Politics can be a B***
Posted on Fri Feb 6th, 2026 @ 2:08pm by Major General Richard Lockhart (Raynor) & Major (майо́р) Lyudmila "Mila" Sorokova & Colonel Myranda Adler & Major General Sir Alastair “Al” Muir (Retired) & Colonel (полко́вник) Irina Zaitseva
Mission:
Echoes of the Fallen
Location: Conference Room - Stargate Command
2769 words - 5.5 OF Standard Post Measure
|| ON ||
The conference room hummed with quiet, anticipatory energy, the kind that only came before the unveiling of something far bigger than any single division or directive. Frost traced the edges of the reinforced windows overlooking the icy plains beyond, where the Antarctic wind howled unseen, and the Stargate chamber below thrummed faintly with residual energy from the last activation.
Major General Richard Lockhart stood near the far end of the table, hands clasped behind his back, eyes distant on the main monitor as a technician calibrated the last of the displays. The Gate Room feed flickered briefly the ripple of the wormhole dying down to silence. SG-1 and SG-2 were through. The mission was in motion.
Colonel Adler, shifted in her seat. She had a small smile of satisfaction that the teams had gone through to their destination; now though there was going to be large even to wade through. Lockhart was the primary speaker him being head of this meeting.
And now came the harder part, the politics. With that, the blast walls started to close, in order for the meeting was closed off, uninterrupted in order for everyone was focused.
One by one, the room filled. Military brass, government liaisons, scientists, and corporate contractors... a collection of power that rarely did fit under one roof without someone starting a cold war. But the past decade and a half.
At the table’s left, General Bryce Ferguson, Director of Homeworld Command, was already seated; his posture straight, expression unreadable, every inch the architect of the Tau’ri’s unified defense strategy. Across from him sat the delegation from the United Earth Organization, civilian advisors murmuring in hushed tones about oversight, funding, and jurisdiction.
Further down, representatives from Icarus Base and the Icarus Mining Facility settled into their places. Colonel Serena Delaney’s sharp eyes scanning the monitors with tactical precision, while Marcus Reed, the mining supervisor, flipped through his datapad, muttering about energy yields and core instability. Their presence was a reminder that the lifeblood of Earth's new R&D operations didn’t just come from command decisions. It came from the naquadah veins deep beneath P4X-351. It may have taken a year, at first to even set up a stable presents on the planet, but
Lockhart’s gaze drifted across the assembled leaders. Different governments, different motives. all orbiting the same singular truth: the universe could be changing again, and not necessarily in humanity’s favor.
He exhaled slowly, the weight of the coming discussion heavy on his shoulders. “Alright,” he murmured under his breath, more to himself than anyone else, as the monitors came to life and the Stargate emblem shimmered onto the central display. “I believe we are ready to begin?” the general replied as he moved to sit next to General Ferguson.
The doors closed, and the lights dimmed for the presentation to begin.
The overhead screens flickered to life, not live telemetry, but data brought through the gate directly from P4X-351. Standing before them, Colonel Serena Delaney and Marcus Reed were still wearing the sand and dust of Icarus Base.
Seated at the head of the table was General Bryce Ferguson, Director of Homeworld Command, a man whose presence carried the weight of every off-world directive signed in the last decade. His hands were folded, posture motionless, but his gaze was cutting.
“Let’s begin,” Ferguson said, not looking at the others, but at Delaney. “Report.”
Delaney tapped her laptop, bringing up the first image: the mountain installation of Icarus Base under a red-gold sky, the facility illuminated in the early dusk of the alien world. The holo-display rotated slowly, casting faint copper light across the briefing room.
“Icarus Base remains fully operational,” she began, tone crisp but confident. “Planetary conditions continue to match Earth baseline. Atmospheric readings, seismic stability, and magnetic field behavior remain within safe limits. No anomalous spikes or environmental drift have been reported in the last sixty days.”
She swiped to the next image: landing pads, hangars, and F-302s lined in precision.
“F-302 squadrons have completed their fourth consecutive month of full training cycles. I’d like to request authorization to expand advanced combat scenarios and adjust pilot rotation. With Stargate Command now fully operational and with reliable supply transport through the gate we’re in a position to increase intensity without risking attrition.”
She paused, letting a new slide appear: two Goa’uld death gliders and a battered Al'kesh, partially restored, scaffolding encasing their weapon pylons.
“I know we still have several repaired Goa’uld craft; the two gliders and one Al’kesh frame we salvaged from the Incursion. With adequate safety oversight, we’d like to integrate them into our skirmish simulations. Not full combat loadouts, but mobility and evasion profiling. These would provide pilots with actual maneuvering profiles unmatched by any simulation we currently run.”
“Personnel-wise, we’re sitting at about ninety-six percent. Good shape. A couple of our newer pilots could use advanced certification back on Earth, but nothing critical. Engineering’s been doing that thing engineers do where they quietly fix twelve problems we didn’t know we had. No missing parts, no major delays. The gate shipments have honestly saved us there.”
