Title: Stargate: SG-22 -- Episode 1: Of Gods and Demons (0?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Maybe a little harsh language, certainly some violence, but nothing worse than on SG-1 or BtVS.

Spoilers: For SG-1, it diverges after Death Knell. For anything else, I honestly don't know.

Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: An interesting turn of events results in a new SG team... one that may challenge SG-1 for biggest headaches.

Author's Note: What can I say? I was reminded of some stuff I'd written up for my Stargate RPG campaign, so I figured I'd find a way to use it.


As she rode down the elevator, Subcolonel Sasha Ivanova checked her uniform one last time, ensuring that every crease and fold was as it should be. While she didn't expect to maintain such standards in the field, this would be her first meeting with her commanding officer, and first impressions were key.

The doors opened, and she squared her shoulders and followed the SF that awaited her.

"Subcolonel Ivanova, reporting," she announced as she snapped off a sharp salute.

"Welcome to the SGC, Colonel," General Hammond said, rising and returning the salute. "You're just in time. The rest of your team is in the briefing room. Follow me, please."

As she followed him, Sasha felt a pang of annoyance at the man -- she'd gotten here precisely on schedule, despite the flight delays -- but she kept her peace. It didn't appear intentional.

He led her to the briefing room, where three men and two women sat waiting for them, of whom one of each was a civilian. The three military personnel rose to attention and saluted until an "as you were" from the general, and she took a moment to commit their appearances to memory.

Of the military personnel, one was a tall and brawny man with sunbleached hair wearing an Army major's tags. The second was a surprisingly youthful Army lieutenant with a thatch of unruly dark hair and dark eyes that looked much older than the rest of him. The last was a female Air Force lieutenant of clearly Asian descent, though there was something peculiar about the way she moved. Despite their disparate appearances, she felt that all three were cast from the same mold, one that differed slightly from the usual recruit.

The two civilians, on the other hand, were as different as night and day. The man had dark hair, dark eyes that seemed to study every detail, and a dark suit to match. The woman, by contrast, was sprawled carelessly in her seat. She had dark auburn hair and green eyes and was dressed in rugged -- and rumpled -- traveling clothes. A weather-beaten fedora rested on the table in front of her.

"Colonel, this is your team, SG-22," Hammond said, then introduced them each in turn. "Major Alan Schaefer is your second in command, Lieutenant Alexander Harris is your demolitionist and heavy weapons expert when needed, Doctors Jarod Smart and Evelyn Jones are your technical and linguistic experts, and Lieutenant Sharon Satterfield is host to the Tok'ra La'go."

And it was because of the last that this team was being created in the first place. Since the alliance between the Jaffa rebels, the SGC, and the Tok'ra had been broken, one Tok'ra had decided to join the SGC. Sasha knew she was only here, in charge of this mixed group, as a political concession.


Whirlwind Productions presents
another series by Cyclone

starring

Claudia Christian
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Nicholas Brendan
Grace Park
Michael T. Weiss
and
Renée O'Connor
as Dr. Evelyn Jones

STARGATE: SG-22

"Of Gods and Demons"


Sasha did her best to ignore what was happening behind her. From what she could make out, it appeared Lt. Harris and Dr. Smart were discussing the comparative merits of Twinkies versus Pez. Dr. Jones was hardly any better, alternately hitting on the two, and Sasha didn't even want to think about why she insisted on carrying that bullwhip...

Maj. Schaefer and Lt. Satterfield seemed to be the only sane ones of the bunch, in her opinion... but the two did not get along well together. When asked, Schaefer -- or Dutch, as he preferred to be called -- had merely shrugged his shoulders and said something about aliens. Satterfield hadn't been able to shed any light on it either, indicating that her symbiote simply felt unnerved by the big man.

Not for the first time in the weeks since meeting her team, she wondered exactly whose influence had gotten her assigned here. Sasha was known for her temper, and she had not made many friends in the Russian military, but the ones she had made were very influential. She wondered if this was a punishment, a reward, or a deliberate exercise to test her patience?

Shoving that thought aside, she turned her attention back to the stargate as the sixth chevron locked into place. This wouldn't the first time she'd been through the stargate -- practice expeditions with her team to known safe worlds had been a regular exercise -- but it would be their first real mission, a simple "scout-and-scoot" to P4C-832.

But she had never had much faith in promises of simple missions.

After the wormhole stabilized, she boldly took the lead, marching through the stargate, comforted by the familiar weight of her AKS-74U. For once, she was grateful to the stubborn Russian pride and politicking, as the AKS had far better range and punch than the P-90s the Americans were issued.

They emerged in a forest at the end of a slightly-overgrown path, and she looked around. A cool breeze blew down the path, but otherwise, it was silent.

"Let's go," she said, stepping off the platform and past the DHD, but before she got two steps, she held up a fist, signaling the team to a halt. She raised her AKS, sweeping her aim point across the left edge of the path as Dutch scanned the right with his own P-90. Harris -- or Xander as he preferred to be called -- and Satterfield were, if they knew their job, scanning the rear.

A bolt or arrow struck the ground at her feet, and a number of men stepped out, armed with crossbows. One held a staff weapon.

"What god do you serve?" he demanded in Goa'uld.


Author's Postscript:

This is another one of those "straight to the backburner" 'fics in case you're wondering.