Sparkgate: Agatha Heterodyne and the Grasp of the Serpent God (2nd Volume)

Early Second Season IIRC, since Sam is still a Captain. I believe things have advanced to right before Daniel returns to Abydos one year after he left it.

I still chuckle at this line from chapter 2

"*Uh*." Agatha blinked. "*Oh. Don't worry, I took basic death ray handling courses at the university. Never let the muzzle point at something you want to vaporize.*"


Also, for the people talking about how bad various bits of popular culture might be to introduce to Agatha, they already accidently exposed her to the worst possible inspiration for technology. Because really, imagine what a Spark can do with the concept behind how a Stargate works.

Sam isn't even a Spark and she's done some crazy stuff with Stargates (*cough* supernova *cough*).

Save she hasn't yet, this happened to early in the series. Though if having to pull it off again I can imagine Agatha's response.

"How did Miss Hetrodyne take the news?"

"Like a proud mother. Today her little minion is a Woman."

You don't have go for direct expies, even if thats what everyone is clamoring for. Episode 4:20 would be a nice way to get a base AI. A nice thing about making such major changes to the series is that you can do the isolated one shot episodes in whatever order you want.

For that matter, you can change the order of the events of the other episodes, since 'finding a new gate address' is a complex, seemingly partly random process that is almost certainly vulnerable to butterfly effects. You could have parts of the overall story-arc plot (the ones that still occur) happen on different planets than they did before.

^This^ Not just on Earth either. But you can understand her desire to put down roots and settle and get her breath back for a bit after all she's been though. She's been on the go on some level since she first popped out the Stargate.

Shouldn't that be the other way around? Although you never can tell with Sparks.

hence why I chuckle

Still very dangerous in terms of SOD

I know, but you can't fault a guy for wanting. I love Castle. I can even see Castle and Rhad kicking off like long-lost Brothers.

I know this is a necro but it is contributing isn't it?
Pity is that this story is still in the late 90s. Because otherwise I would think that Agatha would love this PC RTS game very much so and some of the ideas in it: ;7

[yt]rvXF3oGy-iE[/yt]

On the one hand: damn you and your necroing!
On the other: damn but that guy was badass.

As for story relevance, I think Agatha would regard the stuff in that as retro.

Steampowered clanks with rayguns! Looks like something straight out of the GG-verse.

He has earned his place in Valhalla.

Me? I ceased to be a noob!? *HOORAY!*

It seems more likely Prince Charon meant the Vinci soldier in the vid.

Correct, but Durabys does get props for posting the video.

Uh. Oh. Sorry.

Thanks very much.

"As Chairman of the Appropriations Committee," Senator Kinsey said, "it would be my privilege to work with a fine young lady as yourself to defend our nation."

"Planet, Herr Kinsey," Agatha said.

"Where America leads, the world follows," the white-haired politician continued. "I'm sure the other countries of Earth can contribute in their own small ways. It is our nation, favored by destiny and God, which with our brave young men and women in uniform will keep this world free."

"Didn't you try to shut down the Stargate Program?" Agatha asked.

"My lady, you won't hear this often," Kinsey said with a jocular chuckle, "but I have to admit I was wrong. My only defense was my abiding desire to serve this nation to the utmost of my capacity."

"Of course, Herr Kinsey," Agatha said. "And what exactly will you do?"

"I have dealt with major government contractors," Kinsey said, "in my capacity as Chairman. Under my administration, they will come together in one coordinated enterprise. It would be a shame to waste your time dealing with production problems."

"That was always a problem with my Master," Agatha said. "Some overseer at one of the factories would be cutting corners, and he would have to be called on the carpet."

"You need to be firm with them, my lady," Kinsey said.

"Doctor Beetle never bothered," Agatha said. "He'd press the button and VOOOP, the trapdoor under the carpet in front of his desk would dump them down the chute."

"Chute?" Kinsey's warm smile never wavered.

"The one sending them to the flesh-eating scarab pit," Agatha said. "But with you personally responsible for the details, I won't have to deal with such unpleasant measures. Will I?"

"Not at all." The Senator glanced down. "Will you look at that, my glass is empty already. If you'll excuse me--"

Rhadamanthys had been right--a regal bearing while hinting that your good humour was all that prevented one from becoming a cruel maniac did wonders. That the Goa'uld's advice almost exactly echoed Doctor Beetle's paternal-yet-horrifying approach was a subject she didn't want to examine too closely. Mind you, the called-on-the-carpet story was only a TPU joke. The scarab pit and chute did exist. It had been installed by the Tyrant's grandfather, but nailed shut when Tarsus had assumed the Tyrant's mantle. Beetle had relied on the equally effective threat of a visit from Silas Merlot to deal with slackers and corrupt workers. Well, there had been that incident with the manager who had been letting slightly defective parts out of a Beetleburg factory. The Master had "helped" him improve his quality control by sticking his brain in a jar and wiring his optic nerves to a microscope.

