness, sadness, and a rush of other emotions played across his face as he finished and then as Ohper translated. Sujanha grieved for him. From all that had been said, though she had not yet spoken to any corroborating witnesses, it seemed clear that grave and terrible injustices had been done. And to lose your home … the feeling of that was beyond words.

Silence fell for several minutes, but finally Sujanha spoke, bowing her head respectfully in honor of his deeds, "It is never right to do evil even to accomplish a good end. For any consolation it is for losing your home, you did well, even though the cost was high."

Doctor Jackson nodded, and silence fell for several more minutes, as Sujanha further mulled over his story, weighing it and dissecting it in her mind.

Finally, the Commander asked, "Why have you sought the Furlings? Surely, there must be other worlds you could go to, even here? What would you wish of us?"

Sujanha was no fool. She knew potentially what Doctor Jackson could do for the war effort. Over 70 years had passed now since the end of the Great War, and it wasn't just for the sake of restoring empty stores of supplies, recruiting new soldiers to fill shattered ranks, rebuilding the fleet, and giving all time to rest and recover that the Furlings' plan to finally put a stop to the reign of the Goa'uld and wipe away the stain on their people's honor.

The Goa'uld were no weak foe from what the Asgard had said, though they were weaker by far compared to the Great Enemy and would have stood no chance against the Asgard except that their attention and power were split. Yet, if Sujanha and Anarr were going to lead the Empire into another war within 100 years of the last, the two Supreme Commanders had no intention of acting without proper intelligence, without knowing the lay of the land, of the worlds in a galaxy not their own, without knowing every possible scrap about the enemy they faced.

Intelligence. That was where the real problem lay.

Sujanha now knew who Doctor Jackson was, and from all Thor had told her and from the scraps she had put together from what the young man had said, she knew the intelligence that he could provide.

Thor and his commanders were trying their best, but they were fighting two wars in two galaxies, and the worse the war with Replicating Ones went, the more their opposition to the Goa'uld became a galactic bluffing game and the worse the intelligence they sent to Uslisgas was.

And as hard as the Asgard tried, their intelligence was not all that Anarr, especially, wanted. If Doctor Jackson could tell them of conditions on the ground, of potential allies, of free worlds that would need to be protected from conflicts that spilled from world system to world system … Sujanha could not put into words how vital that intelligence would be.

Yet … a lifetime of war had not yet made her callous. Doctor Jackson had suffered, and if he were granted asylum—from what she had heard, Sujanha felt that was all but assured if that indeed was the course he wanted to take—and wished only for peace, she would make sure he got that.

He deserves it.

Sujanha was not sure, at first, why she felt a flare of protectiveness over this young Midgardian. She pitied him, yes, was outraged on his behalf, too, but … then she realized … something about his youth and his manner reminded her … of Odin, of her old aid, the poor child, dead and buried all too-long.

Doctor Jackson mulled over her question for several minutes, before he finally responded, his face almost aging beyond measure for a moment. (Sujanha wondered idly how old he really was. She was a poor judge of age, especially with the short-lived races, but she guessed he was young.) Though she only understood with reasonable certainty only a handful of common words, the grief in the young man's face and voice were unmistakable to anyone with a pair of eyes and ears.

Ohper's voice was subdued as he translated the reply for Sujanha, "I have nothing but the clothes on my back and what I have graciously been given. I have no funds, no weapons. If I stay here on my own, I'll have to be extremely careful what worlds I travel to. I do not want to put our other allies or my friends in a difficult position. I do not want anyone to have to choose between disobeying orders to capture me. I'm sure a warrant has been issued for my arrest, and … I need to find my wife."

Oh, no.

"Ohper suggested I seek you out, though your people could help me, and," here Ohper again inserted the hesitation pause that had marked Doctor Jackson's speech, "my wife and her brother are both … hosts. Ohper mentioned," Another pause. The scholar had been picking his words with great care apparently, "that your people are working towards for the fall of the Goa'uld. Maybe ... you could help them?" Ohper's command of Furling was so exact, much better than mine of Nox, that both word and tone got across the sense of pleading hope.

Why exactly the Furlings had been diligently working towards the fall of the Goa'uld Empire for over fifty years, Sujanha was sure Ohper had not explained. The Nox elder was always circumspect, and he knew when to speak and when to withhold information that was better revealed carefully and explained later.

