Six months since Apophis kicked in the SGC’s front door, and Colonel Jack O’Neill still felt the echoes of that mess every time he stepped through the gate. The Stargate’s hum was a constant now, a heartbeat driving SGC and a growing roster of teams across the galaxy to poke the Goa’uld where it hurt. They’d spent the time hitting supply lines—blowing up naquadah caches, torching Jaffa outposts—while stitching together alliances with whoever wasn’t waving a staff weapon in their faces. Abydos had become their ace, its people stepping up after Ra’s fall, eager to trade whatever they could for rifles. Daniel’s reunion with Sha’re—now his fiancée, Jack noted to himself with a grin—had sealed the alliance, turning the desert planet into a training hub for recruits who’d never heard of a drill sergeant but could shoot straight. General Hammond wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about the idea, but ultimately their wasn’t many other options.

Jack leaned against the briefing room table, arms crossed, watching Carter fiddle with a gizmo that looked like a cross between a toaster and a tricorder. Daniel paced near the gate window, muttering about dialects, while Teal’c stood like a statue, his staff weapon gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Six months of this—running, fighting, talking—and they’d clawed back some ground. The Goa’uld kept sending probes through the gate, testing the SGC’s defenses, but the gaps between missions had stretched, giving them breathing room to plan.

“Carter, you gonna tell me what that thing does, or do I just nod and pretend?” Jack asked, his tone dry as he jerked his chin at her device.

She glanced up, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s a naquadah detector, sir—prototype. Picks up trace signatures within a half-mile radius. Could help us spot Goa’uld tech before they spot us.”

“Handy,” Jack said, straightening. “Daniel, you got anything on today’s field trip?”

Daniel stopped pacing, pushing his glasses up with a distracted air. “P3X-422—human population, pre-industrial, under a Goa’uld called Meret. Minor player, from what Teal’c says. No major System Lord’s gonna cry if he goes missing.”

Teal’c inclined his head, his deep voice steady. “Meret is a petty tyrant, O’Neill. He rules through fear, not alliance. His absence will draw little notice.”

Jack clapped his hands, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Perfect. A snake we can bag without starting a galactic war. Let’s gear up—Carter, bring your toy. Daniel, try not to adopt the locals.”

Daniel shot him a mock glare, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll stick to liberating them, Jack.”

An hour later, the wormhole flared, and SG-1 stepped onto P3X-422. The air hit Jack like a damp towel—humid, heavy with the scent of moss and rotting leaves. The gate stood in a clearing ringed by dense forest, trees with gnarled trunks and broad, waxy leaves dripping with moisture. Mud sucked at his boots as he scanned the perimeter, P90 at the ready. A faint path wound north, trampled by feet, not wheels—human feet, if the size was any clue.

“Carter, you picking up anything?” Jack asked, keeping his voice low.

She swept her detector in a slow arc, the device beeping softly. “Faint naquadah traces, sir—northwest, about a quarter-mile. Could be a ship or a weapon stash.”

“Lead on,” Jack said, waving the team forward. They moved single-file, Teal’c taking point with his staff weapon primed, Daniel scribbling notes on a pad like they were on a nature hike. The forest thickened, branches clawing at their fatigues, until the trees parted to reveal a village—mud-brick huts with thatched roofs, smoke curling from clay chimneys, people in rough tunics darting between them. A stone pyramid loomed beyond, its peak crowned with a golden spire that screamed Goa’uld vanity.

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Jack crouched behind a fallen log, signaling the team to halt. “Looks cozy. Teal’c, what’s the play?”

“Meret will reside within the pyramid,” Teal’c said, his eyes narrowing as he studied the structure. “His Jaffa guard the village—likely a dozen, poorly trained. He is not known for competence.”

“Music to my ears,” Jack muttered, peering through binoculars. Sure enough, Jaffa in patchy armor patrolled the dirt paths, their serpent helms dented, staff weapons slung lazily. “Carter, Daniel—flank left, scout the perimeter. Teal’c, you’re with me. We’re crashing the snake’s party.”

Carter nodded, slipping off with Daniel, her detector glowing faintly. Jack and Teal’c crept closer, using the huts for cover, the villagers’ wary glances tracking them. A Jaffa stepped into their path, his helm tilting as he raised his weapon—too slow. Teal’c’s staff blast caught him square in the chest, dropping him with a muffled thud. Jack darted forward, dragging the body behind a hut as shouts erupted from the pyramid.

