A year later. Khasar Ra station.
The galaxy froze in anticipation. Thousands of ships had gathered around Hasar Ra Station, a neutral territory where weapons were strictly prohibited. This fleet, capable of crushing even the Asgard armadas, was evidence of an unprecedented event—a summit of virtually all the System Lords. The strictest security measures, including multiple searches of my ship, only emphasized the gravity of the moment.
The stated goal of the meeting was to end all galactic wars for five years. A paradoxical peace movement born of exhaustion. The reality of war had become so devastating that it had depleted resources, requiring a respite for recovery. Over the past year, thanks to my efforts, the Goa'uld had begun actively equipping themselves with railguns as anti-aircraft weapons and missiles, forcing me to act decisively even though my ships still outnumbered them. Resentment over the capture of their fleet, fueled by my actions, reached such a pitch that some scientists were consigned to sarcophagi.
I was increasingly recruited by representatives of the House of Ra, which raised suspicions in my children—would they become too arrogant? This led to visits from Ashraks to the chambers of some of them. Attempts to infiltrate me also increased, but fortunately, to no avail. The gate's defenses were improved, and four Ashraks fell. McVay, banned from planets, nearly fell victim to an assassination attempt. The price on my head is steadily rising, for the destruction of five Ashraks is a significant achievement, even if Ra's motives are radical—five years of peace. The only exceptions were external threats. Ra's word carried weight, and the galaxy, weary of endless war and colossal resource losses, decided to gather to sign an important agreement—analogous to the Earthly UN, but with harsher consequences for violation. Only the mad Sokar, an exile, remained on the sidelines, ignoring proposals to attack his domain.
I entered the hall, where the Goa'uld gathering resembled an Earth Comic-Con. Slaves scurried about with trays, delivering food and drinks. Dressed in a black suit reminiscent of a polished piano and a leather coat, devoid of any gold trim, but with silver skulls studded with black diamonds and platinum buttons, I inspired elegance rather than ostentatious luxury. My attire, crafted from expensive materials, was a direct challenge to those who valued pounds of gold over refinement.
My appearance caused a stir. A very limited number of people knew me personally. Glances filled with fear, curiosity, and hatred were directed at me. I was a Senior Lord, a step below the System Lords, to whom they turned for help in critical situations—not for free, of course.
"I hear you're doing well," Ra's General Akhnur approached. "You've come a long way since we last met."
"We are Goa'uld, and we are ambitious," I raised my glass in his honor. I am older than him now.
"That's true, but without war everything will go badly for you," he objected.
"Really? I can handle it and adapt. Five years is a blink of an eye in the eyes of millennia. I can start selling fruit, jewelry, and much more. I have a client base."
"Ahahaha-ha-ha-ha!!!" Akhnur burst out laughing so hard that he attracted the attention of everyone present. "That's the funniest thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Five years is a moment for a Goa'uld. My Jaffa children will grow to adulthood, joining their fathers in battle. The women will become pregnant, giving me new warriors. The Legions will be forged anew, building on the experience gained. Five years is simply time without contracts, but my warriors will become even stronger."
Ahnur's laughter died down, and a murmur of laughter erupted around him. Everyone knew the ferocity and professionalism of my legions, their willingness to fight to the bitter end for victory. They would destroy anyone and everything if ordered. The Goa'uld knew this, rejoicing when this was done for them, and weeping bitter tears when the force was turned against them.
- Oh, your Jaffa... will you tell me the secret of how they became so deadly?
- I'll tell you.
Akhnur choked, looking at me with disbelief. The Goa'uld nearby fell silent.
"I stopped showing them pity," Ahnur said, surprise etched on his face. He tried to remember the last time he'd felt sorry for the Jaffa. "The Jaffa are merely instruments of war. They shouldn't be prostituting themselves, drinking wine, or lounging in garrisons. Their only purpose is to fight in the name of us, their gods. Nothing else matters. My Jaffa train eighteen hours a day. The rest of the time they eat or sleep. Yes, they need sleep after training. Eighteen hours of training with constant punishment for imperfection. Why do you think my Jaffa are so accurate? Because they don't want to be punished for a miss. Or why they run fast under fire? Because I punish them if they get hit during training. There's no point in having them guard slaves.