Who knew diplomacy could be so tedious? She shouldn't be bored. The party organized on her second day in Washington was in the lobby of the National Air and Space Museum. Scaffolding and drapes hid the activity from sight through the expanse of glass at the front, while the skylights above showed the night sky above the District to best effect. All around her were examples of the century's great achievements of aviation. Unimpressive compared to a tel'tak, it spoke to her in a human way. Her hands itched to touch--and yes, perhaps disassemble a bit--the Spirit of St Louis or the Bell X-1. There was a piece of lunar rock right here! Agatha had stood on distant planets and floated above a failed star. There was something far more impressive about this tiny bit of the Moon, retrieved by the efforts of so-called mere human ingenuity.

The ciphers around her didn't notice it at all. If they did, all they had to say about it was which contractor had created that. They all blurred into two populations. The men were an undifferentiated herd of smart suits, bland smiles, and hair cut just so. They were undoubtedly qualified in their fields. Whenever she tried to strike up a a scientific conversation, though, the talk drifted to money and stock prices. Even the Beetleburg Council of Burghers were a livelier bunch, if only because the town's burghers ended their meetings with much quaffing and drunken sing-alongs. The women were an insectile bunch with a tendency towards dyed blonde hair and calculating eyes. Very few were business owners in their own right; they were the wives or beaus or companions of another nature. Everyone praised her inventions, everyone vied for her favors, and mein Gott she missed her friends deeply. She couldn't leave, though. As tedious as they were, these were the powers in this nation she'd have to work with to guard the planet.

So many smooth hands. No Spark or senior scientist would have palms unmarked by work.

Two more days in Washington, then back to Colorado Springs to meet with the leaders of the Abydonians. Agatha supposed she could survive this rigmarole until then. Smiling vaguely, she nibbled at a hors d'oeuvre and sipped lightly from her champagne flute. It was no worse than the university functions she had attended as Doctor Beetle's minion. Here, there was less chance of two rival department heads escalating their arguments into a firefight requiring Watch intervention. Or, more worryingly, finding common cause to combine the resources of their schools to create hideous abominations. Both resulted in flying cutlery and a visit from the fire-suppression blimp. Although the competing tribes of American military officers circulating among the burghers rivaled TPU deans for viciousness. It had required all of Doctor Weir's expository powers to explain the tangled politics of the Department of Defense. Agatha had a feeling she'd need all her lung power to moderate tomorrow's meeting with the Joint Chiefs.

*SPROING*

*HISS*

Agatha had brought along several Coffee Organs as gifts to the American government. One had been temporarily donated by the President to the party's caterers. A cloud of steam and a knot of gesticulating guards obscured it at the moment. Someone was fiddling with her invention. Lifting up the skirts of her sky-blue gown, she headed in the direction of what appeared to be not-yet-lethal chaos. A man had his head stuck into the open hatch of the Organ. The jacket of his evening dress had been tossed aside, and his sleeves were rolled up to the shoulder. Agatha abstractly noted the muscle definition of his arms was more pronounced compared to the sleek lines of the Suits. Long, mussed brown hair and a jaw with a day's worth of stubble appeared when he leaned back for a moment. A shaven-headed man in a burgher's suit who she automatically classified as "Chief Minion, Sub-Species Exasperated" nattered on while the fiddler reached for a crescent wrench.

"Excuse me," Agatha said, clearing a way with a poke of her folded fan, "do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Not in the slightest," he replied, with a hint of an English accent.

"That explains it," Agatha said. "Someone who did would realize that tightening the number three valve will mean a boiler explosion that'll kill everyone in the room."

"Really?" The man frowned.

"No, I just wanted to clear some space." Agatha stripped off a glove, ignoring the cowering crowd hiding behind various exhibit. "But you will burst the feeder pipes and get a face-full of cafe-au-lait."

The man twisted his head to the side.

It was almost as if meeting Rhadamanthys for the first time...only instead of contempt, it was pure joy.

"You designed this." The man did not phrase it as a question.

"Ah, yes." Agatha snapped open her fan. There must be a heater leak. "It's an amusing trifle, I know--"

"It's utterly brilliant!" The man's laugh echoed around the room. "Brian, we have to crash parties more often."

