Once my new vessel—aptly named The Anvil—was purged of any unwanted stowaways, I parked it in orbit around a desolate planet I decided to call Tria. Next, I dialed the gate coordinates leading to that hidden cave where I'd stashed Harlan's technology. Ferrying it all aboard, I set up a spacious laboratory dedicated to android research. Satisfied that The Anvil would be safe idling there, I realized it had been over a month since I'd last checked in on Earth. Time for a visit.
I dialed the Nox homeworld first and then hopped through to the SGC, stepping out of the Stargate to find General Hammond and SG-1 waiting, looks of mild disapproval on their faces. Right. They probably wanted answers.
General Hammond got right to the point. "Where's the ship, and what are your intentions?"
I shrugged, feigning casual innocence. "It's my new research station. I'll be relocating there to continue my work. I just need to collect a few items first."
O'Neill gave me a raised eyebrow. "Kinda young to be in charge of a warship, aren't you? Sure you don't want us to 'babysit' it?"
I smirked. "I'm thirteen, not three. I've got no plans to start a war, Colonel." My tone turned serious. "In fact, I have a proposition."
I explained my offer: out of the thirty Goa'uld death gliders onboard, I'd hand over half to the U.S. military. I'd also allow a science team limited access to the captured Ha'tak for research. In return, I wanted a few items—things I knew the SGC either had or could obtain:
The quantum mirror (the "dimensional mirror").The frozen Ancient's body (once they located it).A substantial cache of Earth-made weapons.The complete SGC Gate address directory.
There was some balking at the last two demands. The negotiations ran long, eventually involving higher-ups. At one point, they implied I was just a kid and threatened to seize my ship outright. I countered by reminding them I was under the protection of the Nox. "You'd basically be declaring war on two advanced species," I said. "All to steal a thirteen-year-old's property?" The room got pretty quiet after that. Lya's earlier assurances—that cutting ties with me would mean cutting ties with them—carried weight.
In the end, we hammered out a compromise: I'd actually provide twenty death gliders (not just fifteen), and I'd let a contingent of ten soldiers aboard with the science team. They'd be under joint command—myself and their captain. As for my requests:
The mirror and the frozen Ancient: approved.The weapons cache: restricted to small arms, explosives, and general-purpose gear—including one MALP, which I was weirdly excited about.The address directory: SGC already gave me partial access anyway, so they agreed to hand it over in full.
It was my first official deal with Earth—on my terms—and it felt good. A week later, a sizeable group mustered at the SGC, ready to follow me to The Anvil. Twenty pilots had come (Teal'c was set to teach them how to fly Goa'uld craft), plus a dozen scientists with a small security detail. The sheer quantity of "human comforts" they brought—cases of food, frozen pizza, crates of DVDs—bordered on comical.
Meanwhile, I kept tabs on SG-1's doings. They'd contacted the Tok'ra, who'd grudgingly informed them I'd accidentally killed one of their undercover operatives. Oops. Still, no one declared a vendetta, so at least things were stable. I knew they'd soon stumble onto the repository of Ancient knowledge—something I'd been waiting for.
While Teal'c trained the new death-glider pilots, I spent hours poring over the SGC's mission schedules, searching for any gate address that might hint at the Ancient repository. Nothing jumped out, so I decided to go old-school: I systematically dialed every planet in the address directory, sending a MALP through each wormhole to see what was on the other side. The team members assigned to guard me basically observed in silence, occasionally glancing at one another as if to say, This kid's out of his mind. But, hey, it worked. Two days later, I struck gold.
The Repository
One MALP's camera revealed a dark, dusty chamber. The architecture matched what I remembered from the show: the place where O'Neill had nearly had his brain scrambled by the Ancient "knowledge device." I dialed Earth for backup—General Hammond obliged me with SG-8, a medical and biology-oriented team. With SG-1 off-world, that was the best they could do.
Arriving via the SGC, I stepped through the gate alongside SG-8. They cleared the chamber first, calling me forward. One of the soldiers, a guy named Palmer, edged too close to a wall-mounted device that looked vaguely insect-like.