Anyone can guard slaves, even a well-trained dog. The Jaffa are superfluous in such matters." They dare squander the resources we, their gods, allocate to them, wasting their time in idleness and laziness. They are a tool, and they must be an effective tool. Otherwise, they must be discarded. I spoke with such arrogance and contempt for the Jaffa that even the Goa'uld stared at me as if I were the eighth wonder of the world. "That's what I knock out of new Jaffa right away: their desire for laziness, for indolence, for spending time with family or other foolish pursuits. They are an instrument of my will, and they must learn that. Or die. The only concession for them is victory, victory over the enemy. And the whole day is theirs. Once Ra declares a truce, they won't see a day off for another five years."
My words, my indifference, and the methodical nature of my arguments impressed these megalomaniacs. To be accepted as one of them, you had to seem like the most outstanding bastard among them.
"I don't even care if you do it again, or if anyone else does it. My warriors are the best, and they must prove it every day. If they can't be the best, then they will be punished. Every enemy is just a stepping stone to perfection."
I think I scared Akhnur, and that's an achievement, because, unlike me, he was a megalomaniac who enjoyed torture and murder. If even the Joker thinks you're crazy, that means you're playing your part well.
"The Golden Legion, my Lych Guard, is an example of that. Only the perfect were allowed into it. They punish themselves for an imperfect strike, for a shot that didn't kill the enemy outright, and for enemies who can still hold the line against them. I needed a tool that could fight for me with high efficiency, since I don't have armies numbering in the tens of millions. And I got my tool." "Symbiotes served in the Golden Legion, but my Goa'uld brethren shouldn't know about that. The less they know, the better they sleep. I told them how I made the Jaffa so strong, and now they won't sleep well. And it's my fault."
– But there are also excellent technologies.
"What's this technology worth without the strength and will to guide it? Give a peasant a plasma staff and point it at an Unas, and he'll run in terror without firing a single shot," I replied to Akhnur. "But you're right about one thing: technology is essential."
The Goa'uld's ears perked up again, wanting to know even a little bit about how I had acquired such technology.
"Others will develop them in time, but only in time. After all, those who develop them the slowest will be torn to pieces and trampled into the dust."
"Your fleet and your marines have become renowned throughout the galaxy as masters of ship capture. Aren't you afraid of becoming a victim of such tactics yourself?"
"Akhmontekh knows his stuff. And as for tactics... that's just a reason to improve. Months passed, and our other brothers acquired weapons similar to mine."
– The capture of the ships hit their pride too hard.
"That's true," I agreed. Over the course of a year, I'd acquired 18 ships. 18 Hattaks were captured in battle, bringing the total to 54. It's worth noting, however, that 54 were captured, and 18 remained mine. Some ships changed hands a couple of times. It wasn't uncommon for the loser of a space battle to immediately buy a fleet contract, and the victor's euphoria would give way to the bitterness of defeat and the loss of ships. But Akhmontech had gained unquestionable authority in space warfare, and my Space Marines were truly feared. A special tactic had even emerged against me, where a ship that had lost its shields had to defend itself with the rest. Not to mention the anti-aircraft systems and missiles, which became the subject of competitions to see who could be the most powerful. And interceptor missiles were also appearing—but that was my invention, with shrapnel exploding in the missile's path. Plus, the Goa'uld still need to learn about the complex route of tracking targets.
"Where did you find such a talented military commander?" Akhnur asked.
I fought for many years before I declared myself a Mercenary Lord. Ahmontekh is one of the few I spared who has volunteered to serve me.
"You don't kill Goa'uld. Some consider it a form of nobility."
"It's a rational approach. Often, a new contract would come to me on the same planet just as my former employer's forces had already captured it. Pragmatism is what's important to me, as are my power and resources. By sparing my enemies, I acquire as many as possible. And I don't really have any enemies; they only become enemies as long as others pay me. And as long as there are those who can pay, my business prospers."
"Hmm, I'm sorry I offended you with such nonsense," Akhnur apologizes.