Anger and grief warred within Sujanha. She knew the weight of lost loved-ones. The Great War had nearly wiped out her family, slashing a thriving dynasty to three heirs before several children had been born in recent years. Losing all those family members had been grief almost beyond the point of baring, but to lose a mate to a … tortuous living-death … that was worse.

Far worse.

My kin … they are at peace.

Finally, she forced herself to respond, "You have my deepest sympathies for all you and your kin have suffered. The Goa'uld are a blight upon this galaxy, and the Furlings will do all that is possible to save the tormented hosts and bring them the peace they have long been denied."

Even if that is only to die free and be buried as themselves, not discarded like a piece of spare clothing.

The young scholar inclined his head in what was probably a wordless gesture of thanks, if Sujanha was interpreting his mannerisms correctly. She had seen a sheen of tears in his eyes as he bowed his head, so Sujanha let the silence linger again for a few moments, giving him the time to regain his composure, before she spoke again, "I must ask one more question. Is there any who can speak to the truth of your account, aside from Lya? I do not call the truth of your account into question, but except in extreme cases, there must be witnesses called when a case for asylum is put forward."

Doctor Jackson nodded quickly, and this time Sujanha could understand a few more words of his untranslated statement. "Omoc of the Tollan, the leader of the group we rescued, could tell what happened with the NID before our escape, and Lya could tell you what happened after she came through the gate."

Good. His account and Lya's corroboration combined with Ohper's willingness to put the case before me would be enough to convince me, but another witness will be good to have.

The question is then: do I put this before the High Council—there is a meeting tomorrow—or before Kadar for his judgment?

Just Kadar, I think. My vote on the Council could make this look less impartial.

Her decision made, Sujanha nodded, "Then, you must come to Uslisgas tomorrow. I am simply a military commander,"—Ruarc, who had barely moved a muscle since the discussion had begun, made an almost imperceptible face at that statement—"and I cannot judge asylum cases on my own. There is a meeting of the High Counsel in the morning that I must attend, but when that is concluded, our Chief Judge should be able to judge your case. I will put the case to him for review as soon as I return. Lya and Omoc must accompany you to witness on your behalf, and, if possible, Ohper should also accompany you as translator.

Doctor Jackson's reply was a simple word of thanks and acknowledgment.

I would do no less for any other whose story was like yours.

Whether or not they might prove useful because of their knowledge.

The conversation as to Doctor Jackson's request for asylum had wrapped to a close, and Lya then broke in, speaking first in Furling, adding in a translation in English after a moment, "Would you stay and eat with us, Lady, before you return to Uslisgas? The hour grows late."

The discussion had dragged on for some time, and the light was fading, and the shadows among the trees were lengthening.

There is work yet to be done before the day ends.

Sujanha shook her head, "I thank you, Lya, for your kind offer, but I have business to attend to at home before the day ends, so I fear I must refuse."

Lya accepted the refusal with kind grace and a kind smile, "Of course, I understand."

Sujanha turned her gaze to her bodyguard, to Ruarc who was still sitting loyally next to her, and she made a quick, almost imperceptible gesture with her free paw, the one not wrapped around Nafrayu's shoulders, miming holding something and then pulling her arm back just a touch. (Is he asleep? The weight of his head on her shoulder did seem to have grown a little heavier recently.) Do you have the message stone? (She knew either Ruarc or Ragnar would have retrieved it while at the Hall before they gated to Gaia.) Ruarc replied with a slight shake of his head and then nodded almost imperceptibly towards his brother, who was patrolling around the little village.

Sujanha gently nudged Nafrayu, who started slightly, his eyes flying open. He was asleep then. He looked up at her with wide, sleepy, trusting eyes. "Ragnar has the message stone Ohper sent. Would you like to go get it?" She asked in simple Furling.

There was an enthusiastic nod, and despite the momentary sleepiness in his gaze, Nafrayu still popped up without hesitation and trotted over to Ragnar, who had stopped nearby seeing the discussion wrapping up. Her bodyguard, who could be so fierce in her defense and yet so gentle, stuck one massive paw into a pocket in his jacket. Pulling out the carved stone, Ragnar handed the stone to the boy after patting him gently on the head. Nafrayu took the stone carefully and, trotting back across the clearing, carefully handed it over to Ohper.