"Hey, Palmer, careful. That thing'll kill you if you get close," I warned.
He froze. "What, this weird crustacean gizmo?"
"It's a medical device for my species, but it'd fry a human's brain. Let's stay back, okay?"
Everyone watched me warily. I explained that once it activated, it would clamp onto my head, then release me after loading my mind with information—at which point I'd likely collapse. "Just do as I've asked," I stressed. "Give me water and rest, and let me sleep it off. I'll be fine."
They nodded, and I approached. Part of me still worried: What if my DNA isn't as Ancient as I think? But the instant I stepped within range, the device sprang out, locking around my head in a flash of brilliant light. It felt like being tossed into a kaleidoscope—my consciousness blurred into a chaotic swirl of data. Bits of language, formulas, star maps, and technologies flickered past my mind's eye.
I must've blacked out because the next thing I knew, I was back in the SGC's infirmary. Dr. Fraiser stood over me, shining a penlight into my eyes. "Easy," she said. "You've been out for a while."
"I'm alright," I muttered, my head spinning. "Just give me some time and fluids."
She handed over a glass of water and a packet of electrolytes. I downed it gratefully, then tried to focus on my newly expanded mental library. The knowledge was all there, but it was…fragmented. I could find what I needed if I concentrated, but everything else just drifted like background static. I finally understood what Jack O'Neill had gone through in the original timeline.
New Toys
The moment I could stand without feeling woozy, I scrawled out a list of parts for the SGC's scientists to fetch. Over the next day, I built five power devices—refinements of what O'Neill had once cobbled together. They would allow the Stargate to open stable intergalactic wormholes. If I wanted to reach Atlantis or contact the Asgard, these were essential. But there was something else I needed even more: a way to fabricate advanced tech on demand.
Only one place offered that solution: Merlin's cave. Thanks to the show, I knew what to look for, and now, with a fresh infusion of Ancient knowledge, I had the final puzzle pieces. Morgan Le Fay, Castiana, Sahal—the references in my mental star charts all clicked. Before the SGC could slow me down, I dialed my newly reconstructed address, cloaked myself, and stepped onto the unknown planet.
Merlin's Trial
It felt good to be on a peaceful world again. I meandered through a small village, then ventured deeper, following the faint signs of hidden Ancient tech. Finally, I discovered a stasis field. That led to more elaborate defenses—though, honestly, they weren't half as difficult as in the show. I overcame them with minimal effort, collecting a fake Sangral and halting a faux dragon by invoking Morgan Le Fay's true Ancient name. It was all a bit theatrical.
Eventually, I was whisked into Merlin's cave. There, I found the legendary wizard himself in stasis. When the field dropped, Merlin stirred, disoriented. I helped him to a table, patiently explaining a stitched-together story: the Ori threatened our galaxy, and he was our last, best hope.
His memories were foggy, but he caught on quickly once I mentioned the Sangraal, the anti-ascended weapon. He was too weak to complete the work alone, so I pitched in, using my telekinetic healing to boost his strength and sharpen his focus. He apologized for "leaving me behind" eons ago, and I forgave him—an easy fib, but it spurred him to push on.
When we finished, Merlin had crafted a functioning Sangraal, a red crystal sphere capable of wiping out ascended beings. The old man collapsed, every bit as spent as he'd been in the original show. He died in my arms, thanking me for giving him purpose once more. It was surprisingly emotional.
The Fabricator
With the Sangraal safely stowed, I activated Merlin's personal fabricator—a device reminiscent of Asgard technology, but more advanced. I built a few personal items right away:
A new sidearm that compressed matter along a linear path (my "collapsing ray").A personal shield.Small floatable "Kino drones."A set of levitating platforms.A handheld mental interface controller.
Finally, I duplicated and improved upon Merlin's fabricator itself, creating modular plates that could lock together for larger-scale construction. Pushing my newly acquired knowledge to the limit, I hammered away for hours—maybe days—until my head felt like it was full of static.