"Nothing. Many people get it wrong. It's akin to why I don't interact with the slaves at all—I don't need to, it's not even part of the job I'm paid for. If an employer wants to have fun with the slaves, let them do it themselves; I just capture planets for them. And as quickly as possible. Although the speed probably has to do with the laziness of the Jaffa, who want their day off to start early."
Akhnur departed, weighed down by his thoughts, and I continued the conversation. The beauty of such summits is the opportunity to conclude trade agreements. That's how I met the local catwoman, Bastet.
"My admiration, System Lord Bastet, you've made those idiot Jaffa consider women as much a fighting tool as they are. I've been struggling with this for over twelve years, and I'm still getting nowhere."
Kali and Bastet gave me a strange look, and behind me I heard the whispers again.
— Do you want your Jaffa women to fight as well as the men?
"Oh, they already fight on par with men. I wouldn't leave such a useful tool as women unattended, idle. Housekeeping can be done by slaves, but genetically engineered warriors shouldn't be doing such things. Women train equally with men and to the same standards. I haven't been able to get it into the Jaffa's stupid heads that women are allowed to participate in offensive actions. It's funny: I've taken away so many of their freedoms, reduced them to mere tools, but they accept it without complaint. But if I order women to stop being mere planetary guards and become attackers, if female legions are thrown into battle, the Jaffa will revolt."
Did I imagine it, or did someone faint behind me?
"Yes, proving to men that a woman can do everything they can is a long road," Bastet said, though even Kali was looking at her with a strange expression that suggested, "Don't give him advice on how to double his attack force, bitch." "But it's difficult, and you need patience. I've trained my Jaffa for generations."
"And I admire your work in taming them, as well as your combat operations, especially the one where your fleet penetrated Anubis's rear. This act elevated you to the rank of System Lord. I learned from these operations. Allow me to present you with a gift: 10 pairs of different genetic strains of cats. They are all from the same planet, but evolved in different climates, which is why they have changed. I heard you like these animals.
I can even show you a couple." And, taking out a holographic projector, I began showing the Goa'uld various cats. There were a thousand photographs of different cats. Well, my Internet is no different from other Internets; it also worships these furballs. In the end, I stood with Bastet and Kali the Destroyer for 30 minutes, showing her photographs of cats, and then left her the holographic projector. An old cat lady, she wanted to cuddle them all immediately. Cats, of course; she didn't care about people.
Next, I headed to others I could talk to. I needed to haggle, so I could refocus my efforts on trading other materials. My planet, after all, can supply a lot of useful things, and I have access to a ton of other planets. I'm sure toasters, washing machines, dryers, and microwaves will sell well. Not to slaves, of course—that's for the Goa'uld. Sometimes it's so annoying when you want to put on your favorite clothes, but they're still drying. Perhaps they'll make an exception for the Jaffa army, but I'm not sure. We need electricity. I can certainly use batteries, but I honestly don't know how such technology will be received. Next—clothing, premium clothing. The Goa'uld love to change clothes. Jewelry, ceramics, and so on. It's not a problem for me, but the Goa'uld are ready to buy it.
In particular, I spoke with the most cultured Goa'uld, Yu. He was interested in many things, especially the variations of Chinese imperial attire, which he pondered deeply and wanted a couple of. And Isara says I'm bad at diplomacy. Incidentally, those who want to emulate Yu (his vassals) also showed interest in premium clothing. Now I was talking to the sickest and smartest bastard in the galaxy.
"I must say, the idea behind these infantry fighting vehicles is quite interesting. How did you come up with it?" Baal asks me.
"I wiped out an overdeveloped human civilization from the face of the galaxy, one that refused to submit. Now all of theirs is mine," I answered frankly. "How are your scientists doing with repeating this success? I heard they can't find the balance between stealing your resources and giving the machines some armor."
"Oh, they're already done. And this time they didn't steal anything. I think by the fifth time in the sarcophagus they're starting to understand what needs to be done," Baal boasted.
"Congratulations," I praised him. "Now good luck training the Jaffa, they're idiots. Their brains are the size of a walnut, and not even the biggest."
Here to Baal reached this uncovered truth.
