Earth Abides

Abide: to endure without yielding

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January...f

Brigadier General Jack O'Neill was a man vexed with a problem. Not that he would ever use a word like ‘vexed', however. In the aftermath of Anubis' attack on Earth, he'd been promoted to his current rank, and after taking the reigns of the SGC for a little more than a year, the recently elected Henry Hayes asked him to take on a new position at the Pentagon. A position that had so recently been filled by his former superior at the SGC, Director of Homeworld Security. The former occupant of that position had been moved to an off-world site, a former holding of Anubis. Major General George S. Hammond had become, by Presidential fiat, the first administrator of a very distant Earth military colony.

But that was the present. The past, how he got to this place, made for a very interesting and telling story. So much of it was classified, however, that merely knowing the truth of his exploits, without the proper authorization, carried the same penalty as treason. Yet there were many who knew of his exploits and were still alive to raise glasses to him and toast his excellent run of luck. Jack O'Neill had had an excellent run of luck over his career. He'd been there and done that in more places on Earth than he could name. He'd been there and done that more than he could count in places not on Earth. He'd been shot at, stabbed, tortured, and even ‘died' a few times. Too many missions to too many worlds he had problems remembering the designations for.

It had all started for him in 1995, when he had been called out of retirement to lead a suicide mission. One final mission. The military mind in charge at that time, General West, had requested an officer with Special Operations experience. Colonel O'Neill took command of the mission on the off-chance that the bright eyed new archaeologist brought into the program would succeed where others before him had failed.

In 1928, on the Giza Plateau in Egypt, a team of archaeologists led by a Doctor Langford made a miraculous discovery: A massive set of cover stones beneath which they found a single ring made of a metal heretofore unknown on Earth. The ring object was later taken to the United States were it lay in a storage facility for several years, untouched, but not forgotten.

During World War II, President Franklin D. Roosevelt authorized experiments on the device to determine if it could be used as a weapon. The same Doctor Langford that discovered the device was placed in charge of the civilian scientists working on the device. They managed, quite by sheer chance, to make the device function once in early 1945. A man was sent through the device, but without any understanding of the concepts behind the device, he was unable to return. Dr. Ernest Littlefield, the man who had gone into the device was presumed killed, though no evidence of his body was found at the site of the experiment. After this presumed dismal failure, the project was shut down and the device shipped off to an armory where the government could deny its existence.

In 1980, research into the device commenced again. Using the computers available, three supercomputers in fact, the research teams managed to probe and identify the control crystals of the device, though it took them approximately fifteen years to do so. By the time that Doctor Daniel Jackson was being laughed out of academia for his ‘preposterous' theories of Ancient Egyptian civilization, the project had been almost successful. The research teams had managed to ‘dial' the device using the symbols they'd discovered on the segmented cover stone, but it never activated. The previous attempt from 1945 was kept secret from the researchers.

Doctor Daniel Jackson was a prodigy among his fellow archaeologists. A man with a true gift for ancient languages. Dr. Catherine Langford, daughter of the man who discovered the ring device, found him as he was being evicted from his apartment, with all of his worldly possessions in one suitcase and a box of books, standing in the rain. She invited him to come out to their project site, to do a little translation work for her. He took her up on her offer and found himself a few days later riding an elevator down several levels into a very secure mountain facility. One of the other scientists called it a converted missile silo. ‘Great. Not a bomb shelter but a shelter for a bomb!' he thought.

He was brought into a room where the cover stone stood upright. He took one look at it and the translation began flowing through his mind. He walked up to a chalkboard where someone had painstakingly written down the hieroglyphs and translated them. He commented about the incorrect translation and immediately began striking out whole sections of the words, arriving at ‘A million years into the sky is Ra, Sun God. Sealed and buried for all time his Stargate.'

He was given the task of deciphering the rest of the cover stone, in particular, a cartouche of unknown symbols. The symbols prove problematic until, quite by accident, he saw a similarity between one of the symbols and an article on the constellation Orion in a newspaper an Airman was reading. Working quickly, he managed to identify the other symbols in the cartouche as being star constellations, proving that seven were needed to plot a course: Six for a destination in a three dimensional space, and one for a point of origin. General West gave his authorization to allow Dr. Jackson to see the device in question and to attempt to identify the final, seventh symbol, which he did within minutes.

The device was activated for the second time, with a startling explosion of energy which quickly settled down to form a sort of radiant pool of ‘standing water' in the circular opening of the Stargate. A probe was sent through and tracked to its destination on the far side of the galaxy, to a planet which the sensors aboard the probe indicated could support life. A mission was put together, including the aforementioned Dr. Jackson, who swore that he would be able to return the exploration team to Earth. Colonel O'Neill was given a secret orders, to detonate a nuclear warhead in the event there was a threat to Earth.

The team did, indeed, discover a threat to Earth, and they did activate the nuclear device, but not like how General West had intended. The team returned to Earth, slightly smaller than when they had departed. The returning members of the first exploration team reported Dr. Jackson as killed in action. After the mission, General West accepted Colonel O'Neill's resignation and the project was shut down again.

A year or so later, General West had been replaced by General George S. Hammond, a month away from retirement and at his final posting. An easy posting, it should have been, until the Gate was activated from off-world and men in strange armor came through the gateway and took prisoners. Colonel O'Neill was reactivated and brought back to the Mountain, where he met with General Hammond just before Hammond ordered the sending of a second nuclear device through to the world they had visited a year or so earlier. Jack O'Neill came clean at that instance, and reported that Dr. Jackson was alive and well on Abydos, and that the device they had detonated before had actually been on Ra's ship as it was attaining orbit over Abydos.

A new team was put together to return to Abydos and to retrieve Dr. Jackson, who had been living among the Abydonians and teaching them the ways of Earth. On that mission, they learned that the Ra look-alike had not come from there, and that the Stargate existed on thousands of other worlds.

In short, that second mission spawned a new program with a mandate to explore and to re-establish contact with all the peoples who had many centuries previously lived on Earth. In the span of a few days, Earth and in particular, the US Government, learned that there were hundreds of thousands of worlds populated by descendants those early Earthers. Over the course of eight years of explorations, they encountered civilizations that had their roots in many of the ancient civilizations from Earth; Greek, Babylonian, Norse, and Native American Indian to name but a few. The man he was now, General Jack O'Neill, had led them through the Gate on hundreds of occasions, racking up those frequent wormhole miles, and leading his world into a new era of exploration.

But the thing of it was: All of it was classified. Every last bit of it. He'd earned medals that he couldn't wear in public. He did, however, wear the Presidential Unit Citation on his Class A uniform, and then there was the Defense of Earth medal that he could only wear on those special occasions at Stargate Command. The very same medal to which he now had two clusters. Three times he saved Earth; once from Apophis, once from Anubis, and once from a ‘Foothold' situation at the Mountain.

All of these things and more flashed through his mind as he made his way through the various corridors of the Pentagon. His destination? The Special Operations Division where he had an urgent request to make for assistance. Of all the things he now had to worry about as Director of Homeworld Security, the things he hated most were the inability of civilian agencies to safeguard the materials they were entrusted with.

Somehow, and he had a good idea of just how, somehow one of those agencies had gotten a hold of some weapons grade naquadah. ‘For Experimentation Purposes', or so they'd claimed. Two bricks of the material had been couriered to them under arms. One brick was now missing. A person with a decent knowledge of explosives could make it work, not knowing the full potential of the material. But a person with knowledge of the material, and with access to the missing amount of naquadah, posed a very serious threat to the stability of the various world governments. He had, in his trusty and handy-dandy briefcase, the letters of authorization that would give an officer by the name of McNulty the clearance necessary to learn some of the sordid details of the Stargate Program, otherwise known as ‘Area 52'.

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Office of Colonel Eli McNulty,

Special Operations Division...

For Master Sergeant Jocelyn Pierce, today was no different than any other day. There were always operations to plan, intelligence to look over, and people to prevent from getting in to see her boss, Colonel Eli McNulty. The scheduled eleven hundred hours appointment was no different than any other. She had no idea who this General O'Neill was, and she had no reason to admit him into the inner sanctum, other than what was stated when his aide had called and arranged for the appointment. ‘A matter of national security!' he'd said over the phone. ‘Hell, everything here was national security!' she'd thought. So she'd accessed his personnel file and saw that he'd been stationed at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex for the last nine years. She knew a few people there; one of them was an NCO that she'd first met at Camp Lejeune many years ago, when he had been there for some specialized training.

 "Siler."

"Sgt. Siler? I'm not sure if you remember me. It's Sgt. Jocelyn Pierce."

"Pierce? From Camp Lejeune?"

"The one and the same. I guess you do remember me, then?"

"Kinda hard to forget someone who gives you an ass-chewing worthy of a 4-star. But as I recall, I deserved it at the time. Never made that mistake again, too."

"Well, it was a harsh lesson for anyone to learn. But you learned it well enough."

"Yep. ‘Never trust the manual when it says to cut the green wire.' Especially since the part in question is made by the lowest bidder and they used only white wires!"

"That would be the lesson in question."

"So, Pierce. To what do I owe your call to? It sure as hell can't be to reminisce?"

"No. Actually I wanted to know, since you're stationed out at Cheyenne, if you'd ever come across a one-star by name of O'Neill."

"Jack O'Neill?"

"That would be the one."

"He was the CO here for about a year. And the second in command for eight years before that."

"What kind of officer was he?"

"The kind I'd follow into Hell, Pierce. For that matter, every man and woman here would follow him into Hell. O'Neill is the kind of man you want in your corner and God help you if you manage to tick him off. Why the interest?"

"He's coming in to see my boss here at the Pentagon, and I wanted to know whether to let him in or not."

"You're still in SOD?"

"Yeah."

"If O'Neill's coming in to see your boss, then yeah, it would be a very good thing to let him in."

"Thanks, Siler. Say, if you're ever out this way, look me up. I'll buy you a beer or two at the NCO club."

"Sounds like a good deal to me. So long, Pierce."

‘Well,' she thought ‘any officer that could engender that type of feeling among his subordinates had to be one heck of a guy. And this looks like him now.'

"Good morning, Sgt. ...Pierce?"

"Yes sir. Master Sergeant Jocelyn Pierce. You are General O'Neill?"

"So they tell me. I have an appointment with...Colonel Eli McNulty. Is he in?"

"Go right in, sir. He's expecting you."

"Thanks, Sergeant."

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"Colonel McNulty?"

"General O'Neill. Sir. Please have a seat, and tell me how SOD can help you today?"

"I have a small problem that's right up your alley, Colonel. And while I'd much rather that one of my own teams handles this, unfortunately, none are available."

"What sort of teams might those be, General?"

"The ‘Black' kind."

"Well, considering all Special Operations go through this office, and considering I've never heard of you before, I just didn't know what sort of teams you might have at your disposal."

"Ah. Right. Well, sign this and I'll tell you."

"Mind if I get my two Operations people in on this?"

"Sgt. Pierce and who else?"

"Why do you think it's her?"

"Simple. No officer worth his salt does anything without consulting a good Sergeant."

"I think I'm gonna like you, General. Pierce! Be a dear and find Lt. Colonel Tisnewski. Get him in here pronto."

"Already paged him sir. He's on his way."

"Hey Sergeant, when you get done here, maybe you can show my own aide how to do that."

"Do what, sir?"

"How to think like an NCO rather than a pencil pushing civilian geek."

She blushed.

A moment or two of BS'ing later, Lt. Colonel Jim ‘JT' Tisnewski came into the office and found a seat. A brief introduction that involved a very macho shaking of hands followed while General O'Neill explained the standard terms of ‘classified materials disclosure'. JT was no stranger to Special Operations and classified information. But this man in the room with him was a stranger. He had no idea who he was. So he looked at the medals on the General's ‘Salad Bar' of decorations. Air Medal with two clusters. Outstanding Unit award with a Combat ‘V' and two clusters. The badge devices of a Master Parachutist, Master Space/Missile, and Small Arms expert. Whoever this General was, he looked like he'd been there and done that in a lot of really bad places in the world.

"So, General, how can SOD help you out?"

"An hour ago, one of the civilian agencies that works with Area 51 apprised them of a potential problem. A small amount of weapons grade material had been misplaced. Or at least that's what they claimed. What that agency doesn't know is that this particular weapons grade material is so sensitive that all of it is tagged with a particular inert element than happens to be slightly radioactive, allowing it to be tracked and monitored. The missing material has been tracked to a location in southern California. Normally, I'd send one of my own teams out for the missing item, but none are available."

"Slightly radioactive? How ‘slightly' is slightly?"

"Not harmful to humans, if that's what you mean, Lt. Colonel Tisnewski."

"How many teams do you control, General?"

"At last count, twenty-two teams, and two squadrons."

"Well, I still haven't ever heard of you, but now that we've gotten the paperwork out of the way, I definitely want to know who you are and where these teams are based out of. Don't you, JT?"

"Hell yes, I'd like to know, sir."

"Would you believe Cheyenne Mountain?"

"Now what in the Hell does the Air Force need twenty-two Special Operations teams for at NORAD?"

"I guess it's a good thing that people outside the Mountain always assume I'm talking about NORAD. But I'm not. The command I'm referring to is actually located beneath NORAD. Stargate Command, home of the front lines in a war that spans across three galaxies."

"Hahahahaha. You know JT, I could've sworn that this General here said ‘galaxies!'"

"I think that's exactly what he said, Colonel. And, sir? He's not laughing."

"Okay, O'Neill. I'll bite. Tell me the rest."

"If you want the official history, I'll ask Major Paul Davis to come in here and give you the canned briefing. I'm sure he's done it so many times he could probably do it in his sleep. But the gist of it is, while the US has been in a ‘war' on terror, the SGC has been the frontline in a war since at least 1995. That's eleven years now. I've seen a lot of good people die in ways that no one on Earth could ever dream up of. I saw one of my teams torn apart by the gravitational forces of a black hole. I've seen good men and women subverted by the enemy, and later commit suicide because of the guilt. Until you know the full truth of the SGC and our ‘little' war, I wouldn't be so quick to judge, Colonel McNulty."

"Alright. I'll reserve judgment for now. Tell me why your teams aren't available?"

"Well, the medical team and the three science teams are no good for this situation. Neither are the two diplomatic teams. Two more teams are in the infirmary, recovering from a bout of some kind of flu bug they picked up on some God-forsaken unknown planet. Ten teams are presently involved in missions off-world. There are two teams each on the Daedalus and the Odyssey, and of course, the squadron ‘teams' assigned to each of those vessels."

"Since when does the Air Force have aircraft carriers, sir?"

"We call them battlecruisers, actually. The first one, the BC-303 Prometheus, was destroyed a few months ago, in combat. There was a fourth vessel, but its been given to the Russians in exchange..."

"The Russians! Good God man, why?"

"I don't like it any more than you do, Colonel, but it was part of the agreement we reached with them a few months ago. Politics, is all I can say, and I hear that politics makes for some very strange bed fellows."

"But, the Russians? Why would we give an ocean going vessel to the Russians?"

"Sergeant, the vessels in question are space craft, built in the good ole US of A."

"Whoa. He said space craft He did say space craft, didn't he JT?"

"I do believe he did, sir."

"So you're telling me that the US Air Force has space ships?"

"Correct."

"You know people, I'm beginning to wonder if I didn't join the right service. Don't get me wrong, I love the Army, but I started out as a pilot in Viet Nam! To think, I could now be flying space ships instead of a desk."

"The battlecruisers are nice ships, lots of firepower and shields, but personally, I prefer the F-302 fighters. Especially the inertial dampeners. They block out about ninety percent of the G-forces. That's what I call ‘Sweet!'"

"First space ships and now fighters too? Next thing you tell me is that little green aliens really landed at Roswell in 1947!"

"Gray. They're gray, actually."

It was probably the first time ever, in the short time at least that Lt. Colonel JT Tisnewski had known his commanding officer, that he had seen him with his mouth that opened in surprise and shock. He didn't think anything could surprise his boss as much as this new revelation had.

"Look, I can tell that this briefing isn't going as planned, so how about you indulge me for a few minutes?"

"What do you have in mind General?"

O'Neill's reply was interrupted by the shrill beep-ring of his cell phone right at that moment.

"Excuse me a bit. I really, really hate these things, but you know, I think they're a necessary evil."

"Amen to that!"

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"O'Neill."

"Sir, Colonel Emerson here. We have an update on the target for you."

"Where are you, Colonel?"

"Aboard ship, sir. Why?"

"Can you get a lock on me?"

"Yes sir. We'll be over the Pentagon in about thirty seconds."

"Good. Lock me in, and add the three others in the room with me. Directly to the bridge, if you please."

"Of course sir."

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"What are you going on about now?"

"You folks might want to stand up. Or else my little ‘indulgence' might end up with you on your butts."

Col. McNulty, Lt. Colonel Tisnewski, and Sgt. Pierce all stood up, wondering for an instant why they were doing so. Perhaps an ingrained and instinctive response to a ‘request' from a senior officer? It mattered little.

"Why do you want us to..."

McNulty finished his question, not in his office, but standing on the metal deck of a very high tech looking room.

"...stand up? What the Hell was that?"

"General's on the Bridge!"

"As you were. Report please, Colonel Emerson."

"Sir. We are presently in geo-synch orbit over the Pentagon, and in a few minutes we'll be over the target site again. Target is moving, General. That's why I called."

"Oh?"

"On its current heading, it'll be at the Port of Los Angeles in less than a hour. Maybe a ship waiting for it?"

"Could be."

"General O'Neill. What in the Hell is going on here? Where are we?"

"Ah, sorry Colonel. But it seemed to me that you just weren't in a very believing mood a few minutes ago. What's going on here? I'm getting an update on the missing weapons grade material situation. Where are you? You are in the bridge of the USAF battlecruiser Odyssey. Colonel Paul Emerson here, is the ship's Captain. And if you'll just turn around, we'll show you an impressive view."

‘I'll just humor him for a minute or two before I scream for Security, and...oh my God! I'm...I'm...I'm in space! Oh my friggin' God, I'm actually on a space ship!'

The thoughts of the three visitors were the same, with very minor wording differences. But after a few minutes of gawking at the view screen, the thoughts they were thinking finally began to set into their minds as conscious reality.

‘I'm actually in Space! Oh jeez, I can never tell anyone about it! This sucks!'

 "What about your two duty teams, Emerson?"

"Off-world. Helping SG-1 out of another sticky situation."

"What is it about SG-1 that always attracts so much trouble?"

"I wouldn't know that, General."

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"General O'Neill? Tell me about the missing material."

"Sure. The material in question is called naquadah. In a refined weapons grade state, it can amplify the explosive power of a standard nuke."

"Amplify? By how much?"

"It'll amplify a one kiloton warhead into a one megaton unit. A one megaton bomb becomes, well, big enough to pretty much fry the northern hemisphere."

"I concur, sir. I have been going over Colonel Carter's notes on the nature of naquadah, and if a nominal kiloton device were to be detonated, say, over a fault line, well it would change the geography of the US quite a bit. At the very least, it could wipe out the population centers of the West Coast."

"I'd have to agree with my science officer, General."

"Yeah. I'd say I'd have to agree with Lt. Hailey on that one, too. I was her training officer, once upon a time."

"That would explain that irreverent attitude of hers."

"Hey! I wasn't that bad!"

"General, you've ‘been there and done that' on more worlds than most of us ‘regular folks' will ever dream about. You've saved this planet, what, at least three times? And how many times how you've been killed in the line of duty? Is it five or six?"

"A lot more than six, and all because of that rat-fink-of-a-snake Ba'al. But don't remind me. It just makes me cranky."

Sgt. Pierce listened to the banter with a practiced ear. For all her time in the service, she could tell when the ‘shop talk' was forced or real. This was very real. The camaraderie was clearly evident. O'Neill might be this Colonel Emerson's superior officer, but they talked like they were old friends. Even the awe in Lt. Hailey's eyes as she learned her training officer had been ‘killed' in the line of duty. And what about that? How could a person be killed in the line of duty as many times as was claimed and yet still be here? She resolved, as soon as she got back to SOD, to find out as much as was possible about this program that O'Neill was in charge of.

The thoughts in Lt. Colonel Tisnewski's mind, were along the same lines as Sgt. Pierce, but with a different perspective. The easily misconstrued joking atmosphere was a cover for what amounted to a very serious situation. The people on this ship acted like well seasoned pros. Every one of the crew on the Bridge, from their CO down to lowest rated Airman, all had that same look in their eyes. The look that any SF worth their salt had. A look that clearly screamed out to the world ‘don't fuck with me!' But the look aside, the feelings of comradeship that he felt on this ship felt like those he'd felt with his own team in the field. And if this ‘nakwada' stuff was as bad as O'Neill made it out to be, then it was his job to put together the mission to retrieve it. This ship, and the way they got aboard her, opened up a new realm of possibilities though, and those certainly were worth looking into.

"Say, Emerson? Any word from Hammond?"

"Last Intel I got said he was headed for Tartarus to oversee the establishment of a base of operations there. As a favor to President Hayes, no doubt."

"Who's Hammond?"

"Ah, that would be Lieutenant General George S. Hammond, former head of the SGC, and former Director of Homeworld Security. Hayes named him as the director of our operations base on Tartarus."

"I knew a George Hammond when I was stationed in ‘Nam. I wonder if it's the same guy?"

"The Hammond I served under was a Lieutenant in 1969. If the guy you knew was from Texas, odds are it's the same one."

"Yeah, I think he said Texas one time when talking about chili."

"Oh yeah, definitely the same one."

"So, Emerson, you were saying about the target update?"

"Yes, General. We have it on the scope now. Target has stopped. Looks like a traffic jam on the I-5."

"Too many civilians around for a strike. We need them to go someplace quieter."

"I agree."

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Cheyenne Mountain,

Stargate Command...

Office of General Hank Landry...

A General's work is never, ever done. Today was no exception to that unwritten rule. First, some days ago, SG-15 had checked in from their latest recon mission with news that they were under attack by unknown forces. SG-12 went in to back them up. Both had come back with some minor cuts and bruises, but otherwise fine. Then two days ago, half of SG-15 went in to the infirmary complaining of various aches and pains. Routine tests had shown a form of influenza in their bodies and so Doctor Carolyn Lam had brought in both teams and placed them in isolation rooms. The progression of the virus startled her shortly thereafter. Maybe it was being in close quarters with their sick team mates, and maybe it was just a matter of time before the other exposed members of the teams began exhibiting overt symptoms. Either way, within a couple of hours, all members of both teams were showing signs of a severe infection.