Drained and barely upright, I dialed The Anvil and transported all the equipment through. Security personnel on the other side gaped at the floating trolleys, loaded with gleaming new tech. With a quick wave, I guided them to my private section and locked everything down. I also tucked the Sangraal into a specially shielded case that was, ideally, tamper-proof.
Then I stumbled to my quarters and crashed for 26 hours straight. When I woke, Sam was knocking, voice brimming with worry. I reassured her I'd just found a "cache" of Ancient tech but needed to handle it solo. "It's basically my people's legacy," I lied. She offered to help, of course, but I declined.
Changing the subject, I announced that it was time to fulfill my side of the bargain. I'd deliver the death gliders to Earth, finishing our big trade. Sam didn't look thrilled; I was still a tired, possibly overpowered thirteen-year-old with a warship at my beck and call. But I'd made up my mind—and she knew, once I set my mind on something, I usually got my way.
Chapter 8
Handing over twenty Goa'uld death gliders and sending the SGC science team back home was a weight off my shoulders. With the final echoes of their departure, I stood aboard The Anvil's bridge and gazed out at the stars. My obligations to Earth—at least for now—were satisfied, and I could devote myself fully to a project that had been brewing in my mind ever since I first glimpsed Merlin's fabricator technology.
A Remote Industrial Playground
I'd pored over Ancient star maps, searching for the ideal location to build something bigger than anything the galaxy had seen in millennia. After weeks of scouring potential coordinates, I settled on Seraph-344—an uncharted system with no sentient life to disturb me. Composed of several rocky planetoids, a gas giant swirling with hydrogen and helium, and an Oort cloud brimming with raw minerals, it was a perfect blank canvas.
My plan: transform The Anvil, a single refitted Ha'tak, into the nucleus of a self-sustaining shipyard. The key piece of the puzzle was the "matter-forge" technology, a derivative of Merlin's fabricator concept. Rather than creating matter from thin air, these forges functioned more like ultra-advanced 3D printers, rearranging available atomic material into finished parts. The bigger the supply of base atoms, the larger my capacity for construction.
I couldn't simply whip up brand-new ZPMs at will—those require a level of artistry and time even the Ancients found challenging. Fortunately, I'd recovered one fully charged ZPM from Paracush, enough to power the station's trickier tasks. But if I ever wanted more, I'd have to figure out the intricacies of ZPM manufacture, and that wasn't happening anytime soon. For now, the single ZPM served as a booster for a set of standard neutrino ion generators, bridging any power gaps during heavy fabrication cycles.
Laying the Groundwork
The process began with me dispatching a handful of floating "collector drones" down into the gas giant's upper atmosphere. Equipped with powerful intake mechanisms, these drones siphoned hydrogen, helium, and trace elements that drifted in the swirling clouds. Returning to The Anvil's cargo holds, they vented their payload into large pressurized tanks, which then fed the matter-forge assembly.
Since even advanced replicators require a blueprint and raw materials, the forging capacity was initially modest. To scale up, I built more forging panels and more collector drones. This cycle repeated for weeks. Each time I boosted my facility's capacity by 10%, it shortened the time needed to churn out the next upgrade by an equivalent margin. Exponential growth in action.
Soon, I realized The Anvil's interior spaces weren't enough. I needed to expand outward, constructing scaffolding and catwalk arrays external to the hull so I could mount additional forging panels in vacuum. Before long, the underside of The Anvil bristled with racks of enormous metal frames, gleaming with the faint glow of stable fusion arcs. Around the station, dozens of collector drones zipped back and forth like bees, bringing a steady supply of raw atoms from the planet below.
The Droids: Programming and Hierarchy
Central to all this were my construction droids—a small swarm of multi-tentacled "squiddies." Each had a spherical core housing sensors, thrusters, and a limited AI module. From their cores sprouted half a dozen flexible, metal "arms" used for welding, cutting, and assembly.