"Alec, the guards are coming," the minion said, twitching in his suit, "and I don't want to have to explain to the stockholders why you're in a DC jail."

"Hold on. You're not on the guest list?" Agatha said.

"Snuck in a half hour ago," Alec replied. "I'm sponsoring the visijng display of the Soviet space program--we even bagged the Vostok mock-up Gagarin trained on--and I saw the technicians setting up the wiring, decided to pitch in--"

"We have to go, they're drawing Tasers!"

"--heard there was a big function with a prominent inventor." Alec grinned without a hint of shame. "I couldn't resist. Hid in the back while someone I won't identify brought me a tux. Amazing what good clothes and an attitude will do."

"Stop," Agatha ordered to the approaching security. "You sneak into my party and interfere with my devices. Any reason I shouldn't have you tossed out on your ear?"

"My roguish good charm," Alec suggested.

"Not enough." Agatha raised an eyebrow. "Are you someone interesting?"

"See, Brian, she can't be from Washington," Alec said. "She said 'interesting', not 'important'. Hmm--you don't recognize me? How refreshing. Well, does owning a corporation that ranks eighth on the Fortune 500 impress you?"

"It means there are seven other people better than you," Agatha said, "at making money. Try again."

"I recently skied halfway across Antarctica."

"Did you gain any valuable scientific data from the expedition?"

"The South Pole is extremely cold."

"Then no," Agatha said. "Third chance."

"I have two hundred patents to my name," Alec said. "And I believethat by re-arranging the pipes in this coffee machine, we can create a rocket engine with double the thrust of current liquid-fueled designs."

"Move." Agatha shoved him aside. "Hmmm. Yes. Do you have tools?"

"Brian! Bring the kit from the Mustang." Alec said, to the vocal dismay of his minion. "I really do have to crash more parties, if it means meeting absolutely stunning women."

Agatha hit her head on the top edge of the hatch.

"Ah, do you, ah, make it a habit," she said, rubbing the back of her head, "of propositioning girls half your age?"

"Women. No," Alec said. "Not unless they create technology even more magnificent than they are."

Agatha was never more aware of the low cut of her gown's bodice, and the effect of the corset beneath it.

"Come on," Alec called out. "It's not set to kill anyone yet. If we work flat out, we'll have something that'll leave a Proton heavy booster in the dust by the time the sun rises. Don't disappoint the lady!"

++++

Samantha dashed from resonance accelerator to the bellows to the breaker rack. She could do this! You never bailed out until you had to. You did everything you could to bring the bird back to base. The figure on the slab writhed as the connection to the Goa'uld symbiote went active. That was the missing element! The symbiote's healing capabilities would sustain him while-- NO! She frantically twirled dials and slapped feedback switches. The naquadah in the symbiote's blood had created a cascade. St. Elmo's Fire erupted from the control panels. Oh god, no, she couldn't let this happen. Leaping to the slab, she tore at the restraints before--

*BLORT*

Samantha sat bolt upright in her bed, hand clamped tight over her mouth. The blankets didn't have time to hit the floor before she was in the bathroom across the hall. Most of what splashed into the bowl were the thin, acrid dregs of the coffee she had been drinking constantly since last evening. Whatever magic Agatha's brewing machines did to the stuff did not last once it came back up. When had she had last had solid food? There had been the half of a danish Felger had offered her during the research binge. Her mind heaved worse than her stomach at thoughts of insane circuit diagrams, warnings in red ink, and trying to understand Spark medical techniques with undergrad-level biology. Dammit! This was the same situation she'd had with her original attempts with the dialing computer. There was one simple aspect of the problem she couldn't see.

She needed Agatha's help. But, Agatha was across the continent. Agatha was engaged in high-level diplomatic relations. Agatha couldn't be distracted. You understand that, captain, don't you? She hadn't even been allowed to plead her case before the drone at State had cut her off. Fine. No problem. She had free run of Agatha's notes and the memory recall holograms. There were options. Lots of options, even though Sam could hear the turbofan blades shattering and the engine flaming out and the five year survival rate for her dad's lymphoma at this stage was twenty percent and the control surfaces wouldn't respond and it was in a flat spin down to the ground. Pull up, pull up, damn you, don't do this to me!

Dad.