Blood samples were taken. Virus micrographs taken from random blood samples indicated something rather alarming. The virus causing the illness in the two teams was mutating. Doctor Lam ordered a series of micrographs taken once per hour over a twenty-four hour period. The results, when they came in, indicated that the virus was mutating every ten to twelve hours. For a terrestrial virus, this was almost unheard of, but for something that came through the Gate, well, it was beyond her scope of training. She had to see the General. But he wasn't going to like the news. Not at all.

"Carolyn. Something wrong?"

"SG units 12 and 15. I've placed them into isolation. Whatever they have, it's mutating fairly rapidly."

"I thought you said it was just the flu?"

"I thought it was too. But Corporal Martinez spiked a fever a few hours ago of 106. We had to take extra-ordinary measure to bring his fever down. We lost him about ten minutes ago."

"Lost him? What do you mean? He's dead?"

"I'm afraid so sir. Whatever this bug is, it's deadly. General, I need help on this one. I'm out of my depth."

"What do you need?"

"Some specialists from USAMRIID would be helpful."

"I'll do what I can. Anything else I need to be told about?"

"I think we need to kick off ‘WildFire'."

"You think this is really that bad?"

"General. Dad. I'm afraid I'm going to lose both teams. Nothing I've hit this with has even slowed it down any."

"Thank you for your report, Doctor. I'm going to call the President."

"Of course, General."

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"This is General Landry. I need to speak to the President."

"Hank! How are things out at the SGC?"

"That's the reason I'm calling, Mr. President. A couple teams brought back something from their latest mission. A new virus that we thought was the flu. Sir, we're going to need help on this one. One of my men is already dead."

"Why is it you never call with good news, Hank? Or just to shoot the breeze?"

"I wish I was calling to do just that, sir. My CMO has recommended we activate ‘WildFire'."

"It's that bad?"

"If anything, sir, it's probably worse."

"What do you need?"

"My CMO suggested specialists from USAMRIID, could help out."

"I'll get them to dispatch a full team of support personnel."

"Sir, they'll need to be briefed in full at some point, since the virus originated off-world."

"We'll take care of it Hank. When will you be locking down the Mountain?"

"As soon as I hang up sir. Have the incoming team report to Peterson. We'll transport them here."

"Right, Hank. I'll get back to you."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

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"Walter!"

"Sir?"

"Activate WildFire."

"Yes. Yes sir!"

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USAF Odyssey...

The target material was stuck in traffic. How ironic! Colonel McNulty and Lt. Colonel Tisnewski had their heads together, in an attempt to come up with a plan of action to get the materials back into the right hands. Sgt. Pierce was on the comm-set trying to get in touch with the members of the Lt. Colonel's strike team. Whatever was going to happen, it would be quick.

"Sirs, the SGC is broadcasting ‘Code Wild Fire."

"What?"

"Get me the SGC on a secure line."

"Yes sir!"

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"This is General O'Neill on the Odyssey. Get me General Landry."

"One moment sir."

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"Jack! What are you doing on the Odyssey?"

"Trying to resolve the missing naquadah situation. What's going on there, Hank?"

"SG units 12 and 15 brought something back with them from their last mission."

"Those are the two teams that came down with the flu?"

"That's right. Hey, I guess you do read the team status reports!"

"I like to know where the teams are, Hank. Is it the Prior flu again?"

"They didn't report any Prior activity on the world they were on. Just some Lucian Alliance troops that they got into a fire-fight with."

"Keep me in the loop. Make sure all off-world teams know to go to the Alpha Site."

"Already on that. Walter's dialing the world for SG-1 at the moment."

"Good. Ask them to head over to K'Tau. We might need help from the Asgard for this."

"I'll get them on their way. Jack, Daedalus is due back any time now. Can you make sure they know what's going on?"

"Right. Will do; keep me updated. Odyssey out."

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"Problems General?"

"Just another Monday, Colonel. Have you got a plan together?"

"We have the beginnings of one. But we need to contact our chain of command to get the ball rolling."

"Not necessary."

"General, you might play fast and loose with the regs where you're from, but not SOD."

"I'm not asking you to play fast and loose with the regs, Colonel. I'm just saying that planetary security comes first. Put the mission together, brief it, do it, then we notify the appropriate chains of command. This matter is too sensitive to leave it to the chance that the thieves could get away."

"That's not the way we do things, General."

"Fine then. Comms, get me the red line."

"Yes sir!"

"Red line, General?"

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"Jack! I take it you heard the news?"

"About Wild Fire? Yes sir. Sir, we have a situation brewing with that missing material."

"Go on."

"We've located it. It's currently stuck in traffic on the I-5 near Los Angeles. The direction they're heading tells me that stuff is headed for the Port and a ship."

"So, stop it Jack."

"Well, sir, because there were no teams available for the recovery, even before the Wild Fire activation, I went to SOD at the Pentagon for their help. They've got a mission put together, but they want Legal Counsel to look it over and the SecDef to sign off on it before we do anything."

"Tell them I said to go ahead and get the material back first, then notify the appropriate authorized chains of command."

"I would appreciate it if you could tell them yourself, sir. I have the commander of that section here with me. Colonel Eli McNulty. Colonel? Pick up the headset."

"McNulty."

"Colonel, do you know who I am?"

"Mister President?"

"That's correct. Colonel, I take it General O'Neill has explained the serious nature of the missing material?"

"He has, sir."

"And did he explain just how sensitive the information is? Just how classified the information is?"

"He did, sir."

"Did he mention, that he had to pull a number of strings to get you and your people briefed in? Or maybe he neglected to mention that? How about the fact that while the SecDef is aware of the StarGate Program, no one outside of the JCS are aware? Legal Counsel sure as hell ain't aware of it. Just do the mission, then come in to the office and brief me, the SecDef, and the JCS."

"That's not the way things are done sir."

"Not usually, no. But this is a matter of planetary security. If that material gets into the hands of our enemies in the Middle East, well, let's just say that the price of gasoline could hit several hundred dollars an ounce! That's not going to happen on my watch! Am I clear, Colonel?"

"Crystal, sir!"

----------------------------------------

"Well, General. You sure do swing a mighty big bat. JT, get the team ready to deploy. On my authority, this mission is a go."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Son, when the President of the United States, my Commander-in-Chief, tells me to do something, I damn well am going to do that!"

"Yes sir! Pierce, have you found Wilkerson, yet?"

"He's holding the line for you, sir. They're at Bragg."

"Get them geared up for an immediate insertion. I'll see what we can do about transport."

"That won't be necessary, Tisnewski. Colonel Emerson, do you have any shuttles aboard?"

"Yes sir. We can have it ready to launch in a few minutes."

"Good. Tisnewski, have your people in the most secured hangar they can find. Their transport will be there in a few minutes."

"What do you have that can get to Fort Bragg in a few minutes?"

"Standard cargo shuttle. They'll have plenty of room for whatever gear they have."

"General, sir, SG-10 is standing by at Peterson. They were there looking over the newest Academy graduating class for possible recruits."

"Ok. Tell them to stand by in full gear. The shuttle will pick them up on the way back from Bragg."

"General, my team knows the drill. A team of unknown men could be detrimental to the mission."

"Maybe. But SG-10 knows the drill when it comes to alien technologies. Just because the naquadah was the only thing reported missing, doesn't mean that's the only alien tech the thieves got their hands on. Comms, tell SG-10 I want prisoners for interrogation. Zats first."

"Yes sir!"

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Fort Bragg, North Carolina,

Ten minutes later...

"Bobby, what did the Colonel mean by a really fast transport?"

"I have no idea. But he said to stand by with full gear for a deployment into the LA area. Whatever he found for us in the way of transportation will get us there in a couple hours I'd guess. Hey! Why are those hangar doors opening? I told you guys to secure this facility!"

The hangar doors were opening to admit something, but no one could see what it was. There was no movement that they could discern. The hangar doors closed almost immediately and as soon as they were shut tight, the strangest looking vessel appeared in their midst; it was cylindrical with a flattened bottom, and had the color of aged copper. A ramp at the back dropped down and a man in what looked like an Air Force flight suit stood there.

"Captain Wilkerson?"

"That's me."

"Sir, with Colonel Tisnewski's compliments, sir. Just load up your gear and we'll be off."

"What the hell kinda transport is this?"

"Need to know, sir. Sorry, sir, but I wasn't informed that you'd been cleared into the loop, sir."

"Right. Let's get loaded up guys! Next stop, California!"

"Actually, sir, the next stop is Peterson AFB to pick up another team, then up to Odyssey for briefing before deployment."

"Right. Well, whatever. Let's get loaded and on the way then."

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Peterson Air Force Base,

Ten minutes later...

The shuttle's arrival at Fort Bragg might have been unusual, but here at Peterson, the arrival of the Telemachus, a Jumper-type shuttle from the Odyssey was almost routine. Of course, no one ever saw the shuttle land. They only saw the hangar doors roll open and later saw them roll open again as the shuttle took flight. Their only clue that something had been there was the fact that sometimes men entered the hangar and didn't exit, or that some other men exited the hangar but were not seen to enter it.

----------------------------------------       

Fort Detrick, Maryland,

United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Disease...

As soon as the notice to ‘Stand To' had come down the line from the JCS, the base commander had notified one of his Go-Team leaders, General William Starkey to report to his office for a classified briefing. The base commander was still trying to wrap his own mind around the revelations of just moments ago via secure line from the National Military Command Center (NMCC).  Not only was the influenza outbreak in Colorado a danger to the personnel there, but if it got out, millions, perhaps billions, would die. How does one protect against a strain of influenza from another planet?

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Have a seat Billy. I think you're going to need to be seated for this one."

"Where's the outbreak, sir?"

"Would you believe Cheyenne Mountain?"

"NORAD? What, did they spill something out there? My team is gearing up for a biological emergency, sir, not chemical."

"What I'm about to tell you is so highly classified, that it can't ever leave this room."

"Ok."

"The command in question is called the SGC. Stargate Command. The official cover for the facility and all of its personnel is ‘Deep Space Radar Telemetry'. And while I'm sure they do that too, what they really do will blow your socks off. Apparently, the US Air Force has a command that routinely visits other planets."

"I'm sorry sir, but did you say ‘planets'? As in outer space?"

"Yep. That about covers it. Apparently, they are able to do so via something the Air Force calls a Star Gate. I've no idea what that does or how they do what they do, but apparently a couple teams that were recently off-world brought back a very nasty case of influenza. I've spoken with the base CMO, a Doctor Carolyn Lam, and she informed me that while the virus shares some of the characteristics of the flu bug we're currently working on, it does display one particularly nasty habit and that is that it mutates every ten to twelve hours. So far, she's lost one patient and she reports that three more are critical. From onset of symptoms to death is approximately four days. I need you to take your teams and report to Peterson AFB as soon as humanly possible. The Air Force will arrange a secured transport for the final leg into the mountain."

"What measures have they taken so far, sir?"

"Per their standard protocol for cases like this, the mountain has been completely closed. No one in or out. An exemption will be made for you and your teams and all your equipment. I've no idea what they have or don't have, so take everything you think you might need, and maybe some of what you don't think you'd ever use. Billy, if the contagion breaks free of the isolation wards at Cheyenne, then we could be in for a serious situation. The SGC has a protocol called ‘Wild Fire' for an emergency such as this. If the situation becomes untenable, then a self-destruct will activate beneath the mountain. I'm told that the self-destruct is a pretty good sized nuke, enough to fairly well level the mountain and seal the virus within that granite tomb."

"I'll be extra careful, sir."

"Yeah. You'd better be. Good luck, Billy."

"I think we're going to need it, sir."

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USAF Odyssey,

Geo-synchronous orbit over Los Angeles, CA, USA,

Some hours later...

Conference Room One...

There were two sets of players in the room: SG-10, and the Special Forces team led by Captain Wilkerson, under the command of the SOD. SG-10 was a fairly new unit, with only one member of the previous team still on this one. The previous incarnation of SG-10 had been ambushed on some planet someplace, and while all of the team had made it back to the SGC, four of the five men later succumbed to their wounds; staff blasts had a nasty habit of being fatal. They'd gotten a new CO, Colonel Francois Beauchamp, recently posted to the SGC from the French Army. He was a no nonsense type of soldier, and the first thing he did upon meeting someone new was to evaluate them as a potential threat. For the moment, he relied heavily on Mitchell Ayres, his gunnery sergeant, who was the only survivor of the previous SG-10 unit. Ayres was among a unique group of soldiers at the SGC, having battled Jaffa, Goa'uld and Wraith on more than one occasion. He'd even been up against Replicators on one particular mission, and it was a mission that gave him his current intense fear of all spider-like creatures.

For Captain Wilkerson, seated on the opposite side of the table from SG-10, the men across from him had that hardened look in their eyes. They were dressed in the Army's new ACU gear, a sort of universal camouflage that blended desert, forest, and urban patterns into one unit. The Colonel seated opposite him wore a French tri-color flag patch on one arm and the patch of the Legion on the other, along with a round patch with some sort of ‘V' shape with the letters ‘SG-10' embroidered on it in a subdued gray color. Beyond the name tags on their uniforms, and the subdued rank insignia on their collars, it was difficult to tell anything specific about the men seated opposite him. Most of their gear looked comparable to his own, with the exception of the very strange looking ‘weapon' thing slung low in hip-holsters. They looked more like the heads of cobras than any type of gun Wilkerson had ever seen.

For Colonel Beauchamp, seated opposite his number from the SOD, the weapons these Special Forces troopers carried were not much different than anything any military unit carried. It looked like they all had either the Mk16 or Mk17 rifle, with grenade launcher slung underneath the barrel. Standard deployment vests with multiple pockets for extra magazines and what looked like flash bang grenades. And had Beauchamp still been in the Legion, odds were his own equipment wouldn't be all that dissimilar. But the advantage to working with a group of men and women with access to alien technology meant that the two large round objects in his back pouch would prove an unsuspecting diversion for the enemy. Goa'uld shock grenades were similar enough in overall effect to a flash bang grenade, but the Goa'uld version could be recharged and reused, while the Earth version could not. It was a minor difference in a sea of minor differences, that added up to who would be the better team on this deployment.

"Colonel Beauchamp, Captain Wilkerson. Let's get this briefing underway. Out latest intelligence indicates the target is headed for a spot at the Port of Los Angeles, probably for a ship bound for unknown waters. Your mission is to retrieve the stolen naquadah and to take as many prisoners as possible for later interrogations."

"How much naquadah was taken, sir?"

"What the hell is ‘nakwada'?"

"Our information says that one brick of weapons grade naquadah was stolen some three hours ago from a secure research facility in southern California. Naquadah, Capt. Wilkerson, is an alien material that when combined with any sort of explosive can release a tremendous amount of explosive force."

"Is it radioactive?"

"No. It's perfectly safe to touch with your hands. But it is extremely dense and therefore extremely heavy. One brick of naquadah might look like an ingot of gold in that the measurements are pretty close to one another. A brick of weapons grade naquadah measures about eight inches by three and a half inches by about two inches in thickness. A gold ingot can weigh around twenty-seven pounds, but the same amount of naquadah weighs about three times that, or around eighty pounds or so."

"Damn. That's heavy. So, one person can lift it, but it's probably faster if two people carry it in a box or some such?"

"That's right Captain. Now, as soon as the target vehicle stops, we'll beam you down into position. Captain, your team will be backing up SG-10. Beauchamp, try to take prisoners this time."

"Ah, General, that last mission to the Lucian Alliance stronghold was not our fault. They chose to commit suicide before we could detain any of them for interrogation."

"Still, I do want prisoners this time. Whoever is behind this theft, we want to know about it. We have every reason to believe, at this time, that the Trust is involved, in which case they may have some alien weapons at their disposal. In fact, why don't you pair off your teams? One of yours with one of Wilkerson's. From the moment you separate, you'll have no-one to trust but your partner. If this is the Trust, then they could have the remaining mimic devices that are unaccounted for."

"You would have to say that, mon General."

"Nothing is ever easy, Beauchamp."

"C'est vrai, mon General."

"What are mimic devices?"

"Like the name implies, Captain, the device can be made to mimic anyone for which they have the pattern. The device is worn next to the skin and is about the size of a quarter or maybe a half-dollar. As far as I know, the patterns the devices were loaded with when they were stolen from Area 51 included mine, along with General Hammond and various other Stargate personnel. Since I will be aboard the Odyssey and General Hammond is presently off-world, if you do see our duplicates, feel free to shoot first."

"Hmmm, always wanted to shoot a General."

"I'll bet. Now, get down to the transport room. Make sure you're good to go. I'll be on the Bridge. Dismissed!"

----------------------------------------

Port of Los Angeles...

There were dozens of vessels at the Port either being loaded or unloaded. But only one ship in particular was what the six man team from the Trust was looking for. A cargo freighter on a routine run to Pearl Harbor, carrying supplies for the bases there. With luck, they would catch the ships based there unawares. If even only one ship were destroyed by their mission, then the mission will have been a success. Any ships damaged or destroyed beyond just one would make the mission an overwhelming success. It was a necessary plan designed to bring the world to a military footing, so that the companies behind the Trust could make more money than ever. It would be called a terror attack, but it would serve to raise orders from the military to all those companies that provided them with their goods.

Four of them had spent the time in the van assembling their weapon. It wasn't a nuke: It was several hundred pounds of C-4 wrapped around the brick of naquadah, which in turn surrounded a smaller core of C-4. The outer case had been filled with low-level waste radioactive material taken from dozens of landfills around the country. None of it would ever be missed. The only thing that could be missed was the naquadah, but the company from which they had taken the material wasn't due to begin testing the substance for another three weeks at the earliest. That company had had two bricks for testing purposes. The six-man team had taken one brick and replaced it with a phony unit. Two of them were wearing the very precious mimic devices that an earlier mission had appropriated from Area 51. The power units lasted just enough with one charge to enable them to obtain the material in question. They had gone in disguised as General Jack O'Neill and Major Paul Davis, both well known and respected officers with the oversight on these materials.

By the time the material was discovered to be missing, there would be ample proof that O'Neill had gone into the facility with Davis for ‘inspection' purposes, and there was even tape of them leaving the facility with a large box. The perfect patsies for the perfect crime. The van slowed to a stop, and a forklift approached the vehicle. It loaded the box onto a pallet that would be loaded onto the freighter in a matter of minutes. Their mission done, four of the men, the ones who had built the bomb, went aboard ship for the trip to Hawaii. The other two took the van away from the Port to a well-known junkyard where in a matter of some minutes, the van would be compressed down into a cube of junk.

----------------------------------------

USAF Odyssey...

"Sir, target stopped for a few minutes and is now on the move again."

"Where did they stop?"

"On one of the piers, sir. Though it might have been because of the heavy amount of traffic there, what with cranes and forklifts everywhere."

"Right. Where is it headed now?"

"Away from the port sir."

"Away? Could they have unloaded the cargo when they were stopped?"

"That's possible, General."

"Get me an overhead image of the pier in question. See if you can identify the ships and tell me where they're headed."

"That's going to take a bit of time, sir."

"Get on it. The quicker you do it, the quicker we can get this thing over with."

"Yes sir!"

The pier in question had some dozen or so ships tied up along side, some taking cargo, some giving it up. But all of the ships were scanned from bow to stern, looking for identifying marks that would give clues to their identity. By the time the sensor operators had their list of ships identified, the one in question had pulled away from the dock.

"General, sir, there were fourteen ships present at or near that pier when the van stopped. They have all now been identified. Five were container ships and are now returning empty to their port of origin. One was a tanker that offloaded its cargo and is returning to the oil terminal in Alaska. Four were filled with shipments of wheat bound for ports overseas. Two were carrying electronic components and are returning with raw materials to their ports in Japan. The final two are carrying supplies for the bases in Hawaii."

"What sort of supplies? You mean for our military bases?"

"Yes sir. General supplies. The freighters in question make this run at least twice per week. These are regularly scheduled runs. Their manifests show no additional passengers."

"Where are these ships now?"

"Both have left the Port and are headed out to sea."

"Put us overhead and scan them."

"Yes sir!"

----------------------------------------

"Sir, first scan completed. If there is naquadah aboard one of those ships, we are unable to determine it for certain. And here's the reason why. This is the official manifest of both of those vessels. Both are carrying low-level radioactive materials. The signature of the naquadah is blending with those materials and we can't identify the ship the material is on."

"Damn it. Ok. Comms, get me the Joint Chiefs. Let's take this up a level."

----------------------------------------

"Stand by for encryption synchronization. Channel locked. Go ahead sirs."

"Mr. Chairman, General O'Neill aboard the Odyssey, sir."

"Go ahead, Jack. We're getting you loud and clear."

"Sirs, at approximately zero-nine-hundred hours Pacific Standard Time this morning, the director of the Poseidon Energy Research Center contacted me to thank me for my impromptu visit to their facility. Considering that I was in a meeting with you at that time, I'd say it would be downright difficult for me to be in two places at once. The Director went on to state that Major Paul Davis was with me at the time, and since he is presently off-world assisting George Hammond, well, I found his statements curious to say the least. I asked him to humor me a bit and to have someone check on the two bricks of refined naquadah we loaned to them for energy research."

"And?"

"And, one of those bricks is confirmed as missing, sir. Naturally, since the Odyssey was in orbit on work-ups, I had them track the missing material. All of the naquadah that we locate is tagged before it leaves the mountain with a slightly radioactive element that enables us to track it. In any case we tracked the material moving in a van towards the Port of Los Angeles. The van stopped for less than five minutes on a pier before moving off. At that time, we assumed that the van had stopped for cargo traffic, but now we believe that the naquadah was in fact removed from the van and loaded on to a ship that was at that pier. We have since identified the ships that were present at the time. Out of fourteen vessels that were dockside at the time, we've managed to narrow it down to one of two possibilities. Fortunately, both are headed for the same destination. Unfortunately, if the material in question has been mated to a bomb, well, the destination in question can be written off if the device explodes."

"Where are those two ships headed, Jack?"

"Pearl Harbor, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"That's according to the harbor master sir. Both ships are carrying military-grade supplies for the bases in Hawaii. Part of a regular cargo run for that company."

"Refresh my memory, Jack. How much naquadah are we talking about here and what kind of bang could we expect?"

"Sir. The SGC loaned two eighty-pound bricks of naquadah to Poseidon. One was taken. As for the explosion, well, you might remember a few years ago when Apophis tried to attack from orbit? Colonels Samuels and Maybourne headed up a project out at Area 51 to build what they called ‘Goa'uld Buster' bombs? Those were Mk 12's with a few grams of naquadah. The Mk12 went from a 12 kiloton nominal yield to well over a thousand megaton yield. That was just a few grams of naquadah, sir. The people have their hands on eighty pounds of it."

