11. Well learned lessons

You keeping in step, in the line

Got your chin held high

And you feel just fine

'cause you do what you're told

But inside your heart it is black

and it's hollow and it's cold

(Nine Inch Nails, The hand that feeds)

Today is bright and sunny. Luckily there is still time before it becomes a matter of annoyance rather then joy: summers here tend to be particularly hot and extreme humidity does not improve the situation in a slightest.

Yes, even Gods can suffer the heat.

Granted, his Pyramid* offers incomparably more protection than any local Tau'ri-built structure and yet… There are days, he really misses Kinnahi with her temperate climate.

Those were good times, too. Invested with the power directly from Ra, he ruled there for centuries – a whole planet mind you, not just some pathetic dominion at the First - after the local king's, who was stupid enough to fall into disgrace with the Goa'uld, untimely departure, so to speak. He had assumed a name Re'ammin the Thunderer to fit into the local Pantheon and was doing rather well quite for some time. It wasn't his fault, really, that the planet happened to be of the Departed Ones' legacy so her people were significantly hard to convince how grateful they should be for the Gods condescended to live amongst them.

In fact, he is fairly sure said people - impudent creatures as they were – hardly bought that elaborately created staging at all. The power Goa'uld wielded they understood well, however, which should came as no surprise considering they had seen what it did to their floating city Tsapan. Unfortunately, Kinnahi took that impressive demonstration for what it really was – a manifestation of advanced technology and no divine magic.

He warned the Sun God once – well, to what extent he could without unleashing Ra's wraith upon himself for even hinting Goa'uld not quite actually being Gods - that they cannot uphold the same act everywhere, that the Galaxy still remembers those, who by all accounts could call themselves just that but never did. That there are worlds with civilizations advanced enough so they won't swallow the ruse and it would require a somewhat different approach to subdue them.

Kinnahi was one of those worlds. She was not easy to rule over to begin with, and unfortunately it didn't take all that long - for really, what is centuries to his kind that lives millennia – before people there put themselves together and started rioting. That he would have had dealt with undoubtedly, but they also found - and he didn't until it was too late - something left from the ancient times and… well, let's just say Re'ammin the Thunderer left the planet in haste.

It is a small consolation, if any at all, that in their desire to get rid of the Goa'uld the Kinnahi released what they did not understand and could not control. There is no intelligent life on the planet now and there likely will be none for millennia, until the nature repaired the damage done.

Yet, the times before that he remembers with somewhat of nostalgia. No one was telling him what to do save for the original Ra's order to go there and bend the wicked to his will. No one was watching him constantly fishing for mistakes that might be presented to the Supreme System Lord and could - probably would, too - lead to his fall into disgrace. He was able to try and actually did experiment a little with the management style over his charges, putting more thought into the doing itself rather that relying mostly on the propaganda and fear.

He misses all that, true, but what he lacks the most here, on the East shore of Mediterranean Sea, is the feeling of freedom Kinnahi, the world he was send to enslave, gave him.

Oh, the irony of it.

He, however, does not miss at all what happened after he was forced to flee the planet, ran into Mot and received quite a respond from Ra to his freethinking in tote as much as a punishment for loosing the rebelled world.

If it was not for Anat…

He hears approaching clatter of wooden soles and despite all the time they've spent together he feels compelled to turn around and let his eyes marvel at the sight of her.

She enters the chamber, his Queen, as tall and proud as ever.

Today his mate wears a simply cut ankle-long red satin with loose-fitting three quarter long sleeves. The robe decorated with the elaborated golden embroidery at the hem and round-cut low neck. Her open aureate sandals – a tangle of straps, really - reveal red on her toenails matching the dress perfectly. She wears a lot of jewelry as she often does. Golden rings in her ears draw attention to the column of her neck. Her elegant hands look even more delicate decorated with fine golden rings, her long nails left unpainted save for a tiny golden ornate of their primal form with a red dot for an eye on each one.

He smirks admiring the jest.

Her long auburn hair has been done into a pair of thin braids starting from her temples and ending lying on her ample chest, each one interwoven with small rubies stung together on a thin goldish silken lace; the remaining thick mass tied up at the back of her neck. A necklace with his insignia hangs in her décolleté – gold of the metal glimpsing on the sun-kissed skin.