"It's especially hard to teach them not to shoot down their comrades," I complained to him. "And also to break their arrogance: 'I can ride a plasma cannon in armor.' They're idiots, so you're in for a lot of pain. I advise shooting them for incompetence, then resurrecting them. It's therapeutic for your nerves, explaining the obvious to idiots for the tenth time. I broke ten oak sticks on the backs of my Jaffa, specifically looking for the strongest wood, then gave up and started using a naquadah-trinium stick."
Baal nodded in agreement with my conclusions about the Jaffa's stupidity and the fact that they couldn't be trusted with even the most mundane tasks. We talked for a while until Ra finally came out and announced a 5-year truce in the galaxy, and everyone was required to abide by it. Anyone who didn't accept it would face the full wrath of the Empire. I nodded along to his words like an obedient idiot. I stood in a very honorable place, just behind the System Lords, as a High Lord. There were only 300 of us, not that many.
True, my place in the House of Ra faction was still undecided. My fighting force seemed fine, but not my numbers. But I didn't bother with the place at all, telling everyone I didn't care; everyone was paying me for the war anyway. First, the System Lords solemnly signed the document, then the High Lords. I left my signature on a very long parchment; They probably slaughtered a lot of cows for him. The lesser Goa'uld continued signing, and everyone who had already done so went off to have fun. We'll still have all sorts of lesser Goa'uld to look forward to. Bastet, in general, didn't give a damn, and she was looking at the cats. I'm sure she has a secret warehouse of cats somewhere, or a palace of cats, where she can squeeze them mercilessly. I get it, cats are our everything. They are aliens who rule the galaxy.
As soon as the truce went into effect, I started going around buying up slaves. Signing contracts, buying from ten thousand to a million in some cases. So what? To rebuild their armies, people need resources, preferably naquadah, and I have plenty of that. Until the idiots get the idea that they also need human resources for work. And I need to develop new colonies, in particular, there is a planet located in the same orbit as Urvashi. So, I was fleecing idiots again, and the old lords looked on with mockery. I met Zeus, who was very happy and practically declared me his friend. Kronos, however, creaked with every fiber of his being. How long do I have to explain to them: I have no friends except Isara and Egeria. Is that even normal? No, Maine and MacVaire. True, MacVaire is more of a subordinate than a friend. You can't say that.
"Should I start accepting contracts for what happens in five years?" I asked myself, causing the Goa'uld nearby to widen their eyes. "We just signed a treaty of peace and friendship (for five years), and I already want to start accepting contracts for how many I'll take in the future."
"Don't you think this is too harsh?" Baal approached me again.
"Do you really think five years is enough for idiots to improve their technology? Only the System Lords have such resources. They'll sell technology to their vassals, but only in limited quantities, so as not to upset the delicate balances. Not to mention how many resources it would take to reequip the entire army with similar equipment to what I have. Or do they all think I won't develop, that I've run out of aces up my sleeve?" I asked mockingly, causing Baal to twitch but maintain his arrogant smile.
- You too may be mistaken about your strength.
"Perhaps. Only practice is the measure of truth. Practice shows that my Jaffa are stronger than the Jaffa of all the Goa'uld except the System Lords." I hinted that I had decided not to attack the System Lords for the sake of my own safety. "Will they be able to turn a similar situation around in five years? I don't know, we'll see. I have no intention of attacking the System Lords in the future."
"Would you like to take my place as the youngest System Lord?" Baal asked.
"Titles must be backed by strength. Without strength, the title is worth absolutely nothing. I only take what I can hold forever, which is why I only have one planet."
"A title must be backed by strength. Without strength, a title is just an empty phrase. I only acquire what I can hold forever, so I only have one planet at my disposal," I answer him with a grin. "So you are System Lord Baal, still the youngest of the System Lords. Although, I hear Mac Nir, or whatever his name is, is busy with his Jaffa, the Cauldron-Born? Is that right? He wants to become a System Lord, too, like Moriggan and the rest of that clan."
"Do you know what to do with the Cauldron-Born?" Baal asks.
"I accept orders for events that take place five years from now, but getting rid of an entire Senior Lord would be quite expensive."
"Oh, no, why would I do that? We don't even have a common border, and I prefer not to seize such enclaves, focusing on strengthening my own territory."
"Wise. It avoids wasting valuable resources on pointless planets. Although most planets not covered by a full planetary defense network are themselves pointless."