"Oh my God! Admiral Benson! Get warning orders to Pearl! Have them sortie every ship at anchor!"

"Sir! If I may sir?"

"Go ahead, Jack."

"Sir, rather than sending out all the ships and possibly alerting these people to the fact that we just might be on to them, why not intercept them at sea. Less chance of the press getting a hold of this story."

"Quite right, General. I knew we gave you that star for a reason. Admiral Benson, what assets do you have available for us in California?"

"Coronado. Best place they could start a mission from. Commander Wilkes, what is the current availability there?"

"Sir, two Mark V Special Operations Craft and three PC-1 Cyclones as of zero-eight hundred."

"Will that work, General O'Neill?"

"It will have to work. Emerson, we'll need a shuttle to take us down to the Naval Station at Coronado. Admiral Benson, we'll need a secure storage facility for the hangar."

"I'll get right on it, General. How many personnel do you have for this mission, General O'Neill?"

"SG-10 and one team from SOD."

"There are three SEAL teams home ported there. Need any?"

"Sir, I'll take whatever help I can get at this point."

"I'll pass along warning orders to have the teams STAND TO."

"Affirmative sir."

"General, after this is all over with, I'd love a tour of the Odyssey."

"Hell Admiral, I'll give that tour personally to all of the JCS if we can resolve this matter quickly and quietly."

"We'll take you up on that Jack. I, for one, would like to see where seventy percent of the SGC's budget has gone over the last few years."

"Sir, if we could operate with any less at the SGC, I'd love to see more of these ships around. With Prometheus destroyed, we have only Daedalus and Odyssey available to our forces. We would have had one more, but it went to the Russians. Daedalus is pretty much on permanent runs to Pegasus, so that leaves the Russian ship and Odyssey for Earth defense. Sir, frankly, we need a whole fleet of ships."

"That's a big request, Jack."

"I know sir. But we need them if we want to stand a snowball's chance of defending Earth against the Ori."

"Which is the reason we sent Hammond to Tartarus. The facilities there, plus the shipyards at Erebus, will mean a heck of a boost to our production capabilities."

"Right, sir."

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Coronado Naval Amphibious Base...

For the Shore Patrol personnel assigned to guard the hangar at the adjoining air station, the shuttle Telemachus was perhaps the most unusual looking vessel they'd ever seen. It's didn't use any sort of jet or propellers that they could see, yet it floated gracefully into the hangar at the Air Station. They saw several battle hardened soldiers deplane from the thing, followed by two very serious looking crewmen who stayed behind to stand guard over the craft Though what they could defend against using only staves was anyone's guess. The soldiers had quickly run to the flight line to board a helo for the short trip to Coronado. At this time of day, had they used vehicles, even with emergency flashers in operation, the short trip would have become close to an hour, such was the amount of traffic.

The Joint Chiefs of Staff had approved an at-sea interdiction mission, calling it a terrorism readiness exercise. The Navy had detached two Cyclone-class patrol boats, the Hurricane and the Monsoon, and two Mark V Special Operations Craft for the interdiction mission. An additional vessel, a 110 Island-class belonging to the Coast Guard was also dispatched, so that the mission would appear to be a Coast Guard driven operation. SEAL Team three was put aboard the two Mark 5's, with SG-10 on the Hurricane, and the SOD team on the Monsoon. The targeted vessels had a substantial head start on them, but with the freighters plodding along at just under 20 knots, and the slowest ship in the pursuit group moving along at thirty knots, the ten knots of overtake speed would enable them to catch the targets in about four hours, considering the targets had left some three hours before them.

Still, it was a lot better than trying to board the vessels close in to shore either here off the West Coast, or closer to Hawaii. At their rate of travel, in some seven hours, they would be about a hundred and twenty nautical miles from shore, well outside the territorial limit, but with the two vessels in question sailing under American flags, and the two vessels carrying supplies for US military installations, the rules were somewhat different.

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Cheyenne Mountain,

Stargate Command...

It hadn't taken the team from Fort Detrick all that long to fly out to Colorado. They were waiting now, talking to someone named Odyssey who was arranging transport for them for the final leg of their journey. General Starkey didn't pretend to know anything about the wonders of alien technology. All he knew was that someone with the very odd code-name of Odyssey was making the arrangements. Cheyenne wasn't all that far from Peterson, but, the mountain had been shut tight. The heavy blast doors, meant to withstand a very big nuke, had shut all access from the outside.

Starkey thought it strange that the Airmen assigned to this command would arrange his crates of equipment the way they did, but he guessed it was in accordance with some strange Air Force rule, and considering he wasn't Air Force, well, that explained their arrangement.

"General Starkey? Are you ready for transport?"

"We are, Odyssey, though we have yet to see any sort of cargo truck come near this hangar."

"But the hangar doors are closed, correct sir?"

"That's affirmative. Hangar doors are closed."

"Excellent. Stand by for transport."

"But there's..."

----------------------------------------

"...no transport in sight. Ok. What the Hell just happened?"

"General Starkey, sir. Welcome aboard the USAF vessel Odyssey."

"How did we get here?"

"Transporter beam, sir. If you'll move to one side, we'll get your crates up here. In a few minutes we'll transport you down to the SGC's embarkation room. It's the largest area for receiving you, sir."

"Embarkation room?"

"The room where the Gate is located sir."

"I see. Well, let's get a move on it then!"

"Of course sir."

----------------------------------------

"Sierra Golf Command, Odyssey. We have your packages ready for delivery."

"Standing by to receive, Odyssey."

"Affirmative. Delivering now."

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"Packages received, Odyssey. Please be advised, Daedalus ETA now at two hours. Upon their arrival, you are to brief Colonel Caldwell on current operations, then depart for Alpha Site to pick up SG teams, then come back here."

"Affirmative. Odyssey out."

"General Starkey, pleasure to meet you sir. I'm Hank Landry, commander of this facility. This is my CMO, Doctor Carolyn Lam. She'll fill you in on the details. We've assigned you and your personnel to VIP quarters on Level 25. I'll be with you shortly, but Dr. Lam can show you and your team around."

"Thank you General Landry."

----------------------------------------

"So, Dr. Lam was it?"

"Yes sir."

"Any experience with this type of infection?"

"I spent some time at the CDC in infectious diseases, but this particular virus is beyond my experience."

"Oh? How so?"

"For one, it seems to mutate every ten to twelve hours, almost like it's trying to adjust to we ‘Earth humans'. Second, the first version that presented itself looked like the common cold. Now it's something far worse. The patients that have died have done so due to an overwhelming amount of congestion in their lungs. It's like they drowned. But, we have managed to micrograph a few earlier samples, and we're taking micrographs every four hours to chart its mutative progression."

"Your facility has an electron microscope? Isn't that rather odd for an Air Force facility?"

"You'll find that a lot of things that shouldn't be found on an average base will be here. A lot of that is thanks to my predecessor, Dr. Janet Fraiser. She set-up the facility so that they could treat and cure almost anything down here. There is too great a chance that something a team brings from off-world could get out into the general population and create havoc."

"What happened to your predecessor? The Air Force move her someplace? Did she become the personal physician to some General?"

"Sadly, no. She was killed in the line of duty two years ago while off world. She and a medical team responded to a call for assistance from one of the SG teams. While she was helping out one man, an enemy soldier came up behind her and shot her. She was dead before she hit the ground. The enemy soldier used a staff weapon and those fire superheated blobs of plasma. The plasma burned through her body, vaporizing her heart and part of her lungs."

"Ouch. That's gotta be a horrible way to go."

"I'm sure it is, and I do hope I never have the misfortune to experience that. But, I daresay it would have been very quick. At the very least, she didn't suffer."

"Did she leave anyone behind?"

"A daughter. Cassandra. She adopted her some years ago. Cassandra was born on a world called Hanka. A Goa'uld by the name of Nirrti killed everyone on the planet except Cassandra. The little girl was implanted with a bomb that would react with the material of the Stargate. They managed to deactivate the bomb in time, but she was left with a marked amount of naquadah in her blood. It gives her, among other ‘gifts', the ability to sense the Goa'uld symbiote within a person. She couldn't have been more than seven at the time."

"Any person or alien, that would use a little girl like that for such a terrible purpose, must be a monster."

"Nirrti, like all Goa'uld, believe it is their right to use Humans like that. That their natural superiority gives them that right."

"I hope I never have to meet one. I'm not sure what I would do."

"Believe me, I understand the sentiment. So, General, level 21 is the infirmary, where most of my patients are currently resting. The infected teams are in medical isolation rooms on this level and on 19. Most of the labs are on these two levels. If this virus gets out of control, we also have isolation quarters on level 22."

"What's on level 20? I noticed you said the labs and medical rooms are on 19 and 21. Why not 20?"

"Level 20 is storage areas, some offices, workout rooms, and one of several armories."

"One of several?"

"Understand sir, this is a frontline base. Sure, it's not like the bases in the Middle East, but the threat is just as real. Only the SF's are constantly armed. If armed intruders come through the gate, well, I'd rather not have to run too far for a weapon, and I'm sure the men and women in my infirmary will say the same thing."

"It just seems so quiet in here."

"It usually is. Now then, my office is on 21. The labs that you and your teams will be using are mostly on 21, but the heavier equipment, like the electron microscope and the MRI's are on 19. One more thing, sir. I initially thought that the teams in question had come back with a form of influenza, and I followed the protocols for a Level 2 pathogen. However, as the disease began to mutate into a more lethal form, I upgraded that to a Level 4. Please make sure your people are aware that this virus, as near as I can tell, is airborne. It is very infectious, and appears to be quite lethal."

"Thank you Doctor Lam. I'll see to my teams now."

"Of course, sir."

----------------------------------------

USS Hurricane,

Cyclone-class Patrol Boat...

If there was one thing that General O'Neill hated more than the Goa'uld, it was being on a boat. Sure, aircraft carriers were fine ‘cause you couldn't feel the ocean beneath the deck, but on this little ship, even the smallest of swells made him slightly nauseous. Still, if they managed to catch up to the freighters before they reached their targets, it would have been worth the slight discomfort he felt at the moment.

They had the two suspects vessels on radar now, and it was only a matter of time before they caught up to them. The Coast Guard vessel, Tybee, had moved out ahead of the three naval vessels as they would handle the principle intercept. A look-out on the bridge near him reported the vessels in sight, still several kilometers away, but the distance was closing with the ten knot overtake the small flotilla had on their targets. It was just a short wait now.

"Attention freighter vessel, attention. This is the Coast Guard cutter Tybee. Stand to, and prepare for DHS inspection. Repeat, stand to and prepare to receive teams for DHS inspection."

"What the hell does that mean, Captain?"

"We're a US flagged ship. If the Coast Guard wants to inspect us, they can."

"We're outside the territorial limit though!"

"Doesn't matter. It's a freedom of navigation inspection. They happen all the time."

"Can you out run them?"

"Are you kidding me, Mr. Smith? That cutter has at least ten knots on us. Even if we were empty, there'd be no way in Hell that we could. Plus, they're armed and all we have are maybe a few pistols aboard. Look, long after you've left this ship, I'll still have to run this route for the US Government. I'd rather still have a future after this, if you don't mind."

"Alright then. What all do they usually inspect?"

"Generally, they come up to the bridge, look over our documentation, maybe they'll check out our rescue gear, life boats and what not. I imagine they may also want to inspect our engine room, make sure we're operating a clean ship, that sort of thing."

"What about the cargo areas?"

"I've never seen them do that, but it does happen now and again. Course, that would be a search for contraband like drugs, and you're not carrying drugs, are you Mr. Smith?"

"No. No drugs."

"Good. Then you don't need to worry. Now, you and your partners need to get below deck in your cabin. Coast Guard inspections never look at the crew quarters. And technically, since you're not on our manifest, you're a stowaway."

"Right. Cabin, here I come."

"Chief, get on the radio, let our sister ship know what's going on. And let's get this tub stopped."

"Right, Cap."

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"Hurricane, Tybee. Target vessel is slowing. We should be in range to launch a RHIB in a few minutes."

"Affirmative Tybee. Teams from our vessels will be joining you. What about the other freighter?"

"We caught message traffic from one ship to the other, apprising them of the situation. No other details at this time."

"Roger that."

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"Johnson, this is Smith. We're about to be boarded. They might get the dummy device we have, but under no circumstances should you allow the freighter you're on to be stopped. The package must reach its destination."

"Affirmative. Luck, Smith."

Within moments, the Tybee had launched her one RHIB to motor over to the freighter, which obligingly lowered a ramp for the inflatable boat. The vessel was fully stopped now and her crew were being asked to move to the area in front of the wheel house. Everything would be shut down while the Coast Guard carried out their ‘inspection'.

The radar image showed another picture though. The other freighter wasn't stopping. If anything, it was accelerating. The Mark V was directed to tail the other vessel at a discreet distance.  The gunners aboard the Hurricane kept their weapons trained on the freighter, just in case. All that they had been told was that one of the two freighters, and quite possibly both of them, were carrying terrorists aboard with at least one weapon of mass destruction bound for Pearl. It made them very sober. If they failed to do their jobs properly, Pearl was at risk of massive destruction and huge loss of life. It was them or nothing as there were no other ships in the area to handle the intercept.

The Coast Guardsmen boarded the freighter and within moments had the crew all present and accounted for on the main deck. SG-10 boarded shortly thereafter along with General O'Neill.

"Colonel, do your duty."

"Yes sir!"

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"Alright people, let's do this one smartly! Travis, O'Toole! Get your scanners out! Find me a target!"

"Yes sir!"

The two men in question pulled out what looked like a PDA from a pouch on their web gear. From another pouch, they pulled out something that was ‘T' shaped and attached it to the tops of their PDAs. Within seconds of this attachment, small beeping noises could be heard. Both men set about scanning the containers on the deck, and within seconds, both had readings of naquadah, though it would take some minutes yet to narrow the location.

"Are you the Captain of this vessel?"

"I am. Levander Handley. And who might you be?"

"Just call me General. Is this all your crew?"        

"It is."

"And what about your passengers?"

"Does this tub look like we carry passengers?"

"Wrong answer Captain."

O'Neill pulled a Zat gun from his holster and shot the Captain once. The man promptly fell down, writhing in agony as waves of energy coruscated over his body."

"How about you sailor? Are there passengers aboard?"

"Deck 6. Two of them. Just don't shoot me!"

"Colonel! Deck six, two targets. Alive, please."

"On the way!"

Travis and O'Toole had managed to narrow their search down to one container, and they were in the process of examining it for traps. From below deck, they could hear the muted and far-off sounds of Zat fire. Some minutes later, the remaining members of SG-10 brought up two men, unconscious, and trussed up like Thanksgiving Day turkeys. Travis had found and disarmed several trip wires and other small traps on the container doors. He once again thanked himself for paying attention to his fellow juvenile hall prisoners so many years ago. That one experience in his past had led him to the straight and narrow by means of a military recruiter. And now, here he was, a decade later, serving his country and defending the planet! For a kid from the wrong side of South Central Los Angeles, he hadn't done bad at all. Course, the bad part was that of the friends he'd grown up with, most were dead now, and those that weren't were serving very long prison terms.

The doors to the container were open now, and O'Toole let out a low whistle, which brought O'Neill over to investigate.

"Well, this can't be good."

"A bit of an understatement, sir. This container has got to have about four dozen Mk. 82 bombs. Add those explosives to the naquadah, and hell, this ship could have taken out a good chunk of the fleet!"

"Naquadah doesn't explode by itself, and I doubt that these bombs would have been shipped with the fuses in place."

"Back here sir. There's the naquadah. Looks like it's surrounded by C4."

"Can you tell how much naquadah is in there?"

"I'd say maybe two pounds, sir."

"Damn it. That would mean the other ship also has a bomb. Alright. Rather than disarming it, just tag it with a beacon. I'll get Odyssey to beam it off the ship and into space."

"Right, sir."

O'Neill walked over to where he could use the radio to the Coast Guard vessel without being overheard. He called the ship's captain, a Lieutenant Commander Connors, by radio.

"Connors here. Go ahead, General O'Neill."

"We've got the evidence we need, Connors. You'd better request whatever back up you need. I want the crew placed under arrest. Hold them, strip them of their certifications, then let them go with a stern warning. It's a matter of national security, and I doubt they know what the real mission was."

"Right, sir. I'll get straight on it."

"Hurricane, this is O'Neill."

"Read you loud and clear sir."

"Remain on station and assist the Tybee as needed. The Coast Guard will be taking the crew of this ship into custody, and their ship will be impounded. A container load of Mk. 82 bombs has been found to have been tampered with. The entire load would have gone off if the container had been moved."

"Right sir. We'll take ‘good' care of them, sir."

"We're taking the two ‘terrorists' to another ship for immediate interrogation. Have Monsoon stand by for departure. The other freighter has a similar bomb aboard."

"Shit. Yes sir, I'll pass the word along."

"Daedalus, O'Neill."

"Go ahead, sir."

"Two TRUST prisoners ready for transport. Slap a Tok'ra memory recall device on ‘em before the wake up."

"With pleasure, sir!"

O'Neill and his team boarded the Monsoon and joined the SOD team already aboard. The Mark V was reporting that the second freighter had sped up and somehow was now making better than thirty knots! At full speed, and with the current sea state of level two, the Monsoon could make a top speed of thirty-five knots, giving them a five knot overtake speed, but it would still take them the better part of two hours to intercept the vessel. The Mark V, with its top speed around fifty knots, could overtake the freighter in minutes, but they didn't have the sensory equipment to search the container ship. Still, they could force it to stop, allowing the Monsoon to reach her in a much shorter time. O'Neill ordered them to do so.

The second vessel, though it tried to outrun the Mark V boat, stopped after only a few shots were fired across its bow. No Captain in their right mind would continue to try and outrun a smaller and faster boat belonging to the US Navy, especially when said boat not only had weapons aboard, but wasn't at all hesitant to use them. Two more members of the TRUST were captured without much incident, and a second bomb was taken off the ship. Yet, the problem that O'Neill still had was that one-fourth of the naquadah brick was still missing and unaccounted for. The captured members of the TRUST were not at all forthcoming, and even with the memory recall devices were they unwilling to give away that particular bit of information. The truth of it was that the member of the TRUST strike team that had disposed of the van was the one who had stolen the naquadah to begin with and had taken the remaining portion for some other plan of the TRUST. The other four members had thought they had equally divided the naquadah among the two devices, but that wasn't the truth.

Even the small portion that the remaining TRUST member had was enough to do the task required by the TRUST, and that task was soon to be named. But for now, things returned to the status quo ante.

At the SGC, the team from Fort Detrick had quickly found that the new influenza virus responded well to a particular anti-viral, but only when it was applied to a virus grown in a Petri dish. Inside the body, the anti-viral broke down too quickly to be of much use and a massive does that could be of use in fighting this particular bug also had the unfortunate side effect of causing various vital organs to shut down.

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Main Conference Room,

Level 28...

"Any news Doctor?"

"Some, General Landry. While the virus has continued to mutate, we have had limited success in killing it with a combination of readily available anti-virals."

"That's good, right?"

"Actually, sir, the killing only occurs in Petri dishes. A dose large enough to have an effect on the virus in the human body, unfortunately also causes various organs to shut down."

"Ok, so that's not the good news. Tell me you have good news?"

"Not yet sir, but we are working on it. We need some way to accurately deliver the drugs to the virus so that they only affect the virus and not the surrounding systems."

"Any ideas?"

"Actually, I'd like to set up a video conference, if we can, with Colonel Carter. If anyone can come up with something, she can, or so I'm told."

"I'll ask Odyssey to pick her up then."

"Thank you sir."

"Any other news?"

"The remaining members of SG-12 have gone critical."

"What about the two that were alive still from 15?"

"They died about ten minutes ago."

"Damn. Ok, get back to work, doctors. I'll see what I can do to get Carter here."

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"Walter, get the Daedalus on the horn."

"Right sir. Channel active sir."

"Colonel Caldwell. Any word from Odyssey?"

"None as yet sir. They departed a few hours ago and probably won't be arriving at the Alpha Site for another few hours yet."

"Damn. We may not have that much time. Would you ask your resident Asgard if he knows anything about human physiology and medical treatments?"

----------------------------------------

"Hermiod? We have an official request from the SGC for you?"

"Yes Colonel?"

"They're asking if you have any knowledge of human physiology or human medical treatments?"

"Of course not. Why would I bother to learn these things?"

"Never mind, Hermiod."

----------------------------------------

"General Landry, that's a ‘no' on the Hermiod question."

"Well, it was worth a try. We'll just have to wait until Odyssey returns then."

"Maybe we can help in other ways, sir?"

"Not unless you know someway of delivering massive doses of a specific drug into the human body without killing said human body."

"Uhm. No sir, I sure don't."

"Right, well we'll have to wait for Carter to return on the Odyssey."

An hour later, the situation on the surface with the two freighters had been fully resolved, and O'Neill and the SOD strike team had been transported up to the Daedalus for a debrief before the SOD team was to return to their otherwise regular duties. They were in the mess hall discussing the outcome of the mission when the alert klaxons blared out. O'Neill quickly contacted the bridge and was told that an Asgard battleship had just dropped out of hyperspace. O'Neill postponed the rest of the briefing until later and almost ran the full length of the ship to get up to the bridge. He was followed by the visiting team from the SOD.

"Ya know, Caldwell, a sight like that never gets old."

"I agree, sir. The way their ships move through space makes this hunk of tin look like a Model T in comparison."

"Well, maybe more like something from the forties, I'd think. Our shuttles are more like the Model T."

"Yeah, I'll buy that."

"Sir, Asgard vessel requesting communications. I believe they said Freyr, sir."

"Open up a channel."

"General O'Neill. It is good to see you again. I regret that Thor is unavailable to offer his assistance, however, he directed me to come here and offer mine. And I believe you already know Loki and Heimdall."

"Any help at all is definitely appreciated, Freyr. Caldwell, can you add the SGC to this channel?"

"Certainly. Watts, get it done."

"Right away, sirs."

----------------------------------------

"Hank, the Asgard have arrived. Freyr brought Loki and Heimdall to help us out. Better get Doc Lam to sit in on this."

"They're on their way now, Jack."

"They?"

"We had to bring in a team from Fort Detrick to help us out. Carolyn felt like she was in over her head on this issue. General Bill Starkey is the head of that team."

"Don't know him."

"Neither did I before this, but the JCS swear by his abilities, so I have to accept that."

"Right, well. Good then."