Everything is stunning about her, from the face with almond-shaped chestnut-green eyes with long black lashes, high cheek bones and abundant mouth, to her very feminine well-developed curvy figure with a short waist, tempting hipline and long, very appealing legs. Her cosmetics are moderate and irreproachable, her closing and jewelry are luxurious but of an excellent taste, unlike those many of their kind. She truly is a personification of the deity, an eternal beauty to be worshiped reverently by bewitched mortals, an inaccessible ideal.

So very few living know that this ravishing creature in fact is a warrior second to none, and the dead… well, they are not too chatty ones, aren't they? It is no common knowledge as well that not only she is a mate to her Lord – as it is custom to the Goa'uld - but a joint ruler enjoying full rights as well, yet smart enough to leave most of the splendour to him.

Well, not all of it.

"Ah, finely the day starts looking up, now that you're here, my sweet," he says as she approaches and pulls her closer enjoying the sense of the body pressing into him. He brushes his lips against hers before murmuring softly, "Good."

She utters a thoughtful hmm. "I awoke completely alone this morning, forgotten and forsaken, with my Lord nowhere in sight. Where is good in that?"

He laughs. "Would you rather fly Gize in the middle of the night to meet our by all means lustrous liege?"

Neither of them ever calls Ra 'father' and why would they? There is just one and only admitted heir to the Sun God.

When she makes a face at the suggestion, he nods his content. "I thought so."

"What did he want from you?" she searches his face for an answer.

"It is not only I, but the other underlords too, that were summoned," he drops oh-so-casually.

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And may I ask on what occasion?"

"The usual, you know," he deadpans. "Festivities of sorts - Osiris' and Isis' finely had been captured."

"Had?"

"I think this is quite a legitimate statement, yes. See, an extraction already has been executed today, at the dawn - very symbolic, if you ask me. Now, being concealed in the stasis jars for all eternity is not that much of a life, wouldn't you agree, my sweet? Hence, had. Or, and by the way, Setesh cooked up this entire 'coup' to seize their dominion, just as I've assumed."

"Poor bastards," she notes, unabashed. "There is a lesson to be learned here."

"Quite so," he agrees. His right hand lifts up and the forefinger starts tracing her jaw line. "Although, I would say there is more then just one lesson in it, my beautiful spouse."

"Oh?" she averts her face just enough so her lips can capture his finger, small shiny-white teeth playfully probing at it.

He greens. "Oh yes, depends on who's learning, my Queen."

"If my Lord says so," she chuckles and bends her head to nuzzle his neck. He closes his eyes briefly and hums appreciatively. Her lips are warm and soft, and she touches and nibs all the right places. A first sting of desire rashes through his body; she tends to do that to him, yes.

He would wanted nothing more that to indulge himself in such pleasant activities right away, but alas, there are things he must get straight first, so instead of letting his hands wonder over her body where he wants them, he slightly slaps her perfect round butt and moves away.

"You can be all naughty later, sweetheart," he says enjoying her immediate pout, "I promise. Sad as it is, right now I need my co-ruler more urgently then my mate."

All the playfulness is gone immediately and she gives him that piercing look of rapt attention that reminds him better then anything else - it matters not how gorgeous a meat suit she wears and what additional benefits it grants aside from the main purpose, a Goa'uld Queen she is the first and foremost.

"Surely, it is not those petty fools' fate that disturbs you, my Lord. What is it, then? What else has happened?"

He leaves her and starts pacing. She watches him patiently not pressing the matter further, fingers playing with a tip of her braid. He knows she would wait however long it takes until he is ready to talk, but really, there is no reason to delay. She is the only one he can speak his mind freely to, after all.

He stops near the desk littered with parchments and picks one, showing the scroll to her.

"It is not what happened that perturbs me, Anat," he says with annoyance, "but what isn't."

She keeps silent letting him to spill it all, and that he does.

"I keep on receiving reports such as this one, my dear. Do you want to know what's in it?"

He unrolls it and starts reading aloud.

My Lord, as your true and faithful servant, I hereby feel oblige to inform you…

Amusement lightens his face up for a moment and the eyebrows lift tells her in no uncertain terms that whoever wrote this managed to widen his already vast experience with servility. He raises his eyes at her, smirking despite previous obvious distress, "I'll skip the usual the most loyal subject blah-blah-blah, however amusing it is - read later if you like - and shall cut to the chaise."

He overruns further, "Oh, there."

By my own ears I've heard said Otta saying that he intends to keep his firstborn son Sephy from being taken into the services to the master of all living and breathing, our radiant sovereign Ra, when the boy becomes of age.