“Guess we’re on,” Jack said, grinning despite the chaos. They charged the pyramid’s base, Teal’c laying down suppressive fire—red bolts searing the air—while Jack picked off a Jaffa on the steps with a burst from his P90. Carter and Daniel rejoined them, her zat drawn, his eyes wide but focused.

“Naquadah’s strongest inside,” Carter panted, ducking a stray blast. “He’s got something big—maybe a ship.”

“Let’s not RSVP,” Jack quipped, leading the charge up the steps. The pyramid’s interior was a dank maze of stone corridors, torches flickering in sconces, the air thick with incense and mildew. They hit the throne room fast—Meret, a wiry Goa’uld in gaudy gold robes, lounged on a cushioned dais, his eyes flaring as SG-1 burst in. Four Jaffa flanked him, but they faltered as Teal’c’s staff swept the room, dropping two in a heartbeat.

“Meret, right?” Jack called, leveling his P90. “Bad day to be you.”

Meret snarled, his voice echoing with that Goa’uld double-tone. “Insolent Tau’ri! You dare—”

Carter’s zat cut him off, blue energy crackling as he crumpled, his host slumping unconscious. The remaining Jaffa froze, then threw down their weapons when Teal’c loomed over them, his glare colder than the stone walls.

“Nice shot, Carter,” Jack said, slinging his rifle. “Teal’c, tie up our guest. Daniel, tell the locals it’s happy hour—snake’s off the menu.”

Daniel bolted outside, his voice soon rising in the village, a mix of English and whatever dialect he’d pieced together. Carter secured Meret with zip ties, her zat still humming, while Teal’c hauled the Goa’uld over his shoulder like a sack of grain. By the time they dialed back to Earth, the villagers were cheering, their fists raised in a ragged salute.

Back at the SGC, Meret woke in a holding cell, his gold robes swapped for a gray jumpsuit, his wrists cuffed to a steel table. Jack leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as Carter and Daniel stood by, Teal’c looming near the door like a bouncer. The room was stark—concrete walls, a one-way mirror, the hum of a hidden camera—and Meret’s glowing eyes darted between them, his bravado fraying.

“Alright, snake-face,” Jack said, his tone deceptively casual. “You’re small-time—nobody’s gonna miss you. Start talking: what’s the galaxy look like out there?”

Meret sneered, but his voice trembled. “You Tau’ri are fools—worms beneath our heels. The Goa’uld reign eternal.”

“Eternal’s looking shaky,” Carter cut in, her blue eyes sharp. “Ra’s dead, Apophis took a hit. Who’s running the show?”

Meret’s lip curled, but he leaned back, the cuffs clinking. “Chaos reigns since Ra fell. System Lords scramble—Apophis claws for power, but Heru’ur bites at his flanks. Minor lords like me carve scraps from the edges—worlds Ra abandoned, mines he bled dry.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, glancing at Teal’c. “That tracks with your intel?”

Teal’c nodded, his voice a low rumble. “Indeed. Apophis’s failure at your gate weakened him. The System Lords feud, their unity fractured.”

“Keep going,” he said, his voice flat. “What’s Apophis up to?”

Meret’s eyes narrowed, his defiance flickering. “He hunts—worlds, slaves, vengeance. Your gate vexes him, Tau’ri. He took captives from a desert planet—Abydos, yes?—to break you.”

Daniel stiffened, his fists clenching, but Jack shot him a look—steady, kid. He thought giving him the look he knew Daniel would understand. “Yeah, we noticed,” Jack said, his tone icy. “What else?”

“Little else,” Meret spat. “Ra maybe dead, but the Goa’uld will endure.”

Jack smirked, pushing off the wall. “Endure, huh? Not you, pal. Enjoy the cell.” He waved to Teal’c, who hauled Meret up as guards stepped in. SG-1 filed out, the door clanging shut behind them.

“Or a trap,” Jack countered, glancing at Daniel. “Abydos—Sha’re, Skaara. He’s right about that punch.”

Daniel’s jaw tightened, his voice low. “We’ve got a prisoner now— intel we can use. I’m not stopping ‘til we get them back, Jack.”

Jack sighed this was the best lead they had gotten in a while. They needed to ramp up their efforts.