"And here they are now. Doctor Lam, I believe you already know General O'Neill. General Starkey, General O'Neill is head of Homeworld Security. One of our allies, whom we contacted for assistance, has just arrived. Could you explain the situation to them?"

"Doctor Lam, why don't you take point on this, since you've been involved the longest?"

"Of course, sir. Freyr? Will it be you that I am explaining this to?"

"I will, of course, listen in on the information as it is passed to us, however, it will be Heimdall and Loki that will eventually assist you. Heimdall specializes in medicinal therapies, where Loki is more known for his work on your species."

"It is a pleasure to be working with all of you. Now then, the virus in question is similar to those found on Earth. We call it an influenza virus. I'm sending you a micrograph of the virus structure. Please note that there are several images in this transmission, as we have discovered that this virus is mutating at a regular interval. Now, while we have tested some of our more powerful anti-viral medicines in a laboratory, the dosage required can cause severe disruptions to the vital organs. What we need is a method for targeting the medications directly at the virus without affecting the surrounding systems of the body."

"Doctor Lam, are you familiar with nanite technology?"

"Only what I've read in the reports left by my predecessor. I've never worked with it directly, however."

"But the Tau'ri have been exposed to nanites in the past, yes?"

"Yes, that is essentially correct."

"Good. Then granting you this technology will not violate any treaties already in place. Since you have seen nanites in the past, we believe that we can use them to deliver minute amounts of the medication in question and have them directly target this virus you have identified."

"How long will it take to create the nanites?"

"A few hours to design the nanite, and then perhaps a day to manufacture enough to treat those among who are ill with this influenza."

"That's all well and good, and don't get me wrong, I am grateful for your assistance, but is there any chance you could also help us with a vaccine? In case other SG teams encounter this virus off-world?"

"Our understanding is that a vaccine, as you term it, is a weakened form of a virus. Allow Loki and myself to examine the protein structure of the virus and we will give you an answer shortly."

"Thank you."

Within hours of the arrival of the Asgard vessel, a suitable nanite had been fashioned and the manufacturing process begun. The vaccine took a little longer, but by the time it was done and ready to be injected into the personnel at the SGC, the team from Fort Detrick had departed. General Starkey had managed to obtain a sample of the virus but not the cure and he delivered it to his other ‘superior' at Blue Base in California, where it would undergo experimentation as a potential biological weapon.

By week's end, the members of SG-12 were well on their way to recovery, but SG-15 would have to be re-made. The vaccine that Doctor Lam and the Asgard were able to create was essentially a weakened form of the bug, and as soon as they had enough of it, they began inoculating the personnel at the mountain. The battleship that Freyr was on had not been named as yet. O'Neill made a request and gave his reasoning for the request. Freyr honored that request by naming the vessel George S. Hammond. The next Jackson-class science vessel that came out of their shipyards would bear the name of Janet Fraiser.

----------------------------------------

February,

Pentagon, Arlington, VA,

Cafeteria...

"This seat taken?"

"General O'Neill! Please, sit."

"Thanks Colonel McNulty."

"Ya know, after everything you showed me, you could call me Eli."

"I'd ask you to call me Jack, but I'm sure that would break some protocol here. I really don't like this place."

"How long have you had a star?"

"Less than a year. I can't tell you how much I want to be back with my old unit."

"I requested those documents you recommended. After reading through most of them, I'd have to say I agree with you. Say, I was wondering, if you might loan us a set of those fancy stun guns your teams use?"

"The Zats? They do more than stun."

"Oh?"

"One shot stuns a target. Two shots kill the target. A third shot vaporizes it."

"Hmmm, that could come in useful in the field."

"It could. Believe me, there are times when I would have liked to have had something like that. Especially when I had a bunch of ragheads chasing me."

"Desert Storm?"

"Unfortunately. I mean, well, I did my part, but I sure as hell did not like the idea of their POW camps."

"How long?"

"Too long."

"I know that feeling. I was a ‘guest' at the Hanoi Hilton for two years."

"You said you flew choppers?"

"Yup. I would guess that people like us, those who have been in real wars, have an edge over most of the pencil pushers here."

"I can't understand why some people get promoted to higher rank while those deserving of such honors are left to rot in the lower grades. The first thing I did when I got my star was to promote my XO to Lieutenant Colonel. She's probably the youngest Lt. Colonel in the Air Force."

"But did she really deserve it?"

"Hell, she deserves a whole hell of a lot more than the rank. Air Medals, DFC's, hell, every one on my team got their fair share of medals, well, except for the two civilian members of my old team."

"You had civilians on a combat team?"

"Well, only one of them was really a civilian. The other was the former head of an army, so I'm not sure that makes him a civilian. He defected to our side so he doesn't hold any rank, but he could easily be an officer. The other one, well, the military and him just don't mix. You should seen the guy when I first met him. Calling him a geek or a dweeb would have been too nice. But he turned out to be one hell of a civilian soldier. Anyone that saves my life at the risk of his own earns really high marks in my book."

"Would that be the Doctor Daniel Jackson I've read so much about?"

"That's the one."

"I had no idea he was a civilian. Though it does make sense now. With half the stunts he pulled, he would've wound up at Leavenworth."

----------------------------------------

"Excuse me, General O'Neill?"

"Major Bryant. What can I do for you?"

"Sir, you're presence is requested by the JCS."

"Right. Well, nice talking to you Eli. Lead the way, Major."

"There goes a man I don't envy one bit, but I would love a chance to trade shoes with him for a day or two."

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March,

Baja, California,

Blue Base...

"Status of the project?"

"We've managed to stabilize the mutation factor with the addition of cancer gene sequences. As it stands now, the virus has an infection rate of ninety-two percent, with an effective kill rate of one hundred percent. Anyone it infects will be dead within hours. In our controlled lab tests, the infected animals died with minutes, but their systems aren't as complex as ours."

"What about the burn rate?"

"Using the US as an example, it would burn through the country in a matter of weeks, before dying off from a lack of hosts. The fact that any doctors examining it will see just a standard influenza virus works for us."

"How soon will it be ready for a larger scale test?"

"Is there a target in mind?"

"My superiors are inquiring about the possibility of using it in the Middle East."

"If we can maintain our current schedule, we can have it ready for aerosol deployment by late May."

"Excellent! I'll pass along the good news, Doctor."

----------------------------------------

Mid-March,

Mojave Desert,

TRUST Facility...

"Report please, General Starkey."

"We will have an aerosol deployable  bio-weapon by lay May. At present the infection rate is approximately ninety-two percent, with a mortality rate of one hundred percent. It will burn through a target population quickly, and then die off from a lack of viable hosts."

"So, if it were released today in Tehran, what sort of spread could we expect?"

"Keep in mind, sirs, that the desert is a harsh environment. The virus won't remain viable for long in that kind of heat, but I'm told we can expect it to remain viable for as long as two hours in the open air. Once it begins spreading, the entire Middle East could be under its influence within a matter of a few weeks. The response by the major world powers will be to quarantine that area, until the virus has burned through the population. Then we can move in and claim those oil reserves for ourselves."

"Provided of course, that the vaccine is available by then."

"Of course, sirs."

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June 1st,

Mojave Desert,

TRUST Facility...

"You have something to tell us, General?"

"The project is complete, sirs. The vaccine is ready. The virus has been stabilized at ninety-nine percent infection and one hundred percent mortality. The science staff tells me that perhaps as much as one percent of the population will have a natural immunity to the virus, but that it is impossible to tell who will be immune before the virus is released. Once it is released, I'd like permission to round up those who are immune so we can study them and make our weapon all that much more effective."

"Excellent work, General. What about production?"

"Vaccine production proceeds apace. At the moment, we have several thousand doses ready to go, though by the end of August we should have more than enough to inoculate all of the personnel in this venture. Virus production is complete, and we now have enough for simultaneous releases in the various capital cities of the Middle East."

"Good. We will send a team to collect the deployment packages on the fourteenth of the month. After that, I suggest you take the vaccine, General."

"Definitely, sirs."

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June 14th,

Project BLUE facility,

California...

The surface facility looked just like a subdivision in any large city in the US, except that it was literally in the middle of nowhere. The only thing that really gave it away was the high fence with barbed wire along the top, the warnings about trespassing onto a secure military facility, and the myriad of pipes running into the ground. For Private Charles Campion, the posting had come along with very nice base housing. All he had to do was act as a security guard for the main gate. Trained as an MP, this posed no problem, and he didn't ask questions of what went on below him, but he knew. There were too many scientists, too many doctors, that worked underground.

Campion was at his post when the alarms started to go off. He looked at the monitor that showed him the lower levels and a man's face appeared in it.

"Containment breach! We've had a containment breach! Seal the gates, Campion! The controls down here have failed! You have to seal the Gates before anyone gets out! Campion! Seal the gates, Campion!"

But Charlie Campion's thoughts weren't on any damn gate. He had to get his family and get away from here as fast as he could. He could see them on the monitors, dropping like flies in a pesticide storm. Whatever it was they were working on down there was killing them fast! He had to get out of there!

"Sally! Get the baby! We have to leave! We have to go, now! Come on! We have to go!"

"Charlie! You're scaring the baby! What's going on?"

"Never mind that! We have to leave! We have to leave now!"

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June 17th...

Charles Campion had driven as fast as he dared, but it was no use. He hadn't made it out of the facility in time. He was dying and he knew it. The road was dark and it frightened him. Up ahead. Lights. Wherever he was, he knew he had to stop and get help for himself and for his wife and the baby. It was a gasoline station, and he tried to pull in at the pumps, but he lost control at the last moment, and his car swerved as he hit the pumps. Fortunately, a man inside who'd seen his approach had managed to get to the cut-off switch just in time, thus preventing a massive explosion.

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June 18th,

SGC...

"General, this just came in from the Pentagon."

"What's it say?"

"I've read it a few times, sir, but I'm still having trouble believing it."

"Spit it out, Walter."

"The CDC is reporting what looks like a bio-weapon attack in East Texas. Anthrax."

"What does the Pentagon think we need to do?"  

"They want us to seal the mountain and to be prepared to implement the ‘Genesis' plan."

"The one where we evacuate personnel to the Alpha Site?"

"That's the one, sir."

"How many teams on leave?"

"Six teams on-world but outside of the mountain today."

"Damn. Ok, Recall everyone. Immediate families as well. Recall all off-world teams and have them do the same for their immediate families. Start going through the Genesis lists and have people placed on stand-by. Get Medical to set up decontamination stations at all entrances to the mountain."

"Right sir."

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Pentagon,

Same Time...

"General O'Neill! Sir, this just came in from the JCS! Looks like someone set-off a bio weapon in East Texas? Why east Texas?"

"I don't know. You tell me Major."

"Accident? Whoever was carrying the device set it off accidentally? The nearest major city to the incident site is either New Orleans or Houston. The terrorist could have been headed to either place. Certainly it makes more sense than where it was released."

"Unless the city where it was released was the target. They could have chosen a small town where it would go unnoticed for a lot longer than in a larger city. Odds are, the area hospital would have been hard pressed to figure out what was wrong with the locals. Any indicators from the SGC?"

"The Joint Chiefs have recommended quarantines for all secure facilities until the crisis is past. I would imagine they'll be going into lockdown soon."

"Right. Where are the carriers?"

"Daedalus departed for Atlantis yesterday, carrying another load of supplies and two of those Navy craft you recommended. Daedalus is scheduled to deliver a total of eight of those boats over the next several months. A base completely surrounded by ocean and we don't have any boats there? A bit of an oversight."

"Well, it's been corrected now. I fly planes, Major, not drive boats. Can't expect an Air Force officer to remember the Navy, now can we?"

"I guess not, sir. Continuing with the list, sir. Odyssey is conducting mining operations in the Belt, along with those two freighters that Area 51 managed to assemble on short notice. Ugly looking things those are."

"Ugly or not, Major, as long as they serve their purpose. And for the moment, that purpose is mining and refining the raw ores we so desperately need for construction. By obtaining those metals on our own, rather than buying them off the market, we save a lot of money on construction costs, and that money can be used for other things."

"Very true, sir. The Russians have fully outfitted Korolev, and at the moment, it is headed to the Alpha Site on a supply run."

"The Russians are taking supplies to our off-world base? How did that happen?"

"General Landry asked them to. In exchange for carrying supplies there, they will leave their first operational squadrons of F-302s there for advanced training with our own squadrons."

"Oh well, a little training can be a good thing. Next?"

"Apollo is undergoing final trials and is expected to be fully operational by the end of the month. Area 51 reports that they've laid out the hull structure for Agamemnon, but that ship won't be ready for some months yet. The report goes on to state that since the SGC was successful in establishing off-world bases at Erebus and Tartarus, particularly since Erebus has shipyards, that they will be able to build a few new classes of vessels shortly. First on the list is a missile cruiser, with a pure battleship and pure carrier next on the to-do list."

"Pure? What do they mean by ‘Pure'?"

"According to the project head, a ship designed solely as a carrier, with limited defensive armament, and a ship designed to fight off other ships with heavy armament. We have the plans that SG-20 recovered from Tollana when they went by Tel'tac last year for the ion cannons. R&D feels that combining the ion cannons with the standard Goa'uld heavy plasma cannons should make for a formidable ship. Adding in the big rail guns will make any remaining Goa'uld think twice before taking us on."

"It's not the Goa'uld I'm worried about anymore. It's the Ori."

"Yes well, this should work against them too."

"We hope."

"Yes sir. One more thing, sir. You have a meeting at 1400 with the President."

"Right. Make the arrangements for transport."

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1600 Pennsylvania Avenue,

The White House,

1405 Hours...

It never failed to amaze Jack that the President of the United States could make him feel like a rookie enlisted man. He trusted this President, but this President had also done a lot to shake up the SGC. First he'd replaced Hammond with Doctor Weir, then he replaced Weir with him, then he got bumped up to the Pentagon and Hank Landry took his place at the SGC. And all of that in so short a time. Now the SGC was overseen by an international advisory committee made up of not only the US, but also the other four permanent members of the UN Security Council. Jack felt like a relative newcomer in this room. There were others here, others who definitely outranked him. But when one looked exclusively at the ranks in the room, it was Henry Hayes, who'd retired from the USAF as a Captain that was the lowest rank. Still Hayes was now Commander-in-Chief, at the top of the military rank organization, and Jack, as a lowly Brigadier General, was the lowest ranking officer in the room.

"Jack, how're things with Homeworld Security?"

"Coming along quite nicely, Mr. President. It's more difficult to get funding from Congress these days, but the IOA has managed to provide the funds to build two more BC-304s. Apollo should be ready for duty by the end of the month, while construction on Agamemnon is just getting underway. The good news is that the off-world site at Erebus has been activated, and a contingent from Area 51 and the SGC has been shipped there to begun full-scale production on our vessels. I think, once it's fully up and running, that we will be able to build our ships faster and more efficiently."

"That's great news, Jack! What about Tartarus?"

"I have General Hammond's report with me. The small contingent of soldiers he took with him has grown to include a full squadron of F-302s. He reports that they found a couple of sub-surface hangar facilities with several hundred Death Gliders, and a few dozen Al'kesh. As soon as he's certain that there are no traps in them, we'll refit them to SGC standards. Because Anubis brought with him the full might of his forces when he attacked, there were next to nothing in terms of personnel still at Tartarus. Hammond and the teams assigned to him took the base easily. Apparently, it's one hell of a big base. He said that his teams are still exploring the facility and that so far they have mapped about two dozen levels, with more yet to be mapped out. They have found several armories though, and a portion of the weapons there have been shipped to the SGC for distribution to the teams."

"Sounds like you have matters well in hand. But that's not the real reason I asked you to in for today."

"Oh?"

"After consulting with the Joint Chiefs, I feel it's high time you were recognized for all of your tireless efforts in keeping Earth safe. So, just a short while ago, I authorized two things. First, Homeworld Security is to become a Cabinet level position. This means, that should the worst happen, you are now in the line of succession for the Presidency. Number sixteen I believe. Also, I have approved your promotion to Major General. I've decided that George Hammond is doing a good job at Tartarus and that he should remain there as military governor of that new colony. I've also decided to post General Vidrine to Erebus as the military governor there. Major Paul Davis will be getting a promotion to Colonel, and he will be assigned to, uhm P3X-403, and the naquadah mining operation you have there."

"Me? A Major General?"

"I notice you didn't question the other actions I've just taken."

"They're all good men and very deserving of the new roles and ranks, Mr. President. But why me?"

"Because for the last ten years or so, you've done more to save this planet than anyone else in this room. Accept it, Jack. You're a true hero."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"I'm going to assume that you've heard about this so-called terrorist incident out in East Texas?"

"I got briefed on it a few hours ago."

"It wasn't a terrorist that did it. Apparently, there was a secret military facility in California that was experimenting with bio-warfare agents and one of those bugs got out."

"How?"

"What I have been told is that a seal in a lab failed and the bug got into the air vents. An Army Private by name of Charles Campion managed to run away from his post, with his wife and kid, but he'd already gotten a full dose. It acts like the flu or so I'm told. But it's one hundred percent deadly effective. The other Cabinet members are telling me that within a few days, there will be disease outbreaks across the planet. They're suggesting that as soon as law and order breaks down, that I will have to implement martial law across the US and quarantine our country from the world."

"Uhm."

"I know that General Landry has already begun a limited call-up of Genesis personnel. I want you to direct him to go to a full call up. Genesis personnel will be sent to the SGC first to make sure none are contaminated with this virus. I need you to draw up lists of personnel for the other sites we will now have. I especially want all of our shipbuilding crews moved off world as soon as possible. And Jack? I want you off-world as soon as possible. If this virus outbreak is as bad as my advisors tell me, then we need someone in the line of succession somewhere safe."

"Yes sir."

"That'll be all Jack."

"Yes sir!"

----------------------------------------

Beltway, Washington, D.C.,

En-route to the Pentagon...

"Major Bryant, as soon as we get back to the Pentagon, I'm going to need to see Colonel Eli McNulty."

"The Special Operations chief?"

"That would be the one."

"I'll make the call now, sir."

"Good. While you do that, I'm going to call Hank on the secure line."

----------------------------------------

"Landry."

"Hank, it's Jack."

"Hey Jack! How're things at Fort Fumble?"

"Worse than you could ever imagine. I've just come from the White House. President Hayes wants to initiate a full call-up of all Genesis personnel."

"I'm already doing a limited call up of the more essential personnel. Do I send them off to the Alpha Site immediately?"

"No. Put them in quarantine until we're sure they're not carrying what was released in East Texas."

"So it was a terrorist incident?"

"Nope. But you'll get a full briefing by me shortly. Recall all SG teams. Inform Atlantis that they might be cut off from Earth for awhile."

"I'll pass that along, Jack. You'll get me that briefing soon?"

"As soon as I get back to the office, and a secured land line."

"Right."

----------------------------------------

Pentagon, Arlington, VA,

1600 Hours...

After the incidents in January, O'Neill had not expected to be back in this particular office so soon. He wondered if he was interrupting something as he noticed a tall blonde in the office with Col. McNulty.

"General O'Neill. What brings you to SOD?"

"I need a favor, Eli."

"Oh! Where are my manners! Sonny, this is General Jack O'Neill. Jack, Samantha Liston of the Counsel's office."

"Pleasure, ma'am."

"Likewise. So, General, what are you in charge of here at the Pentagon?"

"Homeworld Security."

"You mean, Home LAND Security, right?"

"No, Home WORLD Security. It's a new cabinet level posting. President Hayes informed me an hour or so ago that I've been added to the line of Presidential Succession. At number sixteen."

"I see. So what do you do? Watch radar screens for that Deep-Space Telemetry project at out Cheyenne?"

"Something like that."

"You know, General, it's not polite to lie to someone who has the SecDef's ear."

"True. But it's really stupid to tick off someone that's on a first name basis with the President."

"Touché, General."

"So, Jack, what can SOD do for you today?"

"Nothing. I'm here to brief you in on Project Genesis."

"Genesis?"

"You've no doubt heard about the ‘Anthrax' outbreak in East Texas?"

"The supposed terrorism incident? I got my briefing earlier."

"It's not terrorism. It was an accidental release of a bio-warfare agent by a US laboratory."

"Where'd you get that info, General?"

"Direct from the President, Ms. Liston. The bug in question has an infection rate of ninety-nine percent. Everyone who gets the bug will die from it. Until this crisis is past, I will be moving up to the Odyssey. I'd like you to join me up there, Eli. You, Sgt. Pierce, JT, and as many teams as you can recall in the next few hours."

"Is the outbreak that serious?"

"The President is considering a national quarantine and martial law, so yeah, I'd say it was just that serious."

"Damn. What's Genesis?"

"It's a project plan that dates back to the opening of the SGC. In the event of a world wide catastrophe, certain personnel will be evacuated to a secure facility until either the danger has passed or..."

"Or what, General?"

"Or until Earth has been rendered safe again. The facility in question is the Alpha Site, planet designation P4X-650. The conditions are somewhat spare, but as soon as we can determine that none of the personnel are infected, they will be moved to other secured off-world sites, either Tartarus or Erebus, both of which have been declared off-world colonies complete with Military Governors. General Hammond has command of Tartarus, and General Vidrine has command of Erebus."

"What about the ‘allies'?"

"They have been notified, and they will be sending Genesis teams to the SGC starting this evening. The SGC will going into lockdown as of midnight. I'd like your people as extra security for the various off-world locations and for Atlantis."

Samantha Liston had heard bases described in a lot of ways during her tenure at the Pentagon, but never as off-world facilities complete with planetary designations. She was beginning to wonder if this whole conversation wasn't some big gag that Eli was running on her.

"General O'Neill, if that's who you really are, since when does the US Military have facilities located on other planets?"

"Not the Military as a whole, Ms. Liston. The bases are run through the Air Force. If you have questions, I suggest you bring them up with General Jumper."

"I think I'll do that right now. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

----------------------------------------

"Are you sure you should have told her any of that, Jack?"

"After you mentioned her the last time, Eli, I checked her out. Her clearance came through weeks ago. I imagine General Jumper will have a few choice words for her. Anyway, get together with your people, and pick out who you want for Genesis. Include immediate families as well."

"Immediate families?"

"Do you think any of your people will want to be safe while their families are in danger? I just wish we had the room to include not-so-immediate families as well. For too long, we've kept all the eggs in one basket. Time to spread them out some."

"Heinlein, if he were still alive, would agree with you."

"I believe he would. So you're familiar with his works?"

"Starship Troopers is a favorite of mine. I use it sometimes to show why some strategies work, even if they sound stupid."

"He wasn't bad for a Swabbie."