"And who is that said Otta again?" she asks, looking more curious than concerned.

He waves his hand dismissively, "Some courtier of Ra's, it's really not that important."

"Why, is it? I hardly think Ra's subjects snitch on each other to you, my love. For once, distance makes it rather challenging. So, what's with the information?"

He drops the scroll back. "Patience, my Queen. I'm getting there."

He crosses his hands over his chest with a slight rustle of a fine brocade auburn rode he wears - too shiny to his taste but very much fitting for visiting the Sun God – and props his back at the table lid.

"It's nothing serious at the first sign, really. A small turmoil here, an unrest their. Slaves defying Jaffa on small occasions. A tribute overdue. A servitude evasion," he tilts his head towards the scroll. "But put this all together and you're getting a bigger picture."

"Which would be…?" she enquires, looking mildly interested now.

"Why, quite obvious it is, my sweet," he says seriously. "We outstayed our welcome here."

She raises an eyebrow, "And this is according to whom?"

"The locals. Tau'ri."

Anat's resounding laugher fills the room. He waits until she stops, holding back the spark of irritation; smart as she is, yet his Queen still prone to the certain kind of blindness so accustomed to their kind.

"Since when does it matter what the slaves think?" she finely manages still gulping for air in after-laugh.

"Did it matter back then, on Kinnahi?" he says coolly, eyes narrowed, and she sobers instantly. "You asked why it is I, who has these reports. Well, then, here is your answer – I am the only one who sees the threat they pose. I am the only one who gathers all the information, every bit of it, and processes everything instead of dismissing out of hand anything that does not fit into my wistful perception of the world."

He crosses hands over his chest, eyes flare in a manifest of temper he allows himself so very far from often. Her eyes widen for a moment and she flinches; treating her as equal he may has, yet her Lord he is.

"Seven hours straight at Ra's court," he continues mordantly, face emitting disdain, "and not a single word said about things I read in those papers daily. Not even once the issue's been raised, no admission come that we, if fact, have quite a problem on our hands. No counseling at all that something must be done about it. No proper actions taken. That is, if you don't count Heru'ur's bragging on account of burning some petty settlement with no good reason whatsoever, which of course only serves to enflame the passions further."

He stops to catch his breath and gives her a sharp pointed look calling for her fool attention.

"They do not, wish not to see it, but I, I've learned my lesson very well, sweetheart."

"The situation was different on Kinnahi. Those hasshak* just got lucky," she notes keeping her voice down and its low rich timbre soothes his irritation somewhat. Than her eyes flash and those full tempting lips of hers form a very unkind snarl-like smile. "Or so they thought. But look how it ended."

"Anat," he pitches the bridge of his nose trying to find a way of explaining what he sees as being blatantly obvious, "there are too many of us here. We interact too closely with the Tau'ri for far too long. We are loosing, if not have lost already, at least partially, what makes us dominant – their blind faith that we are who we say we are. They've started doubt that and where it leads, you must know better then most."

She actually does, being one of those Goa'uld warlords who drove back and sent running for their lives Ishkur's rebelled elite Jaffa when they tried spreading the mutiny into Ra's ranks. The reminiscence lightens up her face with fierce joy and her eyes blaze triumphantly. He realizes only too late that for Anat the memory of the victory, her victory, certainly beats the point beside it.

"Doesn't matter," she shrugs gracefully. "We haven't lost our overwhelming superiority and truly, Ba'al, if some pathetic slaves' thoughts bother you, I have quite a simple solution in mind – just tell me, how many I have to kill so they would forget forever how to think and you could be at peace, my Lord."

He knows she means every word of it. Inhumanly beautiful and utterly mercifulness, that's his Queen. She is not cruel per se, no, but her indifference to anything and anyone but herself borderlines with it very closely. A true Goa'uld. And although her loyalty to him is proven and utterly out of question, sometimes he wonders - if she really cares about who, not what he is.

Sentimental talk aside, the fact is, however, no punitive measures would resolve the issue at hand, yet she wouldn't understand that being, quite honestly, a lousy politician. It is very common for his kin to rely wholly on the brute force since it's worked out so well in the past, and insidiousness, however a custom trait to the Goa'uld, has been rarely used when it comes to dialing with slaves; bereaved of other similarities they share, his brethren still would be one stellar-proportion arrogant bunch.

Not that he thinks he isn't, but at least he's willing to admit the fact, which, as he suspects, among some other things makes him rather unique.