Rather than coding them for full autonomy, I designed a hierarchical control network. A single master console—linked directly to my own mental interface—relayed high-level instructions:
Gather raw material from the cargo tanks.Assemble specified parts (e.g., forging panels, docking clamps, hull segments).Repair or replicate more droids as needed.
In effect, the droids were bright enough to follow these steps independently, but not so bright that they'd develop existential questions. They used local sensors to avoid collisions and coordinate tasks, but final authority always remained with me. If something strayed outside their programming parameters—say, an unexpected geological shift or an incoming threat—they'd freeze and ping me for instructions.
Over the first few months, I tested them with incremental tasks: building a hundred forging panels, erecting a ring of docking pylons, reorganizing The Anvil's interior. The droids performed flawlessly. Every day, new structures bloomed like mechanical flowers from our skeleton scaffolds, gradually reshaping the old Ha'tak into something far larger and more specialized.
A Year of Construction
Time flew, and I barely noticed. By the time I thought to check the star charts, nearly a year had passed—1999 on Earth. My home base didn't even resemble a Goa'uld vessel anymore. Where once stood The Anvil was now the Seraph Shipyard: a ring-shaped station kilometers across, layered in forging arrays, with a central hub where the original mothership used to be. Pressurized tanks lined the station's spine, storing the planet's gaseous bounty, while external docking arms accommodated the growing fleet of collector drones.
The production scale was staggering. At full tilt, I could churn out starship hull segments or advanced electronics in minutes. I'd feed the system a blueprint, and the forges would rearrange atomic matter—hydrogen for lighter elements, helium fused into heavier atoms, and whatever metals the droids gleaned from asteroid mining. Each "print cycle" was a controlled reaction that snapped subatomic particles into place, following the precise patterns I'd programmed.
But I didn't lose sight of security. I coded multiple fail-safes into the station's mainframe, ensuring that if any single droid or forging panel experienced an anomaly, the entire system would shut down rather than replicate the error. The last thing I needed was a mutated replicator swarm messing up my operation.
Designing the Phoenix
With the shipyard fully operational, I set my sights on a more ambitious project: constructing a next-generation warship. If the Goa'uld built pyramidal dreadnoughts and the Asgard championed sleek minimalism, I wanted something that combined the best of both, while also showcasing a personal aesthetic. My favorite sci-fi references drifted through my thoughts—Mandalorian capital ships, slender but imposing. Over weeks of sleepless nights, I refined the design:
Hull Geometry: A 1.3-kilometer silhouette, angular lines meeting gentle curves around the edges.Fin Section: A pronounced ventral fin for fighter drone launch bays and additional sensor arrays.Power Matrix: A stable "stack" of neutrino ion generators, enough to power day-to-day systems with a healthy overhead. Three ZPM interface points for potential future expansions, though I had only a single ZPM to spare.Shields and Armor: Layered shielding arrays topped with an Ancient-based energy seal, plus dense trinium-alloy plating enhanced with naquadah.Weapons Suite: A multi-tier approach—plasma cannons, laser batteries, MAC cannons for raw kinetic impact, and a healthy stock of Ancient drones for ultimate destructive force. Cloaked missiles with naquadah-laced warheads formed the final part of my arsenal.
Once I was happy with the blueprint, I fed it into the Seraph Shipyard's master console. Thousands of tentacled droids commenced forging hull segments, engine parts, internal corridors, and every other module. From my vantage in the station's command tower, I watched the ship's skeleton appear in orbit piece by piece—almost like a puzzle assembling itself.
A Warship with a Soul
As the final hull plates locked into place, I realized The Phoenix needed more than raw firepower. It deserved an identity. So I spent another few weeks on the interior: lighting that felt warm and inviting, corridors that echoed faintly with ambient Ancient melodies, living quarters that had real furniture, rugs, and quiet corners. I might be the only occupant for now, but I didn't want it to feel like a soulless war machine.