"He sure wasn't. I'll get with you in the next couple days on my suggestions."

"Sounds good. Use this number. It'll be routed directly to Odyssey."

"Right. Using a phone to call a space ship. Of course."

----------------------------------------

June 23rd,

USAF Odyssey,

Polar Orbit...

O'Neill had moved up to the Odyssey just a few hours after he'd spoken with Col. McNulty. He'd brought his aide along, if only for the  simple reason that the man was a former Special Forces soldier who'd been invalided out of the SF owing to an injury from combat. The fact that he had no family left in the US only served to further O'Neill's reasoning in asking the man to join him. Below them, on the surface of the planet, the disease was burning its way across states and countries. Outbreaks had been reported in all corners of the globe now, and the death toll was mounting quickly. President Hayes had authorized on the 19th the full activation of the cadets at the various military academies, plus the students at the Coast Guard Academy, the Merchant Marine Academy, and Texas A&M. The mostly untested students had been told to report to various quads at their respective campuses, in full combat gear, or what passed for combat gear at the military academies. Daedalus, Odyssey, and Apollo were pressed into transport duties, retrieving the students via the on-board Asgard transporters, and delivering them to the SGC, where they were placed into temporary quarantine before being shipped off first to the Alpha Site for the briefing of a lifetime, before their eventual departure for one of the other military colonies.

Genesis was in full swing now, and O'Neill was feeling the weight of impending responsibility barreling towards him like an out of control cargo plane. The President was close to death, and most of the Cabinet were in the same place, or so O'Neill was informed by the small squad of Secret Service agents that had demanded to join him late yesterday. Their sworn duty was to protect him, as it looked like being sixteenth on the list of succession would mean nothing in the coming days. It was a hard thing to ask of O'Neill, who had saved Earth on many occasions, to stand by and watch as a silent but effective killer swept through the population. The SGC was down to a skeleton crew now, with all but three of the teams now at the Alpha Site or aboard one of the four ships now in the system; Daedalus, Odyssey, Korolev, and Apollo.

----------------------------------------

June 24th...

By the 24th, law and order had broken down in most of the world. Those who weren't yet sick were rounding up those who were, killing them and burning the bodies. Extreme fringe radio preachers, who'd long said the ‘end was nigh' pointed to the global pandemic as proof that God was saving the world for the meek. That the plague was God's punishment for the decadence of mankind. That those who were sick, if they were able, they should pray to God for forgiveness and give their worldly possessions to the Church of their choice, but preferably the Church of whatever radio preacher they happened to be listening to.

The virus was a silent and effective killer. Chaos reigned as ninety-percent of those initially infected began to die. Police officers, fire fighters, doctors and nurses; the ones exposed repeatedly to the virus on an hourly basis were among the first to succumb to the plague, leaving staffs woefully undermanned or non-existent. Statistically speaking, the police department of New York City would have gone from forty thousand officers of all grades and ranks, to a mere four hundred, while the city itself would have gone from a population of eight and a half million, to eighty-five thousand. Imagine it. Four hundred police officers trying to keep at least eighty-five thousand people calm and civil? Not a chance in Hell.

----------------------------------------

June 25th...

What the virus didn't kill, the few who remained would. The riots began in earnest on the 25th, with fires breaking out in cities across the globe. Cities burned and there weren't enough people left alive to care. Those that were still alive, but dying nonetheless from the plague, left their homes to join their counterparts on the streets. Windows were broken out and mass looting occurred. Those who had not yet fallen ill were the same who were immune to the effects of the virus, for whatever reason. Those who were immune could safely be fitted into one of two categories; basically good and basically evil. Though it might have been an accidental release of a plague that had befallen mankind, the acts behind the scenes were as old as the universe itself.

Though the personnel of the SGC firmly believed that the Ancients were the oldest of the five member Alliance that once ruled over the universe, indeed there was some evidence of an even older race. Not the Ascended, for they were relative latecomers to the ranks of the Ancients, but rather a race for which every species in the Universe could readily recognize as evil incarnate. Every planet in the universe, life bearing or otherwise, had legends of the first times, where great giants and monsters roamed at will. The very ancient battle of good versus evil.

Evil had spawned the Goa'uld parasite that took over unsuspecting Ancients and humans alike and gave rise to the great Goa'uld Hegemony of old. Good had spawned countless humanoid type races in an effort to match the Goa'uld. Evil had removed the right of free will from the Goa'uld, and the snake-like parasites were intent on removing that right from everyone else. Good had made sure that their chosen races had free will, so that they could determine for themselves whether or not they would fight the forces of Evil.

On Earth, Good and Evil became God and the Devil. Elsewhere, though the names were different, the premise was the same. When the Ancients evolved to a higher state of consciousness, they became aware of this ages old battle. And they chose not to interfere. Such was the gift of free will. In later generations, when others Ascended to join the ranks of the Ancients before them, the choice of non-interference wasn't so much made as instilled in the younger Ascendants. A few violated this ‘rule', and were punished severely for it, made to adopt human form and live new lifetimes trapped and alone on worlds devoid of humanoid life.

A million years in the past a bargain was struck, which would determine how the universe would spend the rest of time. Once every ten thousand years, a trial would befall a human inhabited world in the universe. The outcome of the trial would determine the fate of the universe for the next ten thousand years until the next trial occurred. Ten thousand years ago, the trial came to a world long forgotten by the annals of history. Long forgotten, because it lost, and because it lost, the Goa'uld rose to power and for ten thousand years, they terrorized the universe.

This time, it is Earth's turn to face the trial. The outcome is yet unknown.

----------------------------------------

June 28th,

Alpha Site,

P4X-650...

On the field south of the main runway that served the Alpha Site there were four vessels; Daedalus, Odyssey, Apollo, and Korolev. The last of the survivors were among them, including the new US President. General Jack O'Neill had not wanted the Presidency. He was a man of action, yes, a leader even. But leader of a country? Hardly. Of course, said leader was now standing on another planet, hundreds of light years away from Earth, while the remaining inhabitants of Earth died cruel deaths, the result of the plague which befell mankind on the 17th of June.

His Secret Service detail were in something akin to awe at just being on another planet. And thought it did resemble Earth in many respects, the three moons over head broken the illusion that they were still on Earth. Though they might otherwise have been nervous, because everyone around them carried a weapon of some sort, they also knew that many of those here were indeed military, and military personnel of the United States all swore an oath to defend their Commander-in-Chief. There had been Presidents in the past who had been directors of intelligence agencies, just like many former military leaders had risen to become President. But there had never been a man in that highest of office who had been a member of the Special Operations Forces. A man who could kill just as easily barehanded as he could with a weapon. It made the agents of the Detail a little more relaxed in their current state, but not by much.

"General O'Neill! Welcome to P4X-650! The last of the survivors are being processed for shipment off-world. And when you have a moment or two, Doctor Lam would like a word with you."

"Thank you Colonel Pierce. Would you see to it that my Detail gets quarters close to mine? They'll have a fit otherwise. And make sure they get kitted out in full gear. Gentlemen, you'll be losing the suits from here on out."

"Of course, Mr. President."

"President? General, is there something you haven't mentioned yet?"

"President Hayes, in all his wisdom, had the Cabinet post of Homeworld Security added to the line of succession. I was sixteenth in line and felt quite comfortable knowing that there were at least fifteen people ahead of me more qualified to do the job. Wouldn't you know it, they're all dead and I'm not."

"Of course sir. With your permission, sir, I'll make a general announcement here and have it passed along to the other colonies."

"Fine. Once you're done with that, tell the other colonies to send a representative here for an emergency conference. We'll need to coordinate our efforts. On Earth, the virus may be burning itself out, but there will be survivors, and we'll need to help them out. And while a worse thing can't possibly have happened there, I do know that there are other things out here in space that will be cheering our demise. As soon as you're able, I want SG teams to start explorations again."

"Of course, General. Sorry. I meant, Mr. President."

"General will be fine. The whole ‘President' idea is still a little too new for me."

"Right, sir."

O'Neill had appropriated, or rather his Detail had done the deed, an office from which to run his administration. Though he didn't really have an administration yet, but there were several key positions he would need to fill in a big hurry. The first visitor to his new office was Doctor Carolyn Lam, the SGC's Chief Medical Officer.

"General O'Neill. Congratulations on your ‘promotion' sir."

"I definitely don't want it, Dr. Lam. But when one is called upon to serve, one can do nothing but serve to the best of his or her ability, wouldn't you agree?"

"I would."

"So what can I do for you, Doctor?"

"Moments before we left, the last items from cold storage that were transported aboard were the samples of the Wildfire influenza that I had wanted to work on. But of course, with everything that's happened of late, both on world and off, I hadn't gotten around to examining the samples. I did, just this morning. And found something I did not expect. So I looked over the official information that was provided to me by the Centers for Disease Control, and what I discovered was even more unexpected."

"What are you going on about, Doctor?"

"After I looked over the micrographs that the CDC sent to us, I noticed a similarity between the influenza virus that's running rampant on Earth, and the Wildfire virus that affected the SGC in January. So I went to look at our own samples, just to be sure. There weren't any samples, sir. I mean, the vials were labeled correctly, but the contents were just saline solutions. No virus at all. I check all the samples and the same thing came back; saline solution."

"Someone stole the Wildfire virus from the SGC? And we didn't notice it, why?"

"Other than myself, only General Starkey, of USAMRIID, had access to the vials, sir. I doubt he would have taken them, but I sure did not take them."

"Starkey? General William Starkey?"

"Yes sir."

"He's not with USAMRIID. He runs, or rather he ran, a bio-warfare lab in southern California."

"Oh my God."

"The virus that's burning through the population back home came from his labs. An ‘accidental' release, or so he claimed."

"Accidental or not sir, the virus in question is a version of the Wildfire virus. It's been genetically modified to enhance lethality and ease of transmission."

"Shit. What about the cure you and your staff developed?"

"It won't work on this version of the virus, sir. While we won't have to start from scratch, as it were, it will still take some time to adapt the vaccine to the new strain."

"Get on it. Aside from your regular duties, you're top priority as my new Surgeon General is the creation of this vaccine."

"Surgeon General? Me?"

"Yeah. You. Now, get to work, Doctor."

"Yes sir!"

----------------------------------------

Just a few minutes after Doctor Lam left the office, Colonel Chekhov appeared.

"Mr. President."

"Colonel. What can I do for you?"

"Actually, sir, I was advised by the Korolev just a short time after they landed, that as I was also the Russian Minister of Homeworld Security, and that as I am apparently the only surviving Minister, that I have also become the President of Russia."

"So tell me, Mr. President, is it everything you ever wished for?"

"No. I had no desire whatsoever to become President."

"I didn't either. You and I, we're military men. We both answered a call by our countries to serve. Things were simpler for some, during the Cold War. You and I were enemies. Now, that war is over, and you and I can be friends. Can't we?"

"We must be. There is simply no other choice. The plague that has ravaged your country has left mine in shambles. And our two countries were perhaps among the more advanced in the world. The third world nations, they did not stand a chance against this virus."

"True. So what do we do about it?"

"First, we drink. Vodka. To their memory. Then we agree to work together to rebuild."

"Sounds like a plan to me. How many Russians did you manage to save with Korolev?"

"Not as many as you picked up with your three vessels, O'Neill."

"Do you know if anyone else from the Gate Alliance Treaty nations survived?"

"I was at an official function when Korolev informed me of the news. As a courtesy, I offered sanctuary to the other ambassadors who were also at that function. Woolsey, however, was not there. I would imagine he has died by now."

"Such a shame. Perhaps you would do me a favor, Chekhov?"

"I can only try, O'Neill."

"Well, I certainly don't want the job of President of the United States, and you've said as much for Russia, but we're stuck with the jobs we don't want. Rather than have the IOA jump all over us for our failures to prevent this from happening to Earth, perhaps we should disband the treaty."

"Disband? Why?"

"When we go back to Earth, it will be to rebuild. We must all pool our resources together in order to accomplish this. We must agree to set aside our differences in order to accomplish this. Now more than ever, we need the resources of off-world trade. Especially if we are to rebuild to what we once were. The need for the Oversight Committee is past. You and I, and the other three ambassadors, are what's left of the ‘official authority' for our governments. Maybe this time, we can do things differently?"

"You are most wise, O'Neill. While the others may not agree, I will pledge as of this moment, the remaining resources of the Russian government to aid yours in the rebuilding of our world."

----------------------------------------

July 1st,

Dreams...

Jack O'Neill was asleep, though one glance at him and one would have been unaware of this fact. His arms thrashed about and he mumbled in his sleep. If one were able to see into his tortured mind, one would see him reliving a past mission, one in Iraq, where he had been captured. But as his dream self was forced to march into a POW camp in the deep desert, the scenery about him changed from barren landscape to rich farmland. He could smell the rich, damp soil beneath his feet and he wondered for a moment, whether his dream self was hallucinating. ‘Can I hallucinate while I'm asleep?' his dream mind asked of itself. He cocked his head to one side and could hear the faint strumming of a guitar. He automatically reached for a weapon, any weapon, and was rewarded with the feel of his pistol in his hand. He set off in the direction of the music, wondering what sort of nightmare reality this was.

It took his dream mind a few moments to realize that he was in a corn field. As he walked through the rows of corn stalks, he could hear the music gradually growing louder, and now he could begin to hear a woman's voice. At last, he broke through the rows of corn only to find himself standing before a simple white painted house, with a wide porch and a rocking chair upon which sat a very grizzled looking old black woman. He approached with caution, not for the first time thinking that this was some sort of twisted dream and that he was in the hands of either the Iraqis or the Goa'uld.

"Hello Jack!"

"Excuse me, but how do you know my name? Who are you?"

"You can put the gun down Jack, I'm not gonna hurt you. My name is Abigail Freemantle, but folks round these parts call me Mother Abigail. I'm a hundred and six years old and I still make my own bread. You come see me Jack. You and all your friends."

"What is this place?"

"This here is the Home Place. Hemingford Home, Nebraska. There are dark times ahead, Jack. The world needs you. There is much to do. You come see me, come see me soon!"

O'Neill awoke with a jolt. For sure, he wouldn't be getting back to sleep, so instead he went into his office for some coffee. The dream, if one could call it that, had disturbed him on a level he hadn't felt since he first returned from Iraq.

----------------------------------------

Elsewhere in the Alpha Complex, Teal'c was in a deep state of Kel'no'reem. It was the first night in many, since they had left Earth that he had reached such a deep meditative state. He could feel the relaxation and eventually sleep, take him to another level, to another place.

In his time under Apophis, Teal'c had seen many farming worlds, where crops grew like these, yet he was also reasonably certain he had never been to this particular planet before. In the distance, there was a form of music wafting through the night air. Teal'c had no weapons at hand, but he looked down to find himself dressed in the hated armor of a dead false god. After a short distance through the rows of this alien crop, he came into a clearing, where he saw a house and an old black woman sitting in a chair and playing what he believed to be a guitar. The home had much of the same architecture that many Earth homes exhibited, yet he was still fairly certain that he was not on Earth. Whatever his subconscious mind was attempting to reveal to him, it was certainly doing so in a most unusual and unexpected fashion.

"Who are you? What is this place?"

"All are welcome here! I'm Mother Abigail. Welcome to Hemingford Home, Nebraska, Tilk. That's a strange name your parents gave you there. I wonder what it means?"

"Nebraska is a state on the Homeworld of the Tau'ri. Answer my question, old woman! Where am I?"

"You have the mark of the devil on you Tilk, yet I can see that you are a good man. Take care to come as quick as you can. Great work is ahead for all of God's children!"

Teal'c opened his eyes with a suddenness that would have surprised anyone looking at him. Though he looked around him, searching for the danger that wasn't there, he knew that something terrible was approaching. But he couldn't see what it was.

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Daniel Jackson was in a calm place, one he would be familiar with, if he were allowed to remember it. It was an open meadow filled with flowers that didn't trigger his allergies, and singing birds that lent a pleasant song to the atmosphere. He was dressed in his standard blue BDUs, and carrying a notebook and a pencil, but nothing else of what he usually carried when off-world. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was when he heard a soft voice behind him.

 "Husband of my mother. My eyes are filled with great joy at seeing you once again."

"Shifu! Where am I? What am I doing here?"

"The Others have allowed me to contact you in the one place where you felt the most calm when last you were here."

"I felt the most calm here? I don't remember it."

"The memories of your time here have been trapped by the Others. In due time, those memories will be set free."

"Why am I here?"

"There are difficult challenges ahead for the Chosen of the Ancients. The Time of Trials is at hand."

"Time of Trials?"

"Once in ten thousand years, comes the Time of Trials, when the future direction of the universe is decided."

"Who won the last time?"

"The Champion of Good lost, and the Goa'uld spread unchecked throughout the universe."

"Ok. That's bad."

"The Time of Trials is at hand."

"Who will be the Champion of Good?"

"Four Tau'ri have been chosen."

"Are they here? Who are they?"

"You must go to Her. She will tell you what you need to know. She is the oldest person left alive on Earth. She was Oma's first apprentice, once."

"What's her name? How will I know her?"

"The others will lead you to her. But you alone will already know her name."

Daniel's eyes opened wide in fear and it took him a moment to realize that he was in his quarters on the Apollo. He wondered, for an instant, whether the dream had been just that, a dream, until he heard Shifu's voice echo through his quarters. ‘The Time of Trials is at hand.'

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Infirmary,

Alpha Site Complex,

A few days later...

President O'Neill walked in to the infirmary, two of his Secret Service detail guards in tow. He spotted Doctor Lam easily and walked right into her office and sat down. The lines from lack of sleep clearly etched onto his face. In fact, as he had walked from his quarters to the infirmary, he had seen those same lines etched on countless faces.

"Sir. Let me guess. You want something to help you sleep?"

"That about covers it. Been a lot of that?"

"Seems like half the base has been in here this morning, all looking for sleep aids. What did you dream about? The old black woman or the man whose eyes glow?"

"The old lady. What's this about glowing eyes?"

"The personnel that have come in here today all have either dreamt of an old black woman, like I did, or a man whose eyes glow. A man, as described by Colonel Carter, that seemed to exhale evil with every breath."

"Oh. Damn glad I dreamt about the old black woman then. What do you think the dreams mean, Doctor?"

"I can't say for certain, sir, but the message seems to be the same. Either we're being asked to go to Nebraska or to Las Vegas. But frankly sir, if the Las Vegas destination has anything to do with glowing eyes, I'll pick Nebraska any day."

"On that we agree, Doctor. Please let me know if the dreams continue, even with the pills. I'm going to meet with the SG-1 to see what they think. How goes the new vaccine?"

"Progress is being made sir. We've identified how the virus was manipulated. Now we're working on the changes to the nanites to deliver a newer vaccine. We should be ready to begin immunizing the personnel off-world in a week or so."

"Very good, Doctor. Keep me informed."

----------------------------------------

Office of the President,

Alpha Site Complex...

The military governors, appointed by President Henry Hayes in the months before the flu began to spread, had arrived a little more than two hours ago via Stargate. They were waiting in a conference room for the new President to arrive. Jack O'Neill walked in a few minutes later with his Detail entourage taking up positions inside the room and at the entrance to the room.

There were two Generals in the room and one Colonel. All three had been appointed governors of very important planets. General Vidrine had claim over Erebus and the shipyards there. General Hammond commanded Tartarus, and the infantry armor production. Colonel Davis led the mining contingent on P3X-403, a world claimed by the Unas.

"Mr. President."

"General. General. Colonel. Ok, that's the first thing that needs to be changed. Paul, I'm promoting you to General. I know it's sudden, but I don't think we really have the luxury to go through a promotions board anymore. But, while it is within my authority to make you a General, I'd like some input from you two before I do so. What do you think, sirs?"

"Mr. President, it's us who should be calling you ‘sir', sir."

"General Hammond, more than anything else right now, I'd rather be back leading SG-1, than being made President. So, how about we cut the ‘Sir' crap, at least in here, and go with first names?"

"Works for me, Jack."

"Thanks, Steven. So, what do you think about promoting Paul?"

"President Hayes appointed him as military governor of the mining station on 403. As our two facilities are run by flag rank officers, I think it's only fair that Paul gets his own star."

"It's settled then. We'll find you some stars someplace, Paul. But for the moment, let's get on to the more pressing things. What's your status, Paul?"

"With the influx of personnel, my primary concern has been for the setup of shelters to house them. But, we did manage to do that in record time. The Unas on the planet have been very accommodating to our measures to mine more. We fully recognize that their burial ground is sacred to them, and we are in the process of putting in new shafts so as not to disturb their burial places. I'm anticipating being back at full production within a couple of weeks. We did manage to send out one full load of refined naquadah to Erebus and Tartarus before I left to come here. I'm afraid that until the mining operations can re-commence, that these two loads will be it."

"Ok. So, note to self for the moment. No more naquadah for at least two weeks, is that right, Paul?"

"We should be back in production within two weeks, so yes, that is correct."

"Ok. Steven, how about you go next?"

"Right. Well, after we cleaned up what was left of the prisoner's camp on Erebus, we had some temporary shelters brought in to house the now freed prisoners. Master Bra'tac was a great help to us there. The former prisoners are now working the machinery and showing our recently arrived recruits how to run the operations there. Some of the former prisoners were high ranking Jaffa for various System Lords. Master Bra'tac pulled them aside and they now perform the duties of Drill Instructors. And let me tell you, Jack, if anyone of us here had had DI's like these Jaffa, I doubt we would have completed Basic! They're harsh, but fair. And they are teaching the security troops how to fight to win."

"Sounds like you have things well in hand. How are your geeks taking to life on another planet?"

"I think most of them are under the idea that it's all just an episode of Star Trek, or something like that. After the initial shock wore off, they jumped right into the task of making new ships with the massive shipyards there. Erebus has a substantial stockpile of materials, so the two weeks without shipments from 403 won't hurt us in the short term. There were five Ha'tak-class vessels in various stages of construction at the shipyards when we took over. Those vessels will be recycled into a new class of destroyers. The plans that the former Area 51 designers have shown me call for a ship just a little larger than the current Daedalus-class, brimming with beam and missile weapon emplacements. We will be implementing the designs for the Tollan ion cannons on this class of ship, in a number of sizes. The current design has sixteen anti-fighter rail gun emplacements and four heavy rail gun cannons, two aft and two forward. The Tollan guns will be used for medium and short ranges only, as we just don't have the power to project a beam with any kind of punch at longer ranges.