"Forget Tau'ri," he says dismissively realizing it's getting him nowhere, "tell me though, being a Queen to a mere lieutenant of Ra's, is that what you really want?"

Now, that is definitely has her attention.

"These are dangerous words indeed, my Lord," she draws. "The Sun God known not to be pleased with parvenus unsatisfied with the assigned position."

"Well, I wasn't planning of notifying him in advance, gorgeous; not until we're safely off and have our new position secluded. I already did some pre-planning, you know, on my way back from Gize. It is highly unlikely for Setesh having taken complete, across-the-board control over his new territories right away. Some intriguer he may be, but that doesn't make him that good of a ruler; an administrator - even less so. There will be an opening, a power vacuum in outer regions of Osiris' and Isis' former domain at least for some time. And this is our best chance to make room for ourselves, my Queen."

He saunters towards her and stops close enough to feel the body heat she radiates, his eyes searching her face.

"I think I deserve better than that, Anat," he motions his hand around vaguely. "We deserve better. We deserve to be masters, not humble servants. We deserve to be great. And it's time to start getting to it. Really, it is nothing Ra hasn't done himself if you do remember that the current Supreme System Lord started as a minor underling of Apep's*. And I promise, I am not a fool Osiris was, and Isis' fate shall never befall you. The question is, are you with me, my love?"

She licks her lips, a sudden nervous gesture more fitting to a slave, not a God, but pulls herself together very quickly. He wouldn't expect less of her.

"You know I am, no matter what," his soul mate says in a low - barely short of whisper - but firm and confident voice. "Make us great, my Lord."

"Whatever it takes," he promises before his mouth claims hers.

A slight clanking sound coming from the entrance following by cautious knocking interrupts his day-dreaming. He drops Reannokia manufactured transporter parts he has been tinkering with absentmindedly back on the workbench and leaves the hideout, setting with one swift push the covering panel into its respectful place, sealing the laboratory from the prying eyes. He walks towards the exit leisurely; he cannot be seen overly interested in whatever news awaiting. When opened, the door predictably reveals a Jaffa guard, which is not so bad itself. That he shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other can't be a good sign, though.

"What is it?" he drops casually, not expecting 'it' to be pleasant in a slightest, yet hiding it well.

Things rarely are these days, but a façade must be maintained no matter what.

"We have an incoming transmission, my Lord," the Jaffa falters, so he knows exactly what is to fallow. "Lord Anubis requests to speak with you. If that is your will."

Funny, how his servant actually manages to sound as if he really had any saying in that, as if Anubis was the one to be denied of whichever he demands, even if he has been disguising it as wishes in front of Jaffa for appearances' sake. So far, that's it.

For a moment he entertains himself with a thought whether this servant truly do not understand the scrutiny his master currently in, or he simply does not care, leaving the quarrels between Gods to them as any good little slave presumably should.

The thing is, however, he stopped admire that particular streak in his subjects long time ago. True loyalty, as he has learned, works so mach better than mindless obedience. Ar'tak was prone to speak borderlining on bold sometimes, true, yet, not only he could be trusted, he was actually worth listen to even if his Lord would never admitted it aloud. He could be talked to.

Yes, even Gods can suffer loneliness.

None of these thoughts shows on his face, of course.

"Than we shall not keep him waiting. It would be too rude, now, wouldn't it?" he says keeping his expression if only barely interested at all and waves the Jaffa off.

He uses his custom modified kara-kesh to activate a disguised console at the head of the bed and runs his long fingers over the keyboard rerouting the transmission from the Pel'tak receiver to his personal quarters.

He has a feeling this conversation doesn't need any excessive ears.

For a moment he muses over adding static, so if he particularly doesn't like what he hears, than… well, he's not hearing it – a long range transmission can be tricky this way - but eventually decides against it.

However unpleasant, communicating via long range device beats meeting Anubis in person any time. Every time.

He grimaces in disgust at the thought of the other System Lord; alone, he can afford it. Being as tough and unmovable as the Goa'uld come, there is still something about Anubis that almost raises bile up his throat - he somehow feels wrong. Then, perhaps, it's due to rotten flesh miasma that radiates from the bastard even when a current host is still new - no amount of refined perfume can completely cover the peculiar stench, although it could be his own senses playing tricks on him.

His repulsion also may have something to do with the fact that once rebelled Lord became something entirely else that he was, that he should be; something more, or less - depends how you'd look at it.