The maintenance logs came next.
“The F-302 Hangar got its full overhaul. New hydraulics, fresh lights, the whole spa treatment. We also caught a power-load issue. But it is totally fine now, but it would've turned into a mess if we’d ignored it. The naquadah generators are humming along, though Maintenance Chief did request that I grab a regulator assembly from Earth before the old one decides to be dramatic.”
A new slide: a medical icon.
“Med side of things is clean. No serious injuries, just the usual stuff dehydration, people not sleeping because the sun can’t take a hint. We’re adjusting schedules, and it’s helping along with people getting used to not seeing the outside of the mountain. Morale’s surprisingly steady, but if we can rotate folks home for a day now and then? It really does recharge them. Makes the whole base run better.”
Finally, the Gate Room came up big, bright, and fully operational now.
“And since the gate’s up and running smoothly, we’re coordinating shipments through Stargate Command. The next crate of refined naquadah samples is prepped and ready to head out first thing early next week.”
“Colonel Serena Delaney,” Colonel Zaitseva began, her softly accented voice cool and measured. “I am Colonel Irina Zaitseva, Russian Aerospace Forces, and apparently an SGC Deputy Commander.” She smiled softly. It did not reach anywhere near her eyes.
“Your operational report is concise. However, I must raise several concerns. I will begin with that raw-materials timeline...” She tapped her fingertips lightly against the table. “You have stated the next shipment of refined naquadah is scheduled for departure early next week. This delay is… excessive.” Her tone did not rise, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
“Refined naquadah is a strategic asset—one with direct implications for global energy, weapons development, and defensive capabilities. Leaving such material on P4X-351 for days rather than hours invites unnecessary risk. As senior oversight, I must insist the extraction-to-transport cycle be shortened. If the bottleneck is personnel or equipment, then request reinforcement. If it is internal procedure, then revise it.” She folded her hands neatly. “I expect an updated logistics timetable within seventy-two hours.”
Delaney raised an eye brow, slightly confused but looked over at Lockhart before speaking. "With all do respect, Colonel. We have been at this for several years now. Dr. Reed has oversee the whole process for almost eight years now. He knows what he is doing.
The civilian that sat next to Colonel Delaney spoke up, in his rough but cool tone. "Yeah, we are not cutting down our timeline to meet that timeline. I am not risking my people for that. But I assure you, this process has been improved and maintained for my whole oversite. And as far as I understand it, both Icarus Base and Icarus Mining Facility falls under the jurisdiction of Homeworld Command, not Stargate Command. Sorry, comrade."
"We can discuss your position and jurisdiction later, Colonel Zaitseva," General Lockhart cut in as he waved his hand to move on.
Alastair had listened to the back-and-forth with his usual, slight stillness — the kind that made it hard to tell whether he was absorbing details or quietly judging the room. When a brief lull settled, he shifted forward just enough to draw attention without cutting across anyone.
“Colonel Delaney,” he said, tone steady, “before we move onto pilot rotations and timetables, I’d like to raise a different point.”
His eyes lifted to the slow-turning holo of the salvaged Goa’uld craft, its scaffolding lit in copper tones.
“These vessels you’ve restored — the gliders, the Al’kesh frame — do we have full confidence they’re behaving exactly as we believe they are?” He didn’t raise his voice, but the question carried. “Specifically: have your teams found anything in the control cores, the power cycling, or the guidance systems that suggests a residual hierarchy we’ve not yet stripped out?”
A few heads turned. Not alarm, but interest.
He continued, voice calm but precise.
“I’m aware your engineers have done exemplary work. This isn’t a question of their competence. It’s a question of intent designed into the original systems. Goa’uld vessels weren’t built for us, and they weren’t built to be captured. Many of them contain architecture we still don’t fully understand.”
A small pause — deliberate, not dramatic.
“So I’d like to hear, plainly: are we confident these ships won’t attempt to authenticate to an old command structure, run dormant routines, or respond to a signal we haven’t identified yet? Not likely — just possible.”
He rested his hands lightly on the table.
“It’s all well and good to fly them in simulations. But before we commit them to training or operational use, I need to know whether we’re absolutely certain they’re fully ours… or simply compliant under the conditions we’ve given them.”
General Bryce Ferguson didn’t rush his reply. He let the question settle, eyes moving once around the table before he spoke, calm and deliberate.
“These are not new recoveries,” he said. “They’re the same Goa’uld craft restored after the 2009 incursion. The same platforms we used in the early years to move personnel, equipment, and critical supplies when our own spaceflight capability was still catching up.”
He folded his hands lightly on the table.
“Every command hierarchy, authentication loop, and autonomous subroutine was stripped out years ago. Not partially. Not masked. Removed. We didn’t do that alone. The Asgard assisted directly in dismantling the original control architectures and helped us rebuild the systems from the ground up. What remains is hardware, not allegiance.”