I installed a caretaker AI in the mainframe—Helia, I called her. She was more advanced than the droids' limited routines, designed to run the ship's day-to-day tasks, coordinate with the shipyard, and manage battle protocols if ever needed. Helia still had constraints: she wasn't a free agent, more like an extension of my own tactical planning. But she possessed enough adaptability to handle emergencies if I couldn't be on the bridge 24/7.
Finally, I tested every inch of the ship's subsystems, from sublight thrusters to the advanced hyperspace drive. The Phoenix was built for both short-range engagements and intergalactic jumps, should I choose to roam far beyond the Milky Way. Everything powered up smoothly, courtesy of the ZPM's generous energy buffer—though I reserved its usage for special occasions, relying on the neutrino generators for normal operation.
The Maiden Voyage
With the last welds done, The Phoenix was ready for flight. I stood at the observation deck, watching construction droids detach from the hull one by one. In the background, the Seraph Shipyard glowed softly, forging new expansions for future projects. A sense of completion—and yet a sense of beginning—washed over me.
I stepped onto the pristine bridge, running my hand along a console's gold-trimmed edge. "Helia," I said, "run final diagnostics."
The overhead lights pulsed gently, and a calm voice replied, "All systems at optimal levels, Marty. Hull integrity is at 100%. Primary and backup reactors online. Weapons safed. Ready for maiden voyage."
I couldn't hide a grin. This was everything I'd dreamt of—an industrial base forging the tech of tomorrow, a flagship capable of challenging even the mightiest threats in the galaxy. Sure, I was still just one teenage Ancient, but I had the resources and knowledge to reshape star systems if I wanted to.
With a soft hum, The Phoenix parted from its docking cradle. Beneath me, a wide panoramic window revealed the swirling gas giant below. The flight controls responded with effortless grace; months of design had paid off. One brief check later, I engaged the hyperspace drive for a short test jump. On the main viewscreen, star trails elongated, then snapped back as we emerged a few light-minutes away—a perfect, seamless transition.
I exhaled slowly, hardly believing my own eyes. I had built this, forging matter from the swirling gas of a nameless planet. A year of solitary labor, programming thousands of droids to replicate and expand the station's capabilities, all culminating in an automated shipyard—and now, a warship that was mine alone.
And this was just the beginning.
Chapter 9
Bringing The Phoenix out of its shipyard at Seraph-344 was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Even cloaked in high Earth orbit, her silhouette dwarfed the planet below. I could only imagine the worldwide panic if entire observatories suddenly spotted a 1.3-kilometer warship overhead.
Still, I couldn't remain hidden forever. The SGC needed me—and apparently, I needed them, too. As a precaution, I transferred down to a smaller transport in the main hangar. Modeled after an iconic spacecraft from an online Freelancer game, it sported dual ion cannons, a modest cargo bay, and an FTL drive. In a pinch, it could even launch ten anti-ship missiles from concealed vents along its wings.
Touchdown on Earth
I radioed ahead to General Hammond's office, scheduling a landing at a quiet military airfield. His assistant's shocked stammer was priceless. The flight through the atmosphere was smooth; I tested a few barrel rolls en route, enjoying how nimbly the craft handled despite its cargo capacity.
On the tarmac, a small contingent of Air Force personnel and armed soldiers waited, weapons at the ready. Once they confirmed my identity, the tension evaporated into relieved smiles. I barely had time for a "hi" before one of them said, "We're glad you arrived so quickly. Colonel Carter is waiting with the rest of SG-1."
I just raised an eyebrow, feigning total awareness. "Of course. Lead the way." It was best to maintain the illusion I always knew more than I let on.
In the SGC briefing room, Sam Carter stood beside a Tok'ra operative I recognized from glimpses in the show—Martouf. Sam lit up upon seeing me, crossing the distance in two strides to wrap me in a hug. "We were worried," she said. "We told the Nox you took off in that giant warship you built. Where've you been? And…is that a new vessel you flew in on?"
I offered a sheepish grin. "Just a light transport—my 'orbital taxi.' Got tired of ferrying small loads in the Tel'tak. This one's all me. Built it from scratch."