He gives himself a quick once-over in the large mirror to make sure he looks as calm and nonchalant as he should before opening the communication channel. Anubis' face – a holo-image of his currant visage anyway – appears in midair. Since having started taking living flesh he dropped the habit to hide under the deep cowl.

Not that it improves the matter on the grand scheme of things, he thinks.

"Ba'al," Anubis offers tonelessly in a manner of greeting, and it suddenly strikes him how similar this is to a way each conversation they've ever had with Samantha Carter's hitchhiker started. Anything could follow this blank tranquility - some polite nothingness' exchange as likely as a dagger-thrust in one's back.

With his current company he would aim for the latter.

It is also unexpectedly comes to his attention that whichever body Anubis uses, his voice won't ever change and not just the Goa'uld duotone of it, no – it's exactly the same rich, throbbing, and to be completely honest, filling with somewhat of primal terror deep low rumble. Then again, that probably shouldn't come as such a surprise in such an old one.

Some say, contrary to the common beliefs he remembers Apep being born.

Dark, very expressive and beautifully shaped eyes – this time he has chosen a handsome vessel indeed, and young one, at that – peer at him intently as if trying to read his thoughts. He doesn't believe it being possible even for this new Anubis, though.

Was that the case, the twice-arisen-former-Goa'uld-System-Lord would've had killed him dead for sure.

Satisfied or the other way around with what he sees, the image of his mortal enemy screws his thin lips discontentedly and states chilly.

"You made yourself awaited. Again."

"I've been busy and answered as fast as I could."

"Your dealings do not concern me. For your own sake see that it won't happen too often."

"Of course, my Lord," he bows his head slightly, hiding an angry flash in his eyes at the reproach.

As if he was some negligent slave.

"Now, I want to hear what your progress on the assigned task is."

"The Council forces still struggling, yet they already are desperate enough to seek alliance with the Tau'ri," he says cautiously, "to no avail, of course. Too much history there."

"How low have mighty fallen," Anubis' distaste is palpable. "Abase themselves to asking those primitive species for help. This only proves further how unworthy of the position held for so long they are."

"Indeed, that is an abomination," he agrees aloud while thinking that, evidently, neither countless millennia lived, nor the banishment and death itself taught his adversary a very simple truth.

It is not means that matters…

but victory.

Luckily, this inner remark is inaccessible to Anubis, so on he goes loftily.

"It pleases me that you would feel this way. I've chosen my protégé right, then. Make them suffer for that too. Crush them down. Belittle them for worlds to see. And then, I shall show to all what a true God is."

Having started as the poorly hidden mockery, Anubis' voice changes to dead serious and rises, eyes flare bigotedly and it sends chills down his spine.

This isn't right, too.

The desire to take over and to have revenge on those who slighted him he would understand perfectly, but this… this… conviction he hears proves that the undead Lord truly believes in what he declares and this is wrong, for he always was known for more then free perception of the Goa'uld divinity. He used to drive Ra mad openly deriding the idea. And now not only he suddenly became such an adept, but even has some new appreciation for it.

Somehow, I doubt we want to learn on practice what this new vision of his is.

No, we most certainly don't.

"I have been planning to make a move into Olokun's territory next, him being the most weak of all," he says casually, carefully navigating the communication towards the more productive area. "If we are to gain his dominion, it would provide us with the supplies for our troops, among other things. And with them so considerably grown in numbers…"

"I allow it," Anubis interrupts impatiently. "Do what you esteem is necessary, but there is another matter to attend to ab init."

"Whatever you wish," he manages to keep a victorious glimpse in his eyes hidden.

Provisions for troops are essential, indeed, and the Ha'tak building factory and a few repair docks will make a nice income too, but it what he knows about Oyoro* that arrests him the most. And that Anubis in his arrogance apparently pays no attention to what is not such a big secret amongst the System Lords? - Well, some never learn.

"I am sending you coordinates now," the object of his musing rumbles.

He extracts the received data from the package and processes it, placing mentally at the Galaxy map. A perplexed frown accompanies the realization where it supposedly leads.

In the Chapa'ai address book there is a list of worlds every Jaffa has memorized by heart, so his master would never, ever end up there. He remembers them well, too, not being accustomed to trust with such a significant matter of safety to anyone else. And this backwater planet on the outskirts of known space in particular, as he recalls, has been listed as a forbidden world.