Ferguson’s gaze shifted briefly to the holo of the Al’kesh.
“These vessels do not respond to external Goa’uld signals. They do not attempt to authenticate to dormant command chains. They’ve been stress-tested, signal-flooded, and deliberately exposed to known Goa’uld frequencies over the years. Nothing woke up.”
He leaned back slightly.
“The experience we gained from those restorations is what allowed us to refine naquadah safely, design our own power systems, and accelerate interstellar spacecraft development by decades. The F-302 program, and the later deep-space frames, none of that happens without what we learned tearing these ships apart.”
A pause. Then, plainly:
“So yes. We are confident. Not because we assume compliance, but because we’ve lived with these craft, flown them, broken them, and rebuilt them for over a decade. What Colonel Delaney is requesting isn’t a leap of faith. It’s continued use of assets we already understand.”
His eyes returned to Delaney, then the room.
“And if at any point that confidence changes, these vessels don’t fly. Simple as that.”
Colonel Zaitseva listened for several moments longer as the discussion continued without her — authority assumed, decisions framed as foregone conclusions.
Then she spoke. “I understand,” she said calmly. “It appears I have misjudged the nature of my role in this forum.” Her hands folded once, precisely. “The Russian Federation recognizes the gravity of this threat and remains committed to planetary cooperation.”
She rose from her seat. “However, it is evident that strategic authority does not extend beyond this table.” Her tone remained even, unoffended — which made it worse. “In that case, my presence here serves no operational purpose.”
She gathered her materials. “Please forward the completed memorandum. I will review it through the appropriate channels. Vladimir is quite concerned that not enough is being done quickly enough to protect our homeworld.”
A brief pause, her gaze steady, impersonal. “Apologies. I have other obligations to attend to.” She inclined her head — formal, final.
“…Comrades.” The door sealed behind her as she exited. They had just watched a partner walk out.
"Someone's butt hurts," Dr. Reed spoke up, and looked at General Ferguson. "As I'm one of the few civilians at the table, I feel like I can speak freely without to much lashing. Why didn't we just buy out their damn gate and invite them or leave them in the dust?"
"Politics," the General replied simply. "And civilian or military, I can still replace you." The four star general looked over at Lockhart. "Do you mind dealing with her? Your base, and it was your idea."
Richard nodded as he tapped his com ear piece. "Security, this is General Lockhart. Please locate and escort Colonel Zaitseva back to my office. I will meet her there."
With that, there was some chatter in his ear as he stood up and nodded around the room. "If you will excuse me."
Myranda had watched the back and forth and took sharp notice of Colonel Zaitseva departure. There was certainly high emotions and the desire to be involvement in all levels of the program.
Alastair didn’t speak immediately.
He let the door seal, let Reed’s comment hang in the air, let Ferguson issue the warning and Lockhart move. Only then did he lean forward slightly, forearms resting on the table, posture relaxed but attentive.
“That,” he said calmly, “will not be the last time that happens.”
No judgement. No irritation. Just a statement of fact.
He glanced briefly towards the door Zaitseva had used, then back to the table.
“She didn’t walk out because she was offended. She walked out because she’d reached the end of her mandate in this room. That’s different.”
A small pause.
“The Russians are frightened. So are the Chinese. So is half of Europe, whether they’re admitting it or not. We’ve had a decade of being the people with the answers — now we’re the people with the advantage, and that sits badly with anyone who remembers a different balance.”
His gaze settled on Ferguson, respectful, steady.
“You handled that correctly. You answered the question that was asked, and you didn’t let it turn into a negotiation by attrition.”
Then, just as evenly, he looked around the rest of the table.
“What happens next is quieter. Memoranda. Requests for reassurances that already exist. Invitations to ‘clarify’ decisions that have been made. None of it will be overtly hostile, and all of it will be designed to slow us down.”
He leaned back slightly.
“That’s not sabotage. It’s politics.”
Alastair picked up his pen again, rolling it once between his fingers.
“I’ll deal with the UEO side. I’ll make sure the brief that goes upstairs is factual, complete, and boring enough that no one can claim we’re hiding anything. But we shouldn’t mistake her exit for withdrawal. Moscow will stay in the room, even if their chair is empty for a bit.”
A glance towards Reed — level, not indulgent.
“And for the record, buying out gates or leaving people behind is how you turn a defensive programmed into a fault line. We don’t need another one of those.”
He exhaled quietly, then nodded once.
“Right. Lockhart’s handling the immediate fallout. Until he’s back, let’s carry on as planned.”
A beat.
“Next item.”
Richard Lockhart, Maj. General
Commander, SGC
(SPNC)
&
Colonel Irina Zaitseva
The face (and personality) of Russian leadership
(PNPC)
&
Major General (Ret) Sir Alastair 'Al' Muir
UEO Chief Liaison & UK Representative
&
Myranda Adler, Colonel
Deputy SGC Commander