"In many ways, the vessel looks exactly like the Daedalus class, only without the two launch bays. I had the designers put one small bay back in, and it will be located on the dorsal side, beneath the main superstructure. In a pinch, the vessel would be able to retrieve damaged fighters, but the small hangar will be designed to carry our standard cargo ships. Don't get me wrong, Jack, but the Goa'uld cargo ships have worked well up to this point, but I just don't like them. My guys have come up with a slimmer design that while it has the same features of the Tel'tac, it won't look like one, and will be easier to store aboard ship."

"How long before we have a prototype ready to fly?"

"We're just getting started. The shipyards do have the advantage of being in space, so it's a tad easier to move the really heavy stuff around, but it's still going to take at least a month before we can field any sort of prototype."

"Well, put as many crews on it as you can. When the Ori come, I want to give them a nice welcome, preferably with a few naquadah enhanced nuclear missiles."

"We'll get it done Jack."

"George? How're things on Tartarus?"

"Pretty good, actually. Tartarus was Anubis' infantry production site. While we're not going to start producing Kull warriors, at least not under my watch, we will begin sending out the Super Soldier suits. Those suits, so long as the power sources hold out, can make a soldier damn near impervious to any kind of fire, energy or projectile. The material is so resistant to projectiles that it makes Kevlar look like paper. But as with all things Goa'uld, a slow moving knife or a bolt from a crossbow can penetrate the shield.

"We're still exploring the fortress at Tartarus. Anubis was definitely an egotistical and paranoid critter. There are more levels and more security measures than you can shake a stick at. I have four teams on a full time mission to map out the lower levels, which extend about twenty-odd floors beneath the surface."

"Find anything useful yet?"

"Armories, barracks, hell, even a hydroponics growth area. The only major find so far has been a large storage room that looks like it was either a repair or assembly area for Goa'uld sarcophagi. We found a few dozen working units in there, along with others in various states of assembly or repair."

"Well, keep me updated. Tell me, are your infirmaries reporting anything strange?"

"Dreams."

"About an old black woman."

"Or about a man who's eyes glow."

"I'll take that as yes, then. Dr. Lam is unable to determine the root cause of these dreams. What do you dream of, Paul?"

"Mother Abigail. She's one hundred and six years old and still bakes her own bread."

"George?"

"She lives in Hemingford Home, Nebraska, and she wants us to go to her."

"Steven?"

"The Dark Man. I think he's crucifying anyone not on his side."

"Crucifying? Literally? As in nailed to a cross?"

"Nailed to a cross and left to die."

"What do you think? Could he be a Goa'uld?"

"Not many of them left now, Jack. I suppose we could have missed him. But if he's a Goa'uld, he sure doesn't dress like them. The man I saw in my dream wore a denim jacket, faded blue jeans, and boots. He could have been anyone on Earth."

----------------------------------------

"Mr. President, pardon the interruption, but Dr. Jackson is insistent upon seeing you immediately."

"Send him in."

----------------------------------------

"Jack!"

"Daniel? Something wrong?"

"We need to go back to Earth, Jack. It's important."

"Slow down there Danny-boy. What's so important?"

"I had a dream, Jack."

"Let me guess. Either an old black woman or a guy with glowing eyes?"

"Ah, no. Shifu came to me in my dream."

"Shifu? How is the little guy?"

"He looks good, Jack."

"What did he have to say, more Zen stuff?"

"No actually. He said that every ten thousand years, a contest of sorts is held. A battle between good and evil, with the winner determining the fate of the universe for the next ten thousand years. He said the last time, evil won, and the Goa'uld were the result."

"So where is the battle?"

"Not really a battle, I think, more like some sort of contest or game maybe. Hard to tell from what Shifu said. This time, the champion of good will be four Tau'ri. Shifu instructed me to return to Earth, that you would know who I need to find?"

"The old black woman."

"Who?"

"The rest of us have either dreamt of an old black woman or a guy with glowing eyes. The old woman's name is Mother Abigail."

"Ok. I need to find her, Jack. She knows who the four champions will be. Shifu called it ‘The Time of Trials.'"

"Ok. We'll wrap this meeting up for the moment. George, head back to Tartarus and see if you can get production started on those super suits. Steven, put as many crews as you need to get production going quickly. We'll take two ships to Earth, but one of them will tow the Agamemnon to Erebus for completion work. Go full bore on production. We'll need as many ships as possible to fight the Ori. Daniel, go get your gear ready."

"Thanks Jack."

----------------------------------------

USAF Apollo,

En-route to Earth...

Two ships had been assigned to this mission; Apollo and Odyssey. Freighters Littlefield and Langford accompanied them, and would remain in orbit over Earth, picking up various supplies from the surface. The ocean going vessels that Daedalus had already taken out to Atlantis had been very well received, and more had been requested. There was a hard limit, however, on the size of the vessels that could be transported. So, only the relatively smaller vessels would be taken. First on the list, were the Cyclone- and Pegasus-class of the US Navy, followed by the Nanuchka-class from Russia. This would at least give Atlantis several options in terms of anti-air defenses, along with platforms for various experiments. Four more freighters were due out of the shipyards at Erebus soon, and these would join their two sister ships on supply missions from Earth to Atlantis, and to the various off-world colonies that Earth now had.

Aboard Odyssey, O'Neill and Chekov were in the midst of another planning session. The other members of the former IOA committee were also present in the room. Russell Chapman, of the UK, for the moment, had thrown in with Russia and the US. The Frenchman, Jean LaPierre, was sitting on the fence, trying to determine which way to lean towards. The Chinese Representative had been called home on matters of State Security just before the pandemic struck her country. She'd been among the first confirmed deaths out of China, among the last news reports out of that country.

Odyssey had been in orbit over Earth for several days while she took in feeds from various satellites and her crew pieced together those dying moments of the Earth they knew and loved. When they saw the chaos saved to the satellites for later re-broadcast, when they heard the taped reports from reporters and radio journalists, when they saw with their own eyes, the great damages caused to the cities and the surrounding countryside by fires left to burn out on their own, they felt sad. Here were the greatest cities on the planet, and they had been reduced to smoldering fires and great amounts of the dead. The clean-up that awaited them was the most massive task that had ever befallen any people in the history of the planet. Statistically speaking, with only one percent of the population naturally immune, Earth now had a population of sixty million scattered into small enclaves around the planet. Small enclaves because the survivors had banded together at this, their greatest hour of need.

And at their greatest hour of need, the military had run away. The Presidents of Russia and the United States had run away. It was a shame they would bear until their respective deaths, far in the future. But it was a shame they had to live with. And something they could use to rouse the troops under their commands.

Apollo had picked up the mostly completed Agamemnon and was towing her to Erebus where she would be finished and kitted out for duty with the fleet. The two freighters had not shown up empty handed at Earth. Her regular crews had come from the two intercepted freighters that the Trust had nearly used to destroy Pearl Harbor. They were still the crews with the most experience, but younger apprentice crews from the Merchant Marine Academy now shadowed their every move, learning the trade for the eventual freighters that would join the small cargo fleet.

Littlefield and Langford had brought with them several hundred passengers, in hastily constructed crew berth areas, for deployment to Earth. Both freighters, along with Odyssey, landed at Fort Carson, near the grounds of the Academy. The freighters would take on supplies of vehicles and fuel which were desperately needed by General Davis and General Vidrine. Hammond wanted not so much the heavy trucks and Hummers, but the excavation equipment, and so his need was moved down one level in priority.

Fort Carson had been home to elements of the 4th Infantry Division. That meant trucks, HumVees, weapons, armor, helicopters and everything else a small but mobile unit would need in the war against the Ori. Ships would duke it out in space, but on the ground, it would be a job for combat infantry and aviation support of said infantry. O'Neill left Colonel Dave Dixon, of SG-13 and his more than capable team in charge of the project, that of equipping and arming the new infantry units that were being formed at the Alpha Site made up of members from the military academies. Though it wasn't anything Dr. Balinksy would be good at, that of categorizing modern military equipment, Dixon assigned SG units 9 and 10 to assist him with the task of recording the dead at Fort Carson. It was a gruesome task, but it needed to be done. And though it pained him to do so, the dead would be buried in a massive slit trench. There were just too many of them to bury them individually. But a roll would be kept of the dead. Someone someday, would want to know how many lives had been taken by the plague. While there would never be an accurate count, the counting of dead military would be as accurate as possible. They owed it to their brothers-in-arms to do as much.

O'Neill and his detail commandeered four HumVees, and four trucks. The trucks were driven by cadets, with one driver, one gunner, and two loaders at the rear of each truck. They stopped at the first warehouse type grocery store they saw outside of Fort Carson, and loaded up on an assortment of canned goods, boxed foods, water, sodas, juices, beer and wine. They didn't want to show up empty handed at Mother Abigail's. O'Neill didn't want to show up empty handed, so he brought the trucks, and the supplies they loaded, and one hastily formed squad of MPs, that he would leave behind to help keep law and order in Boulder.

----------------------------------------       

Boulder,

Later that day...

Life had settled into something of a routine, though everyone, or at least the major players, could sense that something was coming. Something big. But it was just a feeling, and not something they could pinpoint. Life for Stewart ‘Stu' Redman, was good. He had the love of a beautiful woman, and the knowledge that both of them had been immune to the plague that had killed almost all of mankind. Sure, there were a lot of things that were gone now that he missed. Baseball. Of course, that presupposed that one had electricity to run the radio or the television, and that even with electricity, there was something to listen to or watch beyond the still repeating emergency broadcast messages.

Maybe they could go to the local TV station, but beyond the vague impression of how a camera works, what good would it do? There was still the matter of no one outside of Boulder hearing the broadcast. And that was because no one really cared for the old ways anymore. Sure, there were some talking about getting the power back on, or burying the dead of Boulder, or reaching out to like-minded communities to establish trade, or anyone of a dozen different things, but Stu was content to curl up with a decent book, or cuddle up with Frannie and just say, to Hell with it all. But not today. Especially not today. Mother Abigail said they would have a lot of visitors today. That's why he, Glenn, Frannie, Nick, Ralph, Tom, and Larry and Lucy were all here this morning, helping Mother get a mass of food ready. But it was Tom who heard it first. That low rumble in the distance that sounded like thunder.

"Thunder Stu! Gonna be rain, Laws yes! My momma always said that thunder means rain. M-O-O-N, that spells thunder!"

"That's right Tommy. Thunder usually do mean rain. But this thunder is different. Sounds more like diesel engines to me. A whole lot of diesel engines, coming up the main road!"

The folks inside went to the door, though a few did help Mother get up and get outside onto the porch. But it was men like Stu Redman, Larry Underwood and Ralph Brentner, and even to some extent Nick Andros, who stood on the porch like hounds or bird-dogs, ready to pounce on the newcomers should Mother not like them. They were the alpha male wolves to Mother's alpha female clan leader, ready to protect her at a moment's notice. And of course, the preparations had not gone unnoticed to others whose eyes were always watching. People like Nadine Cross or Harold Lauder. As nice and saccharine sweet they might have appeared on the outside, inside they were full of hatred.

Hatred can do bad things to a person. It can make them jealous or envious. It can even make them kill. It had come to Harold in a dream of the Dark Man. But it was really all Harold's idea. Soon, he would have the perfect location, and soon, they would all die. The ones that had excluded him. The one who had taken his woman. Even the feeble-minded Tom, and for him, the reason was ‘just because he could'. And then he and Nadine would leave, heading for Vegas. Nadine to her man, and Harold to his rightful place near the head of the table of the Dark One. Nadine and Harold both noticed the goings-on at Mother's home. They stopped Teddy as he passed on the sidewalk and asked what all the hub-bub was about.

"Mother says a lot of new folks are coming in today. Important folks. She won't say why they're important, just that they are. She's got the whole of the Committee over there, cooking up a storm, wanting fresh bread and corn on the cob for everyone. But she won't say how many are coming...say, do you hear that?"

It sounded like thunder to Nadine. Harold said it sounded more like diesel engines. A whole pisspot full of big and heavy diesels.

"I guess they're almost here. You coming for the food?"

"Maybe later, Teddy."

Sure enough, just down the street, a convoy of vehicles turned the corner, spreading out into two even columns with military precision. Harold wondered if they were military, or just pretending to be. He would watch the proceedings with interest. He wondered if this event would force him to alter his plans any.

The convoy turned onto Mother's street and separated into two columns, with the ease born of practice. HumVees at the head, trucks in the middle, HumVees at the rear. HumVees carrying the President of the United States, the President of Russia, and the British Prime Minister. Russell Chapman had received a message for his eyes only aboard the Odyssey once they had achieved orbit. The message had been painstakingly clear. The British government was dead, and only he remained. As Minister for Planetary Security, the role of the government fell on his shoulders alone. And because he was a distant relation to the Queen, his title of Chapman, Duke of Eddings, also made him next in the line of succession of the Throne of England. The transmission had included all the proper paperwork. All he needed was an Anglican priest to crown him, and he would be King. It made him wonder whether the British people wanted their King or their Prime Minister.

The twin line of vehicles pulled to a stop with the trucks squarely in front of Mother Abigail's home. Security guards, dressed in what looked like slick one-piece suits and some kind of weird helmet, stepped out of the vehicles first, and took up a protective stance around the three most important men in the convoy. Well, the ones they thought were the most important. O'Neill, Chekov and Chapman knew better.

The suits had been approved for use just prior to the mission. Hammond's R&D staff at Tartarus had managed to get the Super Soldier armor production line back up to operational levels. The first twenty four suits had gone to members of the protection detail for the three leaders of the free world. The suits were the standard military digital camouflage, in this case they were a subdued urban pattern, with an interwoven force field layer, that became active when the power was turned on. Without the power, the suit acted like any other suit of clothes, but with the power, it became something much more. Because the field was a part of the weaving of the suit, the user could manipulate the field like an extension of their own body, using their hand to exert a crushing force in a handshake, using their body to lift something as large as an SUV and toss it a few hundred feet, and using their own legs to run ten miles without requiring rest. The helmets had been reformed to something appearing less demon like. It was a standard helmet like those used by any modern military, with a face plate that allowed the user to see out, but no one else to see in. The interior of the plate displayed all manner of information from ambient temperature and trace gas indicators, to one-fifty-X magnification, to a visual aim-point and targeting lead system for air and ground targets.

The detail fanned out from the vehicles, taking up protective spacing while the drivers and loaders of the trucks got down and dropped their tailgates in anticipation of unloading their goods. Finally, after some unseen or unheard signal, the head of the detail, Senior Agent Paul Hayes, allowed his principle to exit the vehicle.

Jack O'Neill stepped out of the confines of the HumVee and took a breath of fresh air. It smelled cleaner here in Boulder, for reasons he couldn't begin to imagine. Fort Carson had smelled like a tomb. He stepped up to the small fence, just like he'd dreamt of doing for the last several weeks. Then he walked up the short walkway to a porch, and an old black woman sitting in a rocking chair.

"Hello Jack."

"Mother Abigail. You're real. I've had a lot of dreams, but this is the first time I've ever met someone from my dreams!"

"Come on up here and let me get a good look at you. Yes. I can see it, Lord. That Henry Hayes made a good decision with you. He was right. He's a counting on you, jest like I am, and jest like the Lord is too. You're special Jack. You've seen and done things no man here in Boulder could ever imagine! Welcome to the Boulder Free Zone, Mr. President!"

President? Stu Redman turned and looked at this man. President? Of the United States? Damn. He must have missed a memo somewhere cause this didn't look like any man he had voted for. Or not voted for, as the case might be. Might have been a Cabinet member, but not one he could recall.

"President?"

"Jack O'Neill, at your service, Mr. uhm?"

"Stewart Redman, but most folks round here call me Stu."

"Nice to meet ya Stu. Henry Hayes, before he died, made me a Cabinet Secretary. Sixteen on the line of succession. Never figured I'd be in line for the Presidency, but here I am."

"Secretary of what?"

"Secretary of Homeworld Security. I'll explain later. There are some other folks who want to meet Mother Abigail."

"Sergei and Russell. You two are far from home, but you're welcome here. You have loads of work ahead of you, but the Lord God will show you the true course, if you just listen to him. Russell, a decision weighs heavily on your mind. I would think it would be plain as day for you. Your people need a symbol and a King is a good symbol. I don't know why I said that, but sometimes God speaks through me."

Daniel Jackson made his approach cautiously. Not that he was afraid of a little old black woman, but rather of the power in the aura she had. He hadn't felt anything quite like it since Oma.

"Hello Daniel. You know what your name means, son?"

"Yes. ‘God is my Judge'."

"That's exactly right, son. God is your Judge. And you've been exposed to His heavenly light twice? Some folks die and come back from the dead, telling of tunnels and lights and other nonsense, but you know different, Daniel. How many times have you resurrected?"

"Twice. And both times I was cast out by the others, because I dared to interfere with this lowly plane of existence."

"You weren't cast out by God, just by some of his Angels with too much time on their hands. Those Angels have a long way to go before they can commune with God as easily as I do. You've been hurt by the False Gods twice, had your women taken as slaves by them. But still you treat the son of your wife as if he were your own."

"He's all I have left of her; all I have that reminds me of her."

"You honor more than her memory, Daniel. You come see me after dinner, Daniel. We needs to have a long talk, you and I."

"I will."

----------------------------------------

"What's in all these here trucks, Jack?"

"Supplies for the people of Boulder, Mother. We didn't want to come in empty handed. Supplies, and a squad of Military Police to help keep law and order in these parts."

"That's right neighborly of you Jack. Why don't you get your folks to unload them trucks there, Jack. I want to speak to Sergei and the King."

"Yes ma'am."

O'Neill had to fight the need to salute Mother Abigail. He wasn't sure what it was about her that made him want to salute her like she was his CO. These were strange times indeed.

"Mr. Redman?"

"Just call me Stu."

"Stu. Well, here's a list of what we brought. What say I get my men to unload, you tell them where to put the stuff so the other residents can get what they need. Once that's done, we can crack open the giant refrigerator in the first truck."

"Giant fridge?"

"Running off a portable generator no less. Ice maker is full by now. And extra ice in the trays. Beer should be fairly well cold. And for those that don't care for beer, there's sodas and juices too."

"Beer? Cold beer? And ice? Oh damn. I can have my whiskey on the rocks again!"

"On the rocks? No. Straight up for me, when I do drink it. It's that Irish heritage I have to live up to."

"So you're the President now?"

"Looks that way. Mother Abigail mentioned a committee? Would that be the ‘government?"

"Or a close approximation to it."

"Good. Do me a favor, and get your committee together. As the only other recognized government around in the US, it falls to me to give y'all the briefing of a lifetime. Cold beers and ice for the whiskey will probably help out some, to ease the blow."

"I'll do that. How long were you planning on staying?"

"I sent one of the HumVees up to the local park. They're setting up our tents and campsite for the night. In the morning, we're headed back to the Springs."

"Alright then. Let's get this stuff unloaded, and you to meet with the committee. Mother's been cooking up a storm since early this morning. She knew a lot of folks were coming in. There's mounds of fresh bread, corn on the cob, and a ton of venison stew."

"Fresh bread?"

"Yep. She makes it daily."

----------------------------------------

"Alright! Listen up. Get these trucks unloaded, and the crates stacked wherever Mr. Redman tells you! Then unload Gift A here at Mother's, and Gift B wherever Mr. Redman tells you. Then you can get some chow. According to Mr. Redman here, that chow includes fresh baked bread, corn on the cob, and venison stew. What do you say? Shall we get things unloaded?"

"Sir! Yes Sir!"

It was that final shout that confirmed Harold's feelings. Definitely military. But did it change things or his timetable? He wished he had some way of asking Him, what to do.

----------------------------------------

Redman Residence,

That Evening...

After the arduous task of inventory, Stu had moved the whole kit and caboodle to the supermarket the residents were using, where they could pick up what they needed. The refrigerator had gone into Mother's house along with the small brick-like generator that O'Neill had promised would run for at least a year without refueling, considering just how little was plugged into it. The second gift, the largest ice chest he'd ever seen had been set up at the welcoming party first, providing ice cold drinks to all who had come to welcome the newcomers, and then moved to the Redman residence for the meeting that night. Frannie had been ecstatic over having ice cold juice and water available, especially now that the hot weather had really settled in and seeing as how swollen her belly was getting.

O'Neill had shown up at the appointed hour, and had asked his detail to secure the perimeter and then remain outside. They had balked at that, but O'Neill had been adamant about that little detail. They had finally acquiesced after Mr. Redman had allowed them a walk through of their home to search for the weapons that could possibly kill their principle. And Stu Redman agreed with them, saying O'Neill was President now and he needed to be protected. It scored the right points with the detail, and the right attitude with O'Neill, even if he did shake his head at the whole idea.

When everyone was seated with drinks in hand, O'Neill began his tale. He'd agonized over what to tell them, and finally decided on the truth. How much of it he would tell them depended on their reaction to the first part of his story.

"First off, for those of you I didn't meet earlier today, the name is Jack O'Neill. The second thing is need to say, is that I am sorry. So very sorry. You see, this whole plague thing was my fault. It happened on my watch, and I couldn't stop it. So many dead, and I don't know how to atone for that."

"Wait a minute here. What makes you think you're responsible for the plague? Did you create it?"

"No. But I am responsible for it."

"Why do you think you're responsible for it?"

"Well Mr. Underwood, it's like this. The plague that many called the Super Flu or Captain Tripps is what we called Flu Specimen 21X-389. The original version of the flu was contracted by two SGC exploration teams while off-world. They came down with it, and all but one man died from it. The flu spread quickly through the SGC, and we had to call in assistance from USAMRIID. And of course, we had a back-up plan. We couldn't let the virus out of the SGC. If it breached containment, well, Colorado would have been short one mountain. But we found a vaccine and a treatment for it! And then we stored the samples in case we ever ran across it again, so we could make more vaccine. Only we didn't discover that one of the members of the USAMRIID team had taken the two vials of live virus from our lab until after the Super Flu was rampaging across the US, and I was safely away from here."

"Off-world?"

"What's the SGC? You mentioned it a few times."

"SGC stands for StarGate Command. It's an Air Force command charged with exploration of other planets. The Air Force has been exploring other worlds for about ten years now."

"How?"

"Well, the detailed explanation will have to wait for one of the science geeks to tell you that. But in a nutshell, the Stargate is a device that creates a stable wormhole between two points, and allows for instantaneous travel between those two points. Now, we didn't create the Stargate. We found it, buried beneath the sands in Egypt right about 1928. It was brought to this planet by a much advanced race in order to enslave our primitive ancestors. They chose us because they could easily manipulate our bodies as they saw fit and spread our ancestors across the universe. But while we did make enemies on our first trip through the Gate, we also made allies on our first trip. One of those allies helped us come up with a delivery method for the vaccine for the original version of the flu. And once we had a sample of the second one, it was a simple matter of revising the vaccine to work with the newer strain. Everyone that left Earth as a part of Plan Genesis has had both vaccines."