It is not one of the warfare suffered places where due to the drastic actions taken even the Goa'uld exceptional vitality fails to endure the environment; neither does it belong to the Protected Planets Treaty. It has just always been known there is no coming back from the certain points of destination, were they reached through the Chapa'ai or else. As to why, wild speculations is the anyone's best guess as neither of the Jaffa troops sent nor even single one of the reckless Goa'uld youth decided to try their luck – no sane Lord in position of power would take such an unnecessary risk - ever came back.

A mystery he would definitely like to solve but on his own terms. Having the subject been brought by Anubis, however, immediately raises alarm bells. Could that be some elaborate act to get rid of him? That seems unlikely that Anubis would ever need a cover up at all if this was his intention, but what could possibly he be wanting from Ba'al in regard to such a place?

"One of forbidden worlds, if I read it right," he raises his eyebrow in a query, appearing calm and if only mildly interested, but it doesn't come easy. "What of it?"

"Worry not my faithful associate," his tone derisive, Anubis hardly loiters to show his apprehension has been noted, "I have nothing particularly life threatening for you in mind. For now."

He remains silent – what could be possibly said to that? – and only his kara-kesh free hand clenches into a fist, nails digging into his palm deeply. The pain helps to control the fury suddenly arisen from the depths of what he is at the poorly disguised threat.

"This operation must not draw the Council attention, or Tok'ra traitors and their new Tau'ri friends for that matter," the holo-image continues, oblivious to his vis-à-vis emotional turmoil, or - and that is as likely - caring not for it in a slightest. "Discretion is crucial here. Set up a ruse to keep them busy, make a splash - something they won't be able to miss. If you're also managed to set them off against each other, well, it's all the better. Meanwhile, have your Ha'tak waiting at the coordinates I gave you. The ring-transporter line must stay open and clean all the time. Have your best Jaffa guarding the platform around the clock. Whatever arrives, notify me immediately."

"For how long should I wait?"

"Not you. Your Ha'tak is all that required, as it has been installed recently with the additional firepower and shields, hasn't it? I believe crafty Nerus made himself quite useful on his last visit, though I also recall him complaining about your lack of hospitality."

"Why, because he had to share a room with his Orak bodyguards?"

He would certainly not have those cut loose on his ship, thank you very much, so if the fat Goa'uld felt like he needed them… well then.

"Why, I believe it had something to do with how scars his meals were; completely inadequate compare to a fine job he was making for you, if Nerus to be believed," Anubis chuckles with actual humor, and for a moment he almost appears his former normal self - a person Ba'al remembers vaguely from the times of his youth, long gone.

"To make them Nerus-adequate I would've had to have my entire Jaffa contingent starving, I'm afraid." He goes for keeping up with this sudden lightness. "So, if your intent is to keep him happy, this is where Olokun's territories with abundant food supplies would come in handy."

"Aren't you a cunning one," Anubis observes with sudden chill, showing one of those dangerous mood-swings he is so apprehensive of; too unpredictable they are, your never know what to expect, "and persistent, at that. Fine, make that strike you so longing for the distraction I told you of. The location of Olokun's domain suits this purpose well enough, anyhow."

"As you wish," he bows his head slightly.

It never hurts to show some respect. True or false, that is entirely different matter.

"Lead you strike, Lord Ba'al, but remember – fail me, and you will be wishing I have sent you to a forbidden world in person. Make a delivery, and you may yet have a future."

He manages a crooked smile and a curt nod, "Understood."

"Good. By the way, did you seem a little jealous of Nerus' special security detail? Don't be; the fatso has his uses. And, as apparently do you – you will have one of your own."

And with that the image vanishes.

He swears under his breath. What he really doesn't need - especially now, with the plans for Olokun's legacy and that little nice conspiracy plot involving his new Tau'ri girlfriend - is two Onak absolutely, unquestionably loyal to Anubis, as that is what they programmed for, watching him all the time.

He walks towards the small table and lowers himself into the chair. After a long, long pause in which he studies the chess-board for what feels like a hundredth time, he moves his Queen and smiles, satisfied.

He thinks he knows it all.

Ah, but there is so much for him to learn.

Goa'uld language:

*Pyramid - Cheops class warship;

*hasshak – fool, fools (insult);

*Apep – the second ruler of the First Goa'uld Dynasty (killed Atok, his farther, and succeeded him in around 22000 B.C.);

*Oyoro – a planet of Olokun's Dominion with, as the rumor has it, some device of un-deciphered functioning, presumably turned it from fertile to barren;