As the meeting was now clearly over, the participants dispersed. Anteaus and Lya murmured to Sujanha for a moment and then to their son and then left. Sujanha remained sitting on the ground where she had been sitting for hours, nearly unmoving, shifting enough to ease the pain in her limbs from sitting too long and the tingling in her right leg. Nafrayu was chattering quietly to her … about something, but she had lost the thread of what he was saying early on, but she could, at least, act like she was trying to pay attention.

Wait another minute to get up.

Fewer wandering eyes.

I think I might need a hand up.

This is why it's a less than wise idea to sit on the ground.

At the moment, Sujanha wasn't sure if she got up if her leg would hold. Her brace could only do so much. A good day it had been, but even her strength had its limit.

Finally, Nafrayu finished whatever he had been telling her—I think it was a story … something he saw nearby … maybe?—and with a quick word of farewell, he dashed off to find his parents. Sujanha glanced around. Ohper and Daniel were still nearby, but they were talking and not paying attention to her, so she glanced over at Ruarc and nodded. Let's see how this goes. Ruarc unfolded himself and rose, stretching out his limbs quickly, and then reached down a paw to pull her to her feet. Her left leg held steady, but as soon as her weight went onto her right leg, it began to buckle beyond the ability of her brace to catch her, but Ruarc held her steady, preventing her from falling, and then helped her straighten until her brace could lock into place.

Ragnar approached, "Are we ready to depart, my lady?"

"In a moment," Sujanha replied. As interesting a language as she thought English might be, it was so much easier to not have to worry about translating and parsing unfamiliar words and being concerned about how her words would come across to one of a drastically different background.

After a few more seconds, Ragnar cautiously let go of her arm, though his arm was less than a hand's breath away … just in case, but this time Sujanha thought that she was steady.

"Never let me do that again," Sujanha groused quietly, her voice at a level only her two bodyguards could hear, "I'm too old and stiff to be sitting on the ground." Concealed within her light-hearted complaint was the grimmer reality of her own weakness. Among her own people, she was actually quite young, and most any of her agemates could do what she had done without problems, but her muscles and joints now protested at such inhospitable seats. "Now let's go home."

They made a final word of farewell to Ohper and Doctor Jackson, and then Sujanha and her two bodyguards took the path that led back through the trees to the Stargate.

Much to be done before tomorrow, but what to do first?


[1] A Furling measurement of time equivalent to approximately 600 Earth years.

[2] A Furling measurement equivalent to 4 Ithell or 1000 of their years.

[3] Although Furling is an extremely precise language in almost all other things, the word for "bloodlines", depending on context, can mean either what those of us on earth would call a "sub-species" or a family lineage.

[4] Imagine: .

[5] The Maskilim are one of the two original sub-species of the Furlings and are all feline in appearance. The Dark Forest was a location on the Furlings' original homeworld, and the one from where the bloodline whose appearance Sujanha bears originally hailed from. For those who hail from Midgard, the closest parallel to the hunters of the Dark Forest are black panthers.

[6] The G?tir among others are newer sub-species brought about by mating with other races, in this case, the Asgard.

[7] Humans. Unlike most galaxies, humans are a minority race in Asteria. Most sentient species are humanoid but very un-human in appearance.

[8] Twins.

[9] The Sukkim are almost entirely lupine in appearance, though a handful I have met are somewhat more canine.

[10] A sweet, spiced tea, somewhat like some classic recipes for Russian Tea. Consumed by the Furlings and many of their allies in as copious quantity as we consumed coffee at the SGC.

[11] Humans.

[12] Honey.

[13] Imagine a Siberian Tiger the size of a male Polar Bear with the ability to change its fur-color like a chameleon.

[14] Human.

[15] These measurements have been translated into standard English units for ease of understanding.

[16] High Generals are members of the Furling Army, one rank below the Supreme Commander (equivalent to Sujanha's High Commanders).

[17] 500 Furling years.

[18] An informal measurement of time equal to 3 Xurth or 12 Ithell, therefore 3000 Furling years.

[19] By a language's pattern, Sujanha was referring to word order, especially that English—spelled slightly differently in Furling, which has no "sh" sound—is a SVO language. Whether English was an inflected language or not (like Latin) was also a concern.

[20] Borrowed from wiki/Stargate_Program. It was a good summary.