It had been a week since Hathor’s arrival, and despite Sobek’s best efforts, her informants had gradually uncovered all his carefully cultivated projects. He had hoped she would merely observe his domain for a day before leaving, but in true Goa'uld fashion, she saw no reason to rush. What was a week, or even several months, to beings who lived for millennia?

Now, pacing back and forth in his chamber, Sobek contemplated his next move. Hathor had taken her time, enjoying the luxuries afforded to her station, but Sobek was no fool. He knew that beneath the veneer of pleasure, she was assessing every scrap of information her informants provided. Every deviation from standard Goa'uld practices. Every innovation. Every potential threat.

He exhaled sharply, folding his hands behind his back. It was only a matter of time before she demanded answers. And, as if summoned by his thoughts, the chamber doors finally opened.

Hathor entered alone, dismissing his attendants with a mere wave of her hand. They bowed deeply before scurrying from the chamber, leaving Sobek standing before her, a blank expression masking the calculations running through his mind.

She circled him slowly, her gilded robes shimmering in the dim torchlight. Her expression was enigmatic, seductive, yet edged with unmistakable authority. “You’ve been busy,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken accusations.

Sobek inclined his head, not willing to appear cowed but knowing better than to display defiance. “Progress demands diligence, my Queen.”

Hathor’s lips curled slightly. “Your progress is… interesting.” Her eyes glowed faintly as she assessed him. “Your research into genetic modifications. Your weapon designs. I must admit, I am most intrigued.” She stopped in front of him, gazing into his eyes. “Tell me, Sobek. Why such secrecy?”

Sobek resisted the urge to sigh. He could not reveal the truth—could not tell her that he had been reborn into this universe with knowledge beyond her comprehension. Instead, he wove a partial truth, one that any Goa'uld could understand. “I seek a future where the Goa'uld look beyond petty squabbles and unite in strength, my Queen. We must rise above self-inflicted stagnation. Our path must be one of true domination—not merely over each other, but over the very limits imposed upon us.”

Hathor tilted her head, considering. “And the purpose of your genetic experiments?”

Sobek allowed a small smile. “To create hosts that are more receptive to symbiosis. More durable. More loyal. With proper refinement, there will be no more wasted larvae—no more incompatibilities. A stronger Goa'uld empire.”

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Hathor’s gaze flickered with interest. He had struck the right chord. The Goa'uld thrived on efficiency, and none understood that better than Hathor, the primary source of their larvae. “Fewer wasted symbiotes…” she murmured, tapping a single golden claw against her lip. “A tempting prospect.”

Before Sobek could respond, the chamber doors opened again. Two of Hathor’s guards strode in, dragging a kneeling figure between them. Sobek immediately recognized Haakja, his loyal scientist, his face bloodied from what had clearly been an interrogation.

Hathor extended her hand lazily, and one of the guards placed a small metallic object in her palm. Sobek felt his stomach tighten as he recognized the sleek, dark prototype of his new blaster pistol.

Turning away from him, Hathor aimed the weapon at a nearby stone pillar and pulled the trigger. A concentrated red bolt of energy shot forth, striking the pillar and leaving behind a small but focused scorch mark. She examined the result with mild curiosity before glancing back at Sobek. “Efficient, but far weaker than a Mok’ja staff weapon.”

Sobek straightened, choosing his words carefully. “It is not meant to replace the staff weapon, my Queen, but to supplement it. These will require far less energy and resources to produce, allowing for a greater number of armed warriors while reserving the Mok’ja staff for our elites. It will give me the means to execute the campaign you have tasked me with.”

Hathor turned, walking leisurely toward his throne before sitting upon it as if it had always belonged to her. She crossed one leg over the other and regarded him with an unreadable expression. “Your reasoning is sound,” she admitted. “However, I would have preferred to be informed of such developments. It fills me with unease to learn that you were keeping such advancements hidden from me.”

She stood suddenly, stepping down toward him. With deliberate slowness, she raised one golden-clawed hand and placed it beneath his chin, tilting his head slightly upward. Her eyes flared with a dangerous light. “If you do this again, my child,” she murmured, her voice like silk wrapped around steel, “I will not be so gentle. See this as a warning. I am your Queen, and you will be greatly rewarded if you remain loyal.”

Then, just as swiftly as she had exerted her dominance, she withdrew, turning on her heel and striding toward the exit. The guards followed without a word, dragging Haakja with them.

The doors closed behind her, leaving Sobek alone with his thoughts. He exhaled slowly, his mind already working through the implications of their conversation. His hand twitched at his side, a subconscious echo of the tension still coursing through him.

Despite his plans being uncovered, he found himself oddly relieved. There was no longer a need to hide everything—Hathor, for now, was content with his justifications. And, in time, he could mold her perception, guiding her to see his way as the inevitable future.

Her resources far surpassed his own. If he could manipulate her into supporting his vision rather than obstructing it…

A slow smile crept onto his lips.