"So, you're telling us, that while NASA has been sending up shuttles every now and then, the Air Force has been visiting other worlds?"

"That's it. That's exactly it."

"Oh wow."

"My sentiments exactly Larry. I find this all rather easy to believe, Mr. O'Neill. The United States covered up Roswell, after all."

"Actually, while there was a crash of an alien spacecraft at Roswell, it wasn't the Air Force that covered up anything. The space ship in question was a probe mission that took an unlucky hit from a small meteor and came down near Roswell. One of the aliens died, but the other two survived long enough to be rescued by their people, taking the remains of the ship, and the remains of their dead crewman with them. Those same aliens have since become one of the most trustworthy allies that Earth has, and they were the ones that helped us create the delivery method for the vaccine. They call themselves the Asgard."

"Like the Norse Gods of Old?"

"I would imagine, Mr. Bateman, that the tales of the old Norse Gods were based on interactions between the Asgard and primitive human tribes of that region."

"So Thor was real?"

"Is real. Thor is the Supreme Commander of the Asgard fleet, and one of my best friends. The little guy really likes me for some reason."

And while O'Neill was explaining the reasons why he felt responsible for bringing a plague down upon the House of Man, Mother Abigail walked off into the night and the wilderness.

----------------------------------------

----------------------------------------

Prufrock Nuclear Storage Facility,

Same Time...

It was all a sick joke to him, at least now it was. He been sent out here, with all the correct identification and authority to do what had to be done. But then the flu had come and everyone here had died but him. Which was to be expected. He'd been told to expect as much. And that was when he'd gotten to work, picking out a nuke, using the overhead crane system to load it onto a trailer, and then cracking open the casing to make his modifications. He'd had two pounds of the naquadah left over after the failed Pearl Harbor attack mission and he'd been ordered to spike the bombs with at least one-tenth of a pound each. That meant twenty bombs. Well, he might be able to stretch that to twenty three bombs but not any further. And then the TRUST's plan would come to fruition.

But it was all very clear to him now, especially at the hour of his death. He'd added the ‘salt', but had inadvertently exposed himself to the ‘meat', and now he was dying. An hour ago it had struck him as the right thing to do; to write ‘This is the way the world ends,' on the wall. He had wanted to write all five lines of the poem, but managed only one before his strength gave out. He hoped that if his superiors ever arrived to claim the modified bomb, that they'd find his body on the way there. He'd tried to walk out but only made it as far as the writing on the wall before he decided to just give it all up and die. Hopefully they'd see his journal, and the instructions therein for modifying the rest of the bombs. But they were probably already dead from the flu. One point six ounces of naquadah added to the sub kiloton nuke should make for one hell of a bang. He wished he'd be able to see it. Well, maybe from Hell. He was certain that's where he was headed. He wasn't a bad person. He wasn't a criminal. He was a patriot, and that alone would damn him.

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Las Vegas, Nevada,

Casino...

He walked into the hotel and casino with a pride born of years of service to his master. He did not wear the armor of a First Prime, but that was exactly what he was to his God, Lord Ba'al. That he had so few Jaffa warriors now, after this plague that had befallen the Tau'ri was of no consequence to him. His God would protect him as he would protect his God.

All these lights and so-called entertainments; the Tau'ri must have been easy to please. He walked in front of his God, staring others down with his fierce glare, and wishing he had his armor yet again. At the least, he carried a proper Staff weapon, and with it, he would kill anyone or anything that threatened his God. A man approached him and stopped in front of them.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

"You will tell your master that Lord Ba'al wishes an audience. We have much information to relay on these petty Tau'ri and their plans."

"Uhm yeah. Ok. You want to see the Boss, I'll call up to him."

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"Flagg here, what can I do you for, Lloyd?"

"Uhm yeah. Boss, there are a couple of guys here, in suits no less. The first one said to ask ‘My Master' that Lord Ball wants an audience."

"Ba'al? Really? Send them up, would you Lloyd?"

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Penthouse Suites...

The room was sparsely appointed. Certainly not what Ba'al had expected of someone whom he knew held the power of the Trials in his hand. He had come here to be the Chosen Champion, but he couldn't know what or whom to expect. He certainly didn't expect the cheerful and jovial looking man in front of him!

"Ba'al! Its been a long time! Centuries at least!"

"I do not know you."

"Ah, face change. You know how it goes, every once in a while, one has to change the face, just to keep things, interesting. But the last time I saw you, I think I was going by the name Ahriman."

"Then it is true. It has been millennia since last we spoke. The years have been kind to you."

"You're not so bad looking yourself, Ba'al old pal. What brings you here?"

"I know that the time of Trials is at hand. I wish to be your Champion for the Trials."

"Ok. But first I have a little test for you."

"Of course."

"There's a military air field near here. I have lots of planes, lots of bombs, but almost no pilots. Do you have any pilots?"

"I have pilots."

"Good! Get them out to the field, and get them briefed in on those planes out there. If they can fly them and drop their bombs and missiles accurately, you get the Role of Champion. Go on, let's see what you can do?"

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Earth Orbit,

USAF Odyssey,

Some days later,

Video Teleconference...

"How bad is it Jack, I mean really?"

"It's bad George. We've got scattered groups of survivors in small enclaves all over the world. In the US they've either congregated in Boulder with Mother Abigail or with the other guy in Vegas. The folks in Boulder have elected a committee to run things. Good strong folks, the lot of them. It seems they want a return of civilization without a lot of the trappings of the old world. Can't say I blame them either. The only fuel left is what's in the tanks around the world. After that, unless we want to get a refinery going, it'll be the end of the engine age."

"And the other countries, Jack?"

"Probably just as bad off as the US is, Paul. Steven, I need you to get your engineers working on alternatives to gasoline and diesel powered engines. We use naquadah as a fuel source, right? And I seem to recall those Hebridians had some anti-grav cars and such. Something along those lines. And we need to provide clean power to the folks left behind. I sure as Hell don't want to charge them for that service."

"Here, here."

"Look, I'm no economist. I can balance my checkbook, sure, but balance a budget? Especially one the size of what the US government's budget used to be? Hell no. Nor would I want to. We figured a one percent survival rate, right? Meaning something like sixty million left on the planet? Well, what we didn't figure on was the stupidity of man. There's no more hospitals, no more tetanus shot when you step on a nail, no one to set that broken leg, etc. Even being generous and calling it another ten percent lost to stupidity and accidents, there's enough people in left in the world where we don't have to use budgets or monetary systems ever again. We don't have to mine for metals and ores on Earth now that we can mine for those metals and ores in the Belt.

"We can provide cheap and efficient power through fusion or naquadah or zero point or whatever. As long as we can grow the food we need, the military for the moment can see to the distribution of it. But, and here's the kicker, we'd need to consolidate the survivors into as few areas as possible, just so we can make our jobs a little easier. I mean, if we have all the survivors in Europe gather together in the farming areas of Germany or France, it would be easier to pick up and distribute food to them, rather than having them scattered all over the continent, right?"

"I think we get your points, Jack. What do you need from us?"

"Cargo vehicles. Farm equipment. Personnel transports. Things that don't use gasoline or diesel as their fuel source. We need to dispatch teams to all those remote areas, convince the folks to move to places where we can protect them, defend them. Then we get them to elect representatives for a world government. And finally, we finish the fight against the Ori, the Goa'uld, the Wraith, and whoever else wants to fuck with us at our lowest hour."

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Boulder,

September 2...

With most of the military gone, Harold resumed his planning. He'd obtained a book at the local library that dealt with science fair projects, and he gotten his hands on several sticks of old and sweaty dynamite and proceed to build a bomb, wired into a remote that would activate when he spoke into the radio it was attached to. Then he waited for the right opportunity. A meeting of the Committee? It was perfect timing as far as he was concerned.

Harold and Nadine sat on the steps at Boulder Park, overlooking the neighborhood where he knew the house to be. It was only a matter of waiting now. Waiting for the right moment. He looked at his watch and realized that moment was upon him. It was one of those decisions of fate. Take the left road or the right road at the fork in the road? He could have chosen not to push the button. He could have just as easily as he had snuck in before, sneak in again and remove the bomb. But he wanted his revenge. Against Redman for taking Frannie from him, even after he'd promised not to. Revenge on Frannie for not loving him instead of Redman. Revenge on Larry for that damned stupid song and for hurting Nadine. At least she'd claimed he'd hurt her. Revenge on the others that were a part of the Free Zone Committee, just because. Because they trusted that feeble minded Tom Cullen more than they did him. Because they trusted a deaf mute more than they did him. And for a thousand billion other reasons that he could eventually name.

More than reason enough to push the button, to speak into the walkie-talkie and trigger the device. And he could just as easily not push it. Because he did love Frannie and didn't want to see her hurt. Because Nadine liked Larry and wanted him. Because he could see a future where the others liked him and respected his wisdom and intellect. It was all flashing through his head at the speed of thought. Push or don't push. Talk or don't talk. What to do, what to do. And then he decided.

At the Redman residence, Frannie heard Mother's voice in her head, warning her of the danger. She knew she had to get the others out and now! She screamed, she shouted, and she started for the door. The others had heard Mother's warnings as well and were pushing for the door, trying to get outside for a reason they couldn't begin to fathom. Nick Andros, deaf-mute, heard the warning in his head and instead of diving for the door to the outside, he dove for the closet, screaming as he tore it apart, looking for the thing he knew would be there. And recognizing it when he found it. He had a split second to formulate a final thought before it exploded, and his world turned a brilliant white.

The others reaching for the door realized as Nick screamed that they'd run out of time. They heard the sound of Harold's voice behind them even as they felt the first tell-tales of the expanding wave of heat and energy as it washed out from the closet. Their world turned a brilliant white and they knew it was over.

At the park, Harold saw the explosion rise in the distance, and knew that he'd made the wrong decision. He turned to Nadine.

"Nadine...we're damned."

She knew it too, but she wanted to head west, towards the man she'd saved herself for. Harold and she rode out of town that very moment, out and away. By the time the others realized who was to blame, he'd be too far away to track down and bring to justice, or whatever passed for justice in this new era.

From across town, where they'd been patrolling the eastern approaches to the city, the MPs that O'Neill had left behind had heard and seen the explosion, knowing more than likely where it had come from. The easiest way to decapitate the new leadership committee would have been this very night, and they were fully cognizant of that little fact. As they drove up to the nightmarish scene, where the fire blazed fully out of control, they realized that no one had made it out of the house alive. There were no bodies on the ground.

Two of the MPs moved to the back of the HumVee they'd been driving and extracted a heavy duty hose; one went forward towards the fire, the other towards the hydrant a few yards away. Among the first things they'd done, was to restore water pressure in the hydrant system by providing electrical power. The other MPs moved to establish a perimeter. As soon as the immediate area in front of the HumVee was cleared, there was a flash of brilliant white light, and the Committee members re-appeared.

Project Arc Light had been Samantha Carter's brainchild. She'd conceived of it more than three years before the plague had struck, but it had taken at least a year to create the program that would run the Arc Light satellite system, then another year to obtain the funding, and finally a third year to put them into orbit. When it was all said and done, the Arc Light satellites formed a constellation in geo-synchronous orbit over the Earth. Thirty six satellites made up the constellation. It had been designed to move large quantities of cargo securely from point A to Point B with no time required. But when O'Neill had met with the Committee, he'd given them each a pendant to wear. His words had been cryptic; ‘If you get in trouble, press the button in the middle.'

Only Larry had remembered the pendant that hung around his neck. While the others had been scrambling to get out of the house, he'd pressed the button. Then he'd seen a brilliant flare of light and had believed it to be the explosion reaching out for him. The next thing he knew, he was falling to the ground in front of the house. He looked up and saw that it was fully on fire. He looked around him and saw all of his friends had made it out. The only problem was he couldn't remember running out of the house.

Sergeant Zimmer had seen the flare of white light and recognized it for what it was; the signature of an Asgard transporter beam. Then he saw the people sprawled on the ground and realized it must have been the Arc Light system that had saved their lives. Hopefully, with all the confusion and the adrenaline, they'd write it off to a lot of good luck on their parts that got them out of the fire. He directed two of his men to check on the recent survivors, then got on the radio to alert Odyssey to the goings on here, and to request help in fighting the fire before it spread to other houses nearby.

O'Neill beamed down within minutes of Sgt. Zimmer's call, along with more MPs to assist those already on the ground. The HumVee held more than one hose, but with so much water pressure it took at least two men per hose. Sgt. Zimmer hadn't had that luxury until O'Neill had beamed down with his reinforcements. And that's when O'Neill learned that Mother Abigail had been missing for several days. She'd left a note behind, something about presuming to know the Mind of God, and that she had gone out into the wilderness to repent for her sins. O'Neill just shook his head and got to work, organizing what all needed to be organized. In the midst of the chaos and the fire, word came that Mother Abigail had been found, bruised, battered, and badly dehydrated. O'Neill wasted no time in calling Odyssey and getting a Doc beamed down. He was surprised, however to find that the Doc was Dr. Lam.

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September 3...

There had been no injuries or deaths the night before, and for that everyone was thankful. It had taken more than two hours to bring the fire under control, and in that time it had consumed houses on either side of it. It had made the Committee members realize that there was more to running a community than just electricity and appointing Stu Redman as the Town Sheriff. It had taken more than an hour for the Committee to realize that no one had told anyone that Harold had been responsible for the explosion, and by that time, Harold and Nadine were long gone.

A few of the MPs had been treated for smoke inhalation by a recently arrived doctor named George Richardson. He had decided that Dr. Lam could tend to Mother Abigail's needs much better than he could, particularly since Mother Abigail would feel better with a female doctor. Dr. Carolyn Lam had treated her patient for the bruises and scratches first, all the while re-hydrating her with intravenous fluids. But the old woman had lapsed into a coma for which there was no medical reason. Dr. Lam was at a loss for the coma, but she remained by Mother Abigail's bedside, tending to the cuts on the old woman, and making sure none of them became infected.

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September 6...

In the early morning hours of a day just three days later, Mother Abigail awoke from her coma. Dr. Lam examined her and declared her fit, but succumbing to the rigors of her advanced age. Mother Abigail wasted no time in making her demands heard. Within an hour or so, Stu Redman and Frannie Goldsmith, Larry and Lucy Underwood, Glenn Bateman, and Ralph Brentner crowded into her room, followed shortly by Jack O'Neill and Daniel Jackson.

"You men folk there; East Texas, Ralph, Glenn, and Larry. You must go this day, taking nothing but the clothes on your backs. I'm in the way of knowing that one of you will fall by the way, but not which of you will. You must head west, across the mountains to Him, to the Dark Son of Satan. God has decreed this; you are to be His Champions. You must go and make your Stand."

"Jack. God has a task for you and all who follow you. Make this world into a paradise for His Children. You've already been discussing the right ideas. Now you have to make them work."

"Daniel, it is time. Time to Stand. Are you ready?"

"What must I do?"

"When the time comes, you will know. One will fall by the way, and two will become Angels. Only you can save the final one.  Go on, all of you! Be true to yourselves. Be true. Stand."

Mother Abigail passed within seconds of her final message, and the town that had come together around her mourned her passing. But four of them had their marching orders. Well, technically six of them, but only four would make the journey. Larry, Glenn, Ralph, and Stu left that very afternoon, taking nothing with them. Glenn's dog followed them onto the road. As much as Glenn tried to make the dog go back, the dog wouldn't. Whether it was out of a sense of loyalty, or just an inane desire to help the two-legged critters, they'd never know. But they were grateful for the company.

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September 7...

Jack O'Neill took to his instructions like a duck to water. He knew what the long term goal was. It was just a matter of figuring out how to get there. The day after the four Champions left, O'Neill and company descended on Boulder like a swarm of locusts. The residents of Boulder watched as military engineering crews went up and down every street, and into every unoccupied home, turning off everything electrical, before a second crew went in to those homes. The second crew was charged with cleaning things out. Corpses and the contents of refrigerators and freezers, and not necessarily in that order. Organic materials went into what one of the crews called a compost heap. It was actually a very long bodied dump truck they'd found at the offices for the Colorado Highway Department. Other crews used human powered lawn mowers to mow lawns, while yet others collected those grass clippings and raked leaves and added those to the compost truck.

Things continued at their frenetic pace for about a week. Then as quickly as they had started, they stopped. The power came back on for good, along with the water and sewer services on the 14th of that month. His military crews had worked minor miracles in getting some of the systems operational once again. Finding the tank farm just outside of town had been a good thing. Finding those tanks empty had been even better. It meant they now how a place to store all the gasoline they were siphoning up from gas stations around the area.

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September 17,

Prufrock Nuclear Storage Facility #3...

Trashcan Man knew his days were numbered. He had offered his own life to the Dark Man and then he had failed him. Just five days earlier, he'd started to hear the voices again, taunting him about his pyro-maniacal tendencies. He showed them! He'd planted small bombs on the aircraft Flagg was having readied, on the fuel trucks, and on the bombs. The explosions as he left the field had lit up the sky behind him and he screamed out his apologies to any who could hear him. But this place he'd found, surely it would make up for his shortcomings. ‘Fire. The Big Fire. Bum de bum de bum!' The trailer had already been laden with it's deadly cargo, and little did he know the reasons why. Just like he couldn't have known that the plutonium core had been breached and that at that particular moment, he was being bombarded with lethal radiation.

It had taken Samantha Carter the better part of two weeks to figure out how to use the Asgard targeting sensors to look for the dead. Then she had programmed the Arc Light system to begin clearing the dead from their locations, saving the military crews at least one gruesome task. Still, there was the whole thing about burying the bodies. Crews dug massive slit trenches in the deserted spaces of the Mojave. Arc Light satellites beamed up the dead, and deposited them into more or less orderly stacks near those slit trenches. Then the tractors moved in and buried the dead. Using their newfound method for removing the dead had meant that towns could be cleaned up, at least of the dead, in relatively short order. And it meant that more towns could be made ready to receive new inhabitants in short order.

By the 20th of that month, they had started sending out contact teams in Jumpers. They had already mapped everything out from orbit, and the contact teams knew exactly where to go to find the survivors. New residents, survivors of the plague, began arriving in Boulder on the 21st.  They were coming in from all over the United States, and they were all eager for a new start, a new lease on life. They were arriving in Boulder, as their unknown Champions were being taken into custody by Flagg's appointed men.

Larry, Glenn, and Ralph had been taken into custody and then placed into separate cells in what once had been the county jail in Las Vegas. True to Mother Abigail's prediction, one had fallen by the way. It had been Stu Redman that had fallen, literally, as he tried to climb up a steep embankment to get to the other side of a washed out road. He lost his footing near the top, and slid down, feet first, breaking his leg along the way. After much crying and wringing of hands, he'd convinced the others that this was God's plan, that they should continue on without him. They had done so, reluctantly. Kojak the dog, had remained with Stu, not leaving his side.

Glenn Bateman had been pondering the roach in his cell when Flagg approached him. But he was disappointed in what he saw. The people in Boulder had made such a big deal out of him, painting his as a homicidal maniac, and here he was, dressed in denim and speaking quietly and calmly. It made Glenn laugh. And it made Flagg angry. He ordered his loyal servant, Lloyd Henreid to kill the old man. Lloyd's first shot missed, but his next five or six didn't. Even as he lay dying, Glenn forgave Lloyd for acting under the orders of the Devil himself. It was just what Shifu and the others had been waiting for.

Shifu appeared in the cell in his angelic form. Flagg laughed at him.

"Take him. I've no further need for him. But I will win the trial, mark my words! Evil will reign for another ten thousand years!"

"He has earned this choice. Come with me, Glenn Bateman of the Tau'ri. You have earned your place among the Ascendants."

"Are you an angel?"

"I am Shifu. An Ascendant. Come with me. Let go of your mortal coil, and see the universe as it truly is."

"With an offer like that...let's go!"

As Henreid watched the strange byplay of an angelic being and Flagg, the body that had been Glenn Bateman faded from view, leaving only clothing behind. It made him start to wonder about whether he had made the right choices in his life. But no, he was too far gone. He'd thrown his lot in with the Devil himself, and there was no way out. He'd sold his soul for a key to get out of jail, and there was no going back now.

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September 30...

Things were coming to a head. There was this electrical tension in the air and even those aboard the Odyssey felt it. The entire fleet was in orbit; Daedalus, Odyssey, Korolev, Apollo, and Agamemnon, along with the two newest additions to the fleet, the Pepperbox-class Missile Cruisers Cluster and Shotgun. O'Neill and Jackson were ensconced in the conference room watching Las Vegas and looking for signs of the pending contest. It was strange to everyone that none of the four Champions had come from the SGC. They had figured that since they were on the front lines of the war with the Ori, that one of them would have been chosen. But no. The ones who were chosen were typical Americans. One had been a professor of Sociology at a small New England university. Another was a farmer from Oklahoma. A third man was a professional singer and guitar player. And the fourth one was the only one with any sort of military experience, and that had been as a rifleman in the first Gulf War.

Jackson and O'Neill had followed their progress on their trek across the mountains and into the prairies leading to Las Vegas. They'd seen Harold commit suicide. They'd seen Nadine Cross jump off the top floor of the hotel that Randall Flagg called home. They'd seen Stu take a fall and break his leg. But not one time did they interfere. This was a script that needed to play out. Besides, if he had been in real trouble, Stu would have activated his pendant, right? It's not like he would forget all about it, especially when he needed it most.

As the sun set over Las Vegas on the evening of the 30th, Flagg brought out the entertainment for the night. Flags with some symbol on them waved in the night breeze. An armored van with the same symbol painted on the side approached a stage. Many men with guns got out escorting two men in shackles. They pushed the two onto the stage and cuffed them to steel I-beams, crucifixion style. A close up of the two men showed them to be Larry Underwood and Ralph Brentner. O'Neill and Jackson looked at one another and wondered what had happened to Bateman, the old professor. Both men wished to be able to hear the goings-on down below, but they couldn't. They could only witness visually the events. They watched, disbelieving, as Ba'al and a score of Jaffa came out onto the stage. They watched as Flagg came out shortly after, was handed a long scroll, and proceeded to read from it. Flagg paused periodically during the reading, during which Jaffa on either side of Underwood and Brentner applied pain sticks to the men. The crowd seemed to delight in the torture they were being presented. O'Neill and Jackson cringed; both men knew the sheer pain those sticks brought...like cattle prods on some major steroids.