Martouf—courteous but clearly fascinated—stepped forward. "I am Martouf of the Tok'ra. Lya and Sam have told us of your abilities. So you can build ships, not merely acquire them?"
I shrugged, trying not to sound too smug. "I turned The Anvil into a full shipyard. The craft parked out there is one of the smaller models. But I suspect you didn't request my presence just to chat about starship construction."
Sam's expression darkened. "My father—Jacob Carter, or Selmak, the Tok'ra symbiote—was captured by Sokar. He's being held on a prison world we believe to be impossible to infiltrate. If we can't mount a rescue, Dad… might not make it."
I glanced at Martouf. "Sokar… Right. He uses a planet with lethal atmospheric pressure, if I remember from the Goa'uld data banks. A standard Tel'tak can't land there. You're hoping my transport's up for the job?"
Both Sam and Martouf relaxed visibly. "Precisely," Martouf said. "Your designs appear more advanced than typical Goa'uld craft. We'd appreciate any assistance you can offer. We'd planned a stealth insertion, but if your ship can break through the atmosphere where others fail, we may have an advantage."
I nodded. "I'll help. Let's do better than stealth, though. Let's give ourselves options. If things go south, I can always provide… a more overt rescue."
Mission Planning
General Hammond, emerging from his office, joined us at the briefing table. SG-1, plus SG-7, plus five Tok'ra volunteers, formed a tight semicircle. My transport could handle about ten people if they didn't mind close quarters, so we decided to bring two craft: one I'd brought with me, and a second I'd store on The Phoenix. Splitting up might speed the search for Jacob in Sokar's prison complex.
Hammond approved the plan on one condition: that we get in, free Jacob, and get out without stirring up a hornet's nest. That was the idea, anyway.
It was also decided that I'd bring my warship—still cloaked—in case Sokar's forces discovered our infiltration. I didn't mention how enormous The Phoenix really was, but Sam had that glint in her eye that said she suspected.
With the meeting adjourned, we gave ourselves a 12-hour window to finalize training. Carter, Martouf, SG-1, and SG-7 all needed a crash course on piloting my transport. The technology might've been advanced, but I'd deliberately built an intuitive interface. Within a few hours, Sam was weaving expertly around the local airfield. Even Martouf, stoic as ever, loosened up once he realized he could read the real-time holographic display that projected flight paths and sensor data. By the end, I felt confident they wouldn't crash and burn on Sokar's planet.
Stopping by The Phoenix
When the time came, I loaded the first wave of supplies aboard my smaller transport and lifted off for orbit. Sam and Martouf joined me as passengers. The moment we nudged beyond Earth's atmosphere, I cut power to the stealth field, letting The Phoenix's sensors lock onto us. A gentle tractor beam guided us into a cavernous hangar bay.
Both Sam and Martouf gawked at the rows of droids scuttling around. I'd already cleared a "green zone" so visitors wouldn't wander into restricted areas or tamper with the AI core. On my deck plans, large sections were sealed off behind foot-thick airlocks, accessible only to me. I trusted SG-1 but not necessarily every Tok'ra I'd meet.
"Grab one of those empty transports," I told them, gesturing at the half-dozen sister ships parked side by side. "Head back down to the airfield and ferry the rest of the gear up here. I'll set flight paths for you. Once that's done, we'll be on our way to Sokar's domain."
Sam, still spinning in place to marvel at the vaulted hangar ceiling, managed a faint nod. "This place is… massive."
Martouf's eyes traced the lines of the walls. "And very new. This ship can't be more than a year old, yet it's larger than a Ha'tak."
I just smiled. "You'd be surprised what you can do with the right tools."
Pre-Departure Prep
While they ferried load after load up to The Phoenix, I reorganized the interior. Using the AI, I assigned everyone cabins in the "green zone," complete with comfortable bunks and privacy locks. I also locked down the sensitive labs, command areas, and power core behind "yellow" or "red" security barriers.