— Are you collecting slaves to colonize a new planet?
"There are two habitable planets in my system, and even naquadah on the second, which complies with the rules of planet formation. So yes, I use the resources I have and those I can guarantee to defend," I point out to him. Admittedly, lying is pointless to me, given my unwavering neutrality toward all Goa'uld. I don't take sides unless I'm paid. And even then, my loyalty is limited to the duration of my contract. Though my Jaffa do all the work, I rarely appear on the battlefield myself. But when I do, everyone becomes uneasy.
They tried to hire me through intermediaries to attack Baal's secret planet. I expressed my dissatisfaction to the intermediary used by another System Lord. The Golden Legion demonstrated its supreme effectiveness, and Baal was aware of it. So all the System Lords knew of my neutrality and my silence. Those idiots always tell stories of how they hired me to attack, and I remain silent. And my silence is appreciated by the more sensible. There have always been plenty of idiots who chatter incessantly, well, if they chatter, they are punished. By hiring me. Quite amusing. But now I have five boring years ahead of me, filled with exploring other worlds.
— It's convenient to have such systems.
"And most importantly, it's easier to defend," I told Baal. After which we discussed the technological absurdity of the staff and other Goa'uld technologies. It's nice to talk to an intelligent Goa'uld. I'm already looking forward to our future conversations, when in five years I unveil nuclear mortars firing shells equivalent to 100 tons of TNT. I think Ra, after my contracts expire, will ban nuclear weapons on Goa'uld planets. Oh well, I'll think of something; I have plenty of scientists. All the Goa'uld already know my symbol: a black banner with the green symbol of the Tetrarchy. These flags now terrify the Jaffa, signifying that they've come simply to slaughter them, without any mercy. Those who don't surrender are destroyed with particular cruelty.
I did some more research, and yes, I've started getting requests for events in five years. I think the smartest ones will contact me personally, realizing the possibility exists. That's what reputation means. Although I'm sure they plan to develop their own technology and defeat me. But the very fact that they hired me demonstrates their lack of faith in this. Yes, they are capable of producing antigravity motorcycles, tanks, and infantry fighting vehicles, as well as using missiles and air defense systems. But you need to know how to use all this. Essentially, this is a new technological era, and they still have to figure out needle threaders and tactics. Congratulations, you have a second gate on your planet, and all your gate defenses have been bypassed.
I have too many ideas for military action, and the Goa'uld will suffer, because that's their fate. Although it's the Jaffa who suffer most, I don't feel sorry for them. There's no point in wasting time and serving the Goa'uld; they're not gods.
Incidentally, I did write my own "Codex Astartes," though it was called something else. It synthesizes all the experience gained in battle. Although it's not entirely accurate to say I wrote it alone; in general, some chapters were written by senior military commanders with the necessary experience. Given my distinct penchant for eliminating high-ranking enemy commanders, the defense against such assassinations lies not in singling out commanders, but in empowering the soldiers. I borrowed several chapters from Alpha Legion training, so in virtual simulations, the Jaffa could find themselves on the battlefield without officers, even sergeants. And they had to self-organize to complete the task, while they could be attacked by the Dark Eldar.
Yes, I'm developing Warhammer as a military simulator for the Jaffa. I even sometimes lowered security systems, bringing a Jaffa to death, as happened with Teal'c, only to resurrect him later. But they must understand that any enemy can be defeated; this hardens their resolve. Despite the thousands of deaths of their comrades, they must maintain their convictions and their focus. Technology and training, a literal telepathic link between military units, an understanding of the logic of different commanders—even without communication, they can act together, striking a single blow for a single goal. Though they are not the Alpha Legion, their resourcefulness has begun to mirror mine: a goal and minimal losses.
Analysis of the combat situation, analysis of enemy weaponry, rapid analysis of the situation—the fact that the Jaffa live so long and are military men greatly helps. They are certainly not Astartes, but they can serve for hundreds of years, destroying enemies with absolute precision. So many years of constant warfare have convinced them that they are the best, but they must become better. Therefore, they constantly fight among themselves for one goal—my power. The next step is to send the women to war, then the last of their foundations as Jaffa will be broken, and I will be able to mold them as I please.