Then something happened, and neither man knew what, but the crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea in front of Moses. A man, whom scans showed to be suffering from severe radiation poisoning, a man on a four-wheeled ATV came into the picture, towing a very large bomb.

"Crap. It's one of those old Mk II's. I thought all of those things had been disposed of decades ago."

"What's a Mark 2?"

"Very old nuclear bomb, Danny. From the early days of the Cold War. Nominal yield was just under a kiloton. Damages should be limited to Las Vegas, and then maybe only the city center."

"And what's the deal with Ba'al?"

"I have no idea. But I have a sudden urge for snake stew."

"Ick."

"Ick? You who use polysyllabic words when explaining things, did you just say ‘Ick'?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, snake stew? Uhm, ICK!"

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Las Vegas...

"That you Lloyd? I can't see to good. My eyes, they're all funny."

"What you got there Trashy?"

"The big one. The big fire. The A-Bomb! I brought it for you! My life for you!"

Before anyone could say anything else, a great blob of energy appeared over the crowd and manifested itself as a hand. The Hand of God. It moved over to the bomb, and reach out for it. Everyone, everywhere on the planet and on all of the ships in orbit, and all of the far-flung Earth colonies heard Mother Abigail at that particular instant.

"The Promise has been kept and God has willed this. Amen."

The Hand of God grabbed the bomb and a slight crackle of electrical energy could be heard. In the instant before the bomb detonated, Mother Abigail spoke again.

"Come on home boys. You done good."

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Odyssey...

"Bridge! Lock-on to those two men there! NOW!"

"Too much interference sirs! We can only get one lock-on!"

"Do it! Beam them up now!"

A white light engulfed the stage just as the bomb released its fury on the citizens on Las Vegas. No one saw what happened to Flagg, but the look on Ba'al's face was priceless as the realization of what was about to happen filtered into his snake brain. Below them, Las Vegas and her residents became as one with the wind, as their body temperatures reached one million degrees Fahrenheit in less than a second. In the conference room, a very shaken Larry Underwood appeared on the floor. O'Neill judged the blast. The blast wave was reaching a lot further than a sub kiloton nuke should have been.

"Bridge? Tell me that wasn't a naquadah enhanced nuke?"

"Sorry sir. Getting trace readings of naquadah in the cloud. Blast reads as just under a megaton in power. Las Vegas is gone, sir. Vaporized."

"Roger that. Get a medic to the conference room."

"Yes sir!"

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Washed out Road,

Utah...

Stu Redman hadn't know what to expect when Mother had told him he must bear witness, that he must be at the top in order to do so. But he'd made the climb, and just near the top a hand had reached down to help him up the last few feet. Tom Cullen. He'd claimed he'd been miles away when a voice had told him he was needed here. And so he had come. That had been that morning. Now they were seated before a fire, roasting a rabbit that Kojak the dog had brought for them. And looking in just the right direction to see the explosion and the mushroom cloud rising up in the distance.

"What's that Stu?"

"I think that was Las Vegas, Tommy. ‘I saw a pale horse, and a pale rider upon it. The name of the horse was Pestilence. The name of the rider was Death.'"

"What's that, Stu?"

"It's from the Bible, the Book of Revelations, Chapter 6, verse 8. It's the end of Las Vegas, Tommy. And the end of Randall Flagg... if God is good"

"Oh. No, I meant that on your necklace?"

"Necklace? God. I forgot all about that."

And he finally pressed the button at the center. And he, Tommy and Kojak the Dog disappeared in a brilliant white light and found themselves on the deck of a ship, with Larry, and Jack O'Neill and Daniel Jackson.

"What in the Hell?"

"Easy there, Mr. Redman. We were wondering if you were ever going to use the pendant, or if you were going to be all macho and not use it."

"To be honest, I'd plumb forgotten all about it. What did it do, anyways?"

"It activated an emergency transceiver that was received on the Bridge. The personnel there looked at your position, and beamed you three up."

"Beamed? You mean like that old Star Trek TV show?"

"Something like that. Only our system is way better, and faster. Now, let's get you to the infirmary, where we can take care of your leg."

"And my flu."

"Flu? Shit. Ok."

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October 10...

Ten days Stu Redman had lain in bed under a doctor's care. Ten days that Larry and Tom had waited by his bedside. Ten days that Odyssey had been in orbit over the Earth. Now he and the other two were in the conference room, ready to discuss the fate of the world.

"The fate of the world? Are you serious?"

"More than serious, Mr. Underwood. Earth has been decimated, twice. First the flu hit, and took ninety-nine percent of the population. And then chance happened, and maybe another twenty percent went by the wayside. Call it a culling by Mother Nature, by God, by the Devil, or by whomever you want to call responsible. The fact is mankind is now on the endangered species list, and I vow to change that. I'm going to need your help to do that."

"What do you want from us?"

"And that's the right question to ask, Stu. We've located survivors all over the Western Hemisphere; North and South America. We've begun contacting them, trying to organize them in centralized locations. We have contacts teams in Europe, Asia, and Africa doing the same thing, bringing the survivors to centralized points. We want to see trade start up again between nations. Sure, we can't expect to re-create everything, but let's start with the basics, like grains, fruits, meats, and milk. The military will help by providing the latest in transportation vehicles. Vehicles, incidentally, that don't pollute.

"The military will protect the planet. We need you to get society moving again. We'll provide clean energy. You tell us where you want it to go. It's my understanding, Stu, that the Committee wanted you to be the Sheriff? That's good. We'll give you an initial cadre of twenty-four Military Police to help you out. Two of them will be instructors, for police and law enforcement matters, and two more to train up a fire department."

"What about you, Mr. President?"

"I can't stay here. There's a war coming, and I intend to be at the front, leading my people into battle. But you can always contact me through the SGC. I'll make sure you get the contact info before I leave."

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That night...

Daniel was dreaming. He saw his wife as she was before she was captured by the Goa'uld. Then the dream changed and he saw Sarah, as she was before Osiris took her over. Both women were trying to tell him something, but he couldn't seem to understand their words. Then he found himself in an open meadow. And he remembered being here before.

"Husband of my mother."

"Shifu. We won, didn't we?"

"Yes. For the next ten thousand years, Good will reign over Evil. I have come to give you a gift.  Something you have been looking for. You must journey to Lantea, the home of the Ancients. You will find that the memory block is no longer effective, husband of my mother. Ex uno disce omnes."

"From one, all will learn?"

"That is correct. Ex fervidus aquas, abicierum armeria Sangraal."

"I see. I will know where, I suppose?"

"Verimas. Aveo amacuse."

"Goodbye Shifu."

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Daniel ran to Jack's quarters but didn't find him there. He looked in his office, and still, no Jack. As he passed the conference room, he found him, paperwork surrounding him, fast asleep.

"Jack."

"Huh? Whazzit?"

"Wake up Jack. I had another visit from Shifu."

"What did the little guy have to say?"

"Oh nothing important. Just the location of the Sangraal."

"Really. Where?"

"Atlantis."

"That's good, Daniel. I got word about an hour ago. Dakara has fallen to the Ori. They destroyed the planet completely."

"Damn. I need to go to Atlantis, Jack."

"Damn straight you do. And you're taking a lot of support with you. I think for this, we can use the ZPM we recovered from Anubis, don't'cha think?"

"Yeah. That's would probably be good."

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October 12,

SGC...

The ZPM had been plugged in. They were now ready to dial Atlantis. They even had a spare ZPM that a search and survey team had recovered from Anubis' fortress. Survey teams were still going over the miles and miles of warrens and tunnels that Anubis' fortress mountain held. With two ZPM units recovered at one location, they were hopeful they would find more. Daniel was surrounded by SG units Two and Three, and there were two companies of soldiers behind him, along with various supplies for the base.

"Chevron eight, locked. Wormhole established!"

"Atlantis Expedition, this is Sierra Golf Actual, how copy over?"

"Sierra Golf Actual. Alpha Echo reads loud and clear. Stand by for Dr. Weir."

"Standing by..."

"General Landry?"

"Dr. Weir. It is good to hear your voice again."

"Almost as good as it is to hear yours, sir. What about the plague?"

"It's over."

"How bad?"

"Earth has been decimated. The death toll is in the billions. Approximately fifty million survivors, world wide."

"Oh God."

"Open the door, Dr. Weir. We're sending a supply train through, along with additional personnel."

"Door's open, sir."

"Send us your reports. I'll check in again tomorrow, same time."

"Sending now."

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Ancient City of Atlantis,

Planet Lantea...

"Lower the force field!"

"Field lowered."

"Elizabeth?"

"John. It's the SGC. They're sending supplies and more personnel through the Gate."

"Did I hear correctly? The SGC initiated contact?"

"They did Rodney. Why?"

"They must have found another Zed-PM."

"Maybe. John, General Landry said they invoked Plan Genesis."

"Oh God. How many dead?"

"About fifty million."

"That's not too bad."

"No, John. Fifty million survivors."

"Christ!"

"Incoming travelers!"

The three leaders of Atlantis looked toward the event horizon and saw it ripple and part as SG-2 stepped through, followed by Dr. Daniel Jackson, Teal'c and SG-3. Then pallets of equipment started to float through the open Gate. Float? Yes. It looked like anti-gravity sleds for the pallets. Dozens of pallets came through, all stacked high with boxes and equipment. Then came soldiers. Two companies worth. Atlantis would no longer be an under-strength outpost. The last pallet through the Gate was unmarked, but Dr. Jackson directed SG3 to open it up. Inside the topmost box was a fully charged ZPM. He handed it over to Dr. Rodney McKay, who immediately took it to the power generation room and plugged it alongside the only other one they had.

In the control room, systems that had been dormant because of the lack of power became active, and weapons stations atop the highest of the towers spun up to full power, then switched back to inactive status, waiting for their chance to defend the city. Dr. McKay was amazed at the systems that were suddenly on-line. He'd often wondered why the Ancients hadn't put defensive weapons on the city, and now he knew. There just hadn't been enough power to activate them. The Wraith would be in for a surprise the next time they came to call on Lantea.

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Dr. Weir's Office,

Two hours later...

Colonel John Sheppard was still settling the new people into their quarters and seeing to the disbursement of supplies to their appropriate locations. That left Dr. McKay and Dr. Weir to meet with Dr. Jackson. Teal'c was going over the defensive capabilities of the city for his report to O'Neill.

"Daniel. How bad?"

"Very bad. Did you have the dreams, way out here?"

"We did. Did you meet Mother Abigail?"

"Oh yeah. A fine strong woman. She died not too long ago. She died after she chose God's Champions to do battle. Once in ten thousand years comes the Time of Trials, when the fate of the universe lies at stake. The last time, evil won, and the result was the rise of the Goa'uld. This time, Good won the battle. Two of the Champions died, two survived."

"God? Dr. Jackson?"

"I didn't think I believed before, but I certainly do now. There are things, even science can't begin to explain. The dreams are just the tip of the iceberg, Dr. McKay."

"Boys."

"Right. Well, down to the reason I'm here. After the battle, one of the Ascendants came to me. They told me the Sangraal was here."

"Where?"

"From boiling water, the sea will give up the ark of the Sangraal."

"Boiling water?"

"Yeah. Ever spot anything like that on the sensors?"

"No. But I guess it wouldn't hurt to look."

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Several hours later...

They'd never really completed any scans this detailed of the planet Atlantis was on, but they were running them now. And so far they'd only found one instance of boiling water. A natural hot spring on one of the small islands that dotted the ocean surface of the planet. Daniel Jackson was on a Jumper and en-route to the location almost as fast as they could put the mission together. The hot springs was buried in a dense jungle, and it took the SG members with Daniel the better part of three hours to clear a sizeable area around the spring.

It was standing there; an obelisk. Ex uno disce omnes, armeria Sangraal was written on the face of it. And there were two initials beneath it. It took only a few seconds for Daniel to puzzle them out, then he laughed, long and hard. ‘DJ'. He'd left the message for himself when he had been Ascended. As he touched the carved initials, the memories of his time as an Ascendant came rushing back into his head. He stumbled, then fainted, scaring the life out of the SG teams attending to him.

"Damn. O'Neill's gonna kill us!"

"Relax. Must be the heat or something. He just fainted is all."

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Thirty minutes later, Daniel came too.

"Oh geez. Anyone get the name of that Ha'tak? The one that hit me?"

"You ok, Dr. J?"

"Yeah, Ferretti. Just a headache from Hell."

"What the Hell happened, Doc?"

"I remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"Everything. The missing year, everything. All the knowledge of the Ancients, and of the Goa'uld, now resides in my head. And let me tell you, that makes for one Hell of a headache."

Daniel walked over to the Obelisk, and pressed the keys in the correct order, causing the ground to shake and heave. When it stopped, a chest had appeared on the surface of the water. Daniel reached for it, opened it, and took the items within. Then he turned to Ferretti.

"Mission's done. Let's go home."

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October 17...

Seven vessels, the entirety of the Earth fleet, were racing to Hebridan, to join up with fleets from the Asgard, the Hebridians, the Serrakin, and even the Lucian Alliance. They'd chosen a spot in space to wage their battle. Just minutes before the Ori came into range, Daniel called out to Oma and she came.

"You have come far, Daniel."

"We've had to. You wouldn't help us, not even to clean up your own messes. Well, we're about to clean a major mess for you. Tell the others they have exactly five minutes to become corporeal again. Then I will unleash the Sangraal. Tell them. Five minutes."

"I will."

The Ori fleet approached the line of ships. It was a motley collection of ships arrayed around the more powerful Asgard vessels. Clustered around the five Asgard ships of the O'Neill-class were the five Daedalus-class battlecruisers with the two Pepperbox ships behind them. Lucian Alliance Ha'taks held the left flank, and Hebridan and Serrakin ships on the right flank. Jackson waited the full five minutes while the Ori ships approached to within firing distance before releasing the power of the Sangraal. On the mortal plane, those on the bridge of the Agamemnon saw a few lights blink from red to orange to yellow, and finally to green.

But on the plane that had been the Ascendants playground a great wave of energy spilled out from the point in space occupied by the ship called Agamemnon. It spread out in an even sphere until the very universe itself was fully engulfed in its grip. Where ever it went, those on the Ascended plane of existence ceased to exist. They didn't die, they just ceased. Their energy became one with the wave of Sangraal energy, feeding it, and giving it strength to continue. When at last, the entirety of the universe had been saturated, the sphere collapsed in on itself, trapping the life force energy of thousands of Ascended beings within itself.

The Ascendants had become corporeal in the final seconds before Daniel Jackson had unleashed the Sangraal. Some had chosen to appear on the ships of the fleet, among either the Tau'ri or the Asgard, assisting them in their war. Some had appeared on uninhabited worlds, either alone or in small clusters; worlds that had once been Ancient Outposts. Though those Descendants wouldn't recall their knowledge for long, they recalled it long enough to reach their outposts and revive them. In time, the Tau'ri would visit them, bringing them into the fold of the fledgling Alliance they were forming.

But the Ori hadn't expected the wave of energy from the Sangraal. They had always believed the weapon a myth, told by the Alterrans as an empty threat and nothing more. As the wave of energy reached them, they realized their error, and faded from existence.

Deprived of their guiding Gods, the Ori ships almost seemed to fall out of formation for a few seconds. That was what the fleet had been waiting for. The ships with the longest range weapons fired first. Beams lanced out at the Ori ships and although not many beams struck their targets, the targeted ships were neatly bracketed by the dozen or so lances of energy. The Ori still did not fire back at the gathered vessels, and so the ships in question were able to get off a second round of fire. The second batch of fire came from the Allied ships, and this time it included the long range missiles launched in clusters from the two Pepperbox ships.

Chaos reigned on the Ori ships. Their leaders had fallen wherever they stood and the soldiers that manned the ships could not make them awake or give them instructions on the equipment, which they suddenly did not know how to use. The human soldier-followers of the Ori sat at their stations, not wanting to touch the panels of mysterious lights and buttons. Not because they didn't want to, but because they didn't know how to do so.

The second volley had gone unanswered, and now the Allied ships closed to minimum distance. They opened fire with every weapon in their arsenal, and every beam or missile hit its assigned target. The Ori ships exploded into nothingness. The fleet, reeling from their unexpected victory, raced to the location of the Ori Supergate, and destroyed it. It was surprisingly easy to destroy the gateway.

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November 6...

Larry and Stu, and Kojak were going home. They were in the lead HumVee of a long convoy of trucks, trailers, and HumVees led by snowplows. Winter had come early this year, and the first snowfall had closed the roads immediately. Both men were anxious to get home to the women they loved. They had both received a new lease on life, and neither one wanted to waste a single moment of that new life. The fleet might have been engaged in battle, but they had been engaged in trade and treaty negotiations. Communities had been formed around the globe, and no one in those communities wanted to return to the ways of the previous generation. Those ways had led to the deaths of untold billions. It was time for something new. The military would provide the technology, the people would provide the products. Once the people of Earth were self-sustaining again, then they would open trade to the universe.

Mother Abigail was dead, but so was Flagg. The world looked and smelled new. And they wanted to keep it that way. The new vehicles the military was providing would go a long way towards keeping that promise. The people of Boulder came out in droves to see what the convoy was all about. Stu Redman stepped out of the HumVee and saw Frannie waiting for him. The two rushed into the arms of each other and hugged and kissed in front of everyone. It was a joyous reunion for them, and no one wanted to interfere with it. Lucy wanted to ask about Larry, but she waited for the right moment to do so. Then she turned and saw him, and ran to him. They held each other, not wanting to let the other one go. Larry had been rescued by Odyssey, at the instant before the blast wave hit him. He'd already made his peace with God, and with the world, but here he was, in the arms of the woman he loved. Life, was good.

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January 1,

New Year's Day...

It was a day for celebration. A New Year had dawned crisp and clear, and yet it was also a time to mourn. So many had been lost to the plague. Tomorrow, the Stargate would be moved into a new building, above ground. But today, the SGC and their families celebrated in the Mountain. They celebrated life. They celebrated love. And the celebrated peace. For once, the only threats on the board were the very minor Goa'uld trying to establish their kingdoms, and a few stirrings from the Aschen. Today also marked the signing of a new treaty that would create a new alliance of races. There were representatives from the Asgard, the Nox, the Hebridan, the Serrakin, and the Lucian Alliance, alongside the Tau'ri for this occasion. The Lucian's had not wanted to enter into any sort of formal treaty, but the Tau'ri had convinced them that there was strength in numbers. The two groups might not always agree on everything, but when it came to the banding together against an enemy that threatened the universe, in that aspect, they agreed. And thus, for the first time that anyone could remember, peace came to the universe. At least for the moment.

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March...

A new Capitol was under construction in the middle of the country. It made a lot more strategic sense that having it on a coastline. And the terrain was prettier, not that this was an important factor for the President. Las Vegas and its destruction was being described as a modern day Sodom, though there were no pillars of salt yet in the story, it wouldn't be long before someone embellished their version of it.

The engineers were busy over at Fort Carson, converting the vehicles there to run on something other than diesel. The former students of the various military academies were now all being housed over at the Air Force Academy. They would finish out their education, and then be shipped off to any one of several forward commands to serve under Generals Vidrine, Hammond, or Davis. It was interesting to see grizzled combat veterans like Bra'tac and McNulty teaching classes together, going over strategies and tactics together. O'Neill would never have imagined those two becoming such good friends.

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June...

One year. It was a full year since an Army private by the name of Campion had deserted his post and unleashed on the world the super flu. As Jack O'Neill gazed out of the window of his office and onto the fields of wheat waving in the breeze below him, he found it hard to believe that so much could change in a year. In another two years, technically, his term of office would be over. But there were already rumblings from the new People's Congress at Boulder towards having him serve at least another four years.

And there was still a world government to form, though there was a decent foundation already in place. Each continent was allowed to send two representatives, and so far that was working out just fine. With Stewart Redman and Nick Andros as the reps for North America, O'Neill felt they would go far.

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June,

Year 6, Post-Plague (6AP)...

Jack O'Neill had gone far. From 2nd Lieutenant fresh out of the Academy at the tail end of the Vietnam War, to service during Desert Storm, to saving the world time and again while at the SGC, to command of the SGC, to Secretary of Homeworld Security, to President of the United States, to his current position, President of a united Earth. He'd love to meet some political pundit, a century from now, trashing his political career, just to tell him, ‘you weren't there, you wouldn't understand!'.

With the Lucian Alliance providing some supply line services to the Midway Station, it had become a focal point in the support of Atlantis, and the ongoing war against the Wraith. Two full battle groups had been dispatched to Atlantis, one to stay with the city, the other to hunt the Wraith.

Among the military personnel that had been rescued at the onset of the plague, Admiral Robert Jackson now held the illustrious position of Admiral of a task force. Centered around the Country-class Carrier America, he had two City-class Escort Carriers, eight Daedalus-class Battlecruisers, and ten Pepperbox-class Missile Frigates. The other task force, led by an Admiral Bart Mancuso, was centered around the Country-class Carrier Russia, with an equal number of escort vessels. It was a large amount of manpower, and it represented a full two-thirds of the available military power of Earth. But while that much power was away, Earth had its allies to fall back on. Hebridan had sent a minor task force to help the Tau'ri, and the Asgard had sent two O'Neill-class ships to join in the effort. No one would attack Earth, under their watchful eyes.

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June,

15 AP...

Fifteen years. Fifteen long years since the plague devastated Earth and her children. Fifteen years it's taken Earth to bounce back, taken that long for her children to start spreading themselves all over the planet. The old cities had fallen into ruin. They've been left as monuments to the old ways. Ways of life that no one wants anymore. Great huge areas of the planet have been designated as natural preserves; the Sahara, the Amazonian basin, Antarctica, Alaska. Still other areas have been designated historical sites and it is forbidden to live within them; New York City, Los Angeles, London, Moscow, Beijing. The people live in enclaves now, at peace with their surroundings. Half the farms in the world grow food for domestic use, the rest for export through the Gate.

The Asgard have passed on. Their entire race was doomed once they began cloning themselves. They couldn't evolve to the next level, so they committed suicide and killed themselves. But they left their legacy of science and knowledge to the Tau'ri. It's in good hands.

The Lucian Alliance, once a loose federation of ex-Goa'uld First Primes matured into an actual space fairing power, and are now considered amongst the strongest of members in the Confederation of Worlds.

A new generation is coming of age, in this post-plague world. A generation that knows of the old ways, only by word of mouth. A generation that won't know hunger, or fear, or crime, or war. A generation that will honor their elders, until their elders are gone. Then they will carve for themselves, their own places in history.

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