I took the opportunity to update Helia—my caretaker AI—on the Tok'ra presence, instructing her to run internal scans but not to intervene unless they attempted sabotage. Meanwhile, cargo droids efficiently stacked up supplies in the hangar. There was enough food, water, and random personal items to last a small army several months. Clearly, the SGC intended to stay prepared for any contingency.
At last, an hour before departure, the entire infiltration team arrived in the hangar. Fifteen men and women, a mix of SGC and Tok'ra, gazed at the streamlined catwalks and colossal blast doors. I pointed them to two specific transports for the mission. Each could seat up to ten in cramped conditions, though we'd only have seven or eight aboard each so we weren't elbow-to-elbow.
Suiting Up
"Before we head to Sokar's world," I announced, tapping a panel, "you all need better gear than standard BDUs. The environment is lethal. These suits are sealed, with personal shields, built-in air supplies, and mechanical joints to enhance your strength."
I motioned to a row of sleek, metallic suits in transparent cases. Gasps rippled through the group. The suits' flexible plating could stop large-caliber bullets and possessed an external shield bubble for extra safety. Helmets included advanced optics and a robust comm system. Everyone pelted me with questions—like how to interface their existing weapons with the suits. I guided them to a smaller armory, unveiling specialized plasma rifles that fired at M2-level force but used magnetically contained energy instead of bullets. Each rifle boasted an absurd capacity of 10,000 shots before the power pack needed swapping.
Teal'c, always polite, tested the rifle's balance, nodded once, and handed his staff weapon to an SGC quartermaster. Even the Tok'ra took one look at the rifles and gave up their usual sidearms.
Into the Storm
When the gear checks finished, I retreated to The Phoenix's bridge—a wide, open space ringed by a holographic display. The walls and ceiling were layered with cutting-edge illusions, giving the impression of standing in open space. Sam, Martouf, O'Neill, Daniel, and Teal'c joined me, jaws practically on the deck.
Martouf breathed, "It's…like we're floating outside."
"We basically are," I teased, settling into the command chair. "This is the main bridge. That hologram in the center is our FTL navigation readout. We'll arrive at Sokar's planet within half an hour via intergalactic jump. Then it's up to your infiltration teams."
A few minutes later, the infiltration teams boarded the two transports, call signs Alpha and Bravo. I engaged the hyperdrive. The Phoenix lurched for a moment, then streaked into hyperspace. True to my estimate, we reemerged in realspace less than an hour later, greeted by the sight of two worlds swirling with an ominous red glow.
Our cloak snapped on the instant we exited hyperspace. I studied the scans: twenty Ha'tak vessels in the system—four in orbit around the larger planet, sixteen based on the smaller world called Delmak. They launched sensor probes almost immediately, probably alerted by the gravitational ripple of our arrival. But my stealth systems outclassed theirs.
I opened comms to the infiltration teams. "Alpha, Bravo—descend into the atmosphere. Remember: keep the shields up until you're clear of the worst turbulence. Good luck."
Prison Break
On the main viewer, I watched as Sam guided Alpha down through roiling clouds of poisonous red gas, while Martouf and Bravo took a slightly different route. Both vanished in the swirling storms, leaving me to monitor from orbit.
Shortly after they landed, the four orbiting Ha'taks began scanning the planet's surface with intense sweeps. They must've detected the anomalies. I readied The Phoenix's weapons, but refrained from firing, hoping we'd remain unseen.
Through the infiltration teams' helmet cams, I saw the planet's bleak surface: jagged rocks, swirling ash. Occasional bursts of staff weapon fire lit the gloom. The suits we'd provided turned the SGC/Tok'ra squads into unstoppable juggernauts. Staff blasts that would normally pierce Kevlar simply spattered uselessly against personal shields. Return plasma fire cut down Sokar's guards in seconds. Survivors cowered in caves, pointing the way to deeper chambers.
Eventually, they located Jacob Carter—barely conscious. Selmak, his symbiote, was healing him, but it was slow going. They also rescued a few other prisoners along the way, bundling them toward the exit. That's when the system began to unravel: transmissions from the planet to Delmak soared. Sokar's fleet mobilized. I cursed under my breath and pinged the infiltration teams, "We have inbound company. Hurry."
Clash in Orbit
Seconds later, a message flickered onto my screen. Sokar himself: "This domain is mine. I will burn you from the stars and drink your screams." Very "villain monologue," but it warned me an attack was imminent. On sensors, the four orbiting Ha'taks powered forward, while the other sixteen on Delmak scrambled for launch. I had about thirty capital ships to worry about.
I hailed the transports. "Depart now. Climb out of the atmosphere and cloak. I'll cover you."
Sam's and Martouf's teams blasted off in a swirl of dust, suits fully sealed. The moment they cleared the planetary horizon, I launched from cloak. The Phoenix's shields flared to life as volley after volley of staff cannon fire hammered my position. Over the comm, O'Neill, now back on the bridge, let out a low whistle. "Holy—these guys came ready for war."
"Good," I said with a grin, tension singing through me. "So did we."
With a flick of the command console, I deployed a wave of intercept drones—fast, agile craft armed with mini-lasers. They tore into the swarms of Death Gliders like hawks attacking pigeons. Meanwhile, the main battery of plasma cannons spun up. A barrage of sapphire energy lanced across the vacuum, slicing through three Ha'taks in seconds, ripping armor plating like paper. The battered remains drifted away in pieces.
The remaining ships pulled back, reorganizing. Over three hundred Death Gliders converged on my position. A quick gesture set my MAC cannons to track them, while I launched a volley of cloaked "EMP missiles." Each warhead generated a potent ion-pulse wave that short-circuited anything within range. Ten of the Ha'taks suddenly went dark, drifting powerlessly.
Sokar's forces panicked. Some retreated behind the battered ships, others tried to push forward. Another volley of plasma from The Phoenix hammered two more Ha'taks, leaving them venting atmosphere. In minutes, the once-imposing fleet was down to seven functioning motherships and maybe half their original fighter complement.
We heard Sokar's voice again. "You will suffer for this. There is no corner of Hell I cannot reach!" With that, the surviving ships jumped to hyperspace, leaving the disabled craft behind.
Aftermath
I exhaled, leaning back. On the holomap, half the system was strewn with twisted hull fragments. The disabled Ha'taks flickered with minimal life support, but no propulsion. I contemplated trying to salvage them, but for now, I had bigger concerns—like ensuring Sam and the others made it back.
Sure enough, Alpha and Bravo soared into the hangar, battered by storms but intact. SG-1, SG-7, the Tok'ra, and a barely conscious Jacob Carter tumbled out. Selmak had stabilized him enough to stand on his own, though he looked exhausted.
Teal'c, covered in dusty scuffs, marched onto the bridge. "Sokar's entire force… scattered."
O'Neill gawked at the fading sensor readings. "You just… wrecked a massive Goa'uld fleet. Was that part of the plan?"
I shrugged, feeling a twinge of mischief. "Not originally, but they forced our hand. Sokar had a lot of valuable hardware out here. Earth might like some of it, if we can salvage the crippled ships."
The humans perked up—acquiring a Ha'tak or two could be a huge advantage. The Tok'ra looked less enthused. But before arguments could brew, I raised a hand.
"We can hash that out later. For now, let's tend to Jacob and see if we can rescue anyone on those disabled ships. If not… well, I've got a salvage crew of droids who'd love the job."
Sam squeezed my shoulder, relief shining through her visor. "Thank you," she said quietly. "You saved my dad."
I nodded, warmth creeping into my chest. "What are friends for?"
Glancing around, I realized I'd just taken out half of Sokar's formidable forces. My brand-new warship had come through with barely a scratch. And I'd proven to everyone—SGC, Tok'ra, even the Nox, in a roundabout way—that I wasn't just a kid with a fancy spaceship.