Jacob Carter stood in the doorway. Her father had never been the lantern-jawed bomber pilot or fighter jock of Air Force legend. Most would have believed he was an accountant if he weren't wearing the uniform. No-one could mistake the man's iron will as anything else besides career military. Often crusty, Jacob never let any crisis shake his convictions that what he believed was the only true way. Mark had that in spades, refusing to bury the hatchet after Mom's death. She had channeled that into every project she had ever tried. That was Carters for you: if you were polite, driven; if you weren't, a pig-headed bunch. Sam had only seen her father's reserve fail twice. The first time was before her mother's funeral pleading for forgiveness. The second? Standing there, features still slack from sleep, seeing his daughter huddled over a toilet with an steel claw for a foot.

"I'm fine, Dad," Sam said, jerking up the tank top she wore to bed. "Just some bad dreams."

"I checked in on you a few hours ago," Jacob said. "You were having some humdinger of a nightmare. You were babbling in a language I haven't heard of, about 'Martouf'."

"That's from Daniel," Sam replied, mind racing for an explanation. "He hauled me into an explanation about Third Dynasty Egyptian pharonic lineages. After a while, you think in demotic."

"Your friend the archaeologist," Jacob said, "who works with you on analysis of deep-space radar telemetry."

"Uh, separate project." Sam smiled as innocently as she could. "Daniel consults on archaeological digs whenever the Air Force stumbles across something during construction."

"And your boss is an experienced intelligence officer," Jacob said. "Just between you and me, your cover story could use a little polish. You've been doing a lot more than analysis."

"Need to know, dad!" Sam said.

"I thought it was big," Jacob said, scowling. "Your ceremony is canceled, you're out of reach for weeks. I can't get a damn word out of anyone where you are."

"The work I'm doing is important." Sam grabbed the robe hanging off the back of the door.

"You let them take your dream away," Jacob said.

"Dreams change," Sam said, splashing water on her face. "I accepted the risk when I transfered to this after the Challenger disaster. I love the work I do."

"Compared to space, the real thing?" Jacob asked. "I can have another word with Bollinger. It'd be good optics--a bright woman, wounded in the line of duty, capable in spite of her...her handicap."

"You had no right jumping the line for me!" Sam slapped her palm onto the counter. "If I applied, it would be on my own merits."

"You'd deny a dying man the gift," Jacob said, stepping away, "of granting his own child her greatest hope."

"Dad, no, don't do this. Don't make it about you."

"You're upset." Jacob nodded curtly. "We'll talk about this in the morning, when you're thinking more clearly."

Sam leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the mirror. Classic Carter all the way--don't even get mad, cut it short and bull ahead with what you were going to do in the first place. The one time he had ever admitted being wrong was right before the funeral. She listened to him settling back to sleep in the guest bedroom. It took nearly a half-hour before she heard his snoring. Heh. Dad had never admitted to it, even with Mom ending up on the couch every morning. The oiled joints of her prosthetic leg were silent as she crept to the open door. Jacob Carter tossed and turned in the throes of dream. He was so vulnerable. The cells in his lymph nodes were dividing at a terrible rate. Soon they'd metastasize beyond the lymphatic system: brain, liver, bone, other organs. He had said it wasn't the worst. He had said he had months before it was serious.

He had been diagnosed a year ago without telling her.

Dammit.

Sam locked herself into her study. She awoke the second computer attached to a high-speed line to the Milnet. Plugging in a headset microphone, she called up a secure voice-over-IP program she had hacked for encrypted calls to the SGC. It wasn't recommended to converse too freely. Jack might forget to lock his front door. He did have an encyclopedic knowledge of how an office could be bugged or how to listen in with a laser and parabolic mike. Sam didn't care. A quick check on the unclassified Pentagon website for one Colonel Harold Maybourne scored a contact number. Silence on the other end of the line when her computer dialed it up greeted her. No recorded message or operator telling her it was busy. Someone unfamiliar with three-letter-alphabet agencies would assume it was a dead listing in the directory. Sam merely left a message and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

She was sure the NID would monitor his number with a tap-and-trace--

"Samantha." The voice was unfamiliar, the metallic bass wasn't.

"Tak mal tiak," Sam said, forcing herself into the hazy memories of Jolinar's Goa'uld.

"Your accent is terrible," Rhadamanthys said, switching to the alien language. "And the phrase is inappropriate for addressing a god. Being colleagues, of a sort, I will not take issue."

"I come to you in need.." Sweat beaded on her brow. "My father had--ah, don't have the Goa'uld for this. He has 'lymphoma'."

Silence.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm asking for," Sam said. "Mak shel lo komo ashma?"

"You can guess what I would wish," Rhadamanthys said, "for such a boon."

"Do you want me to report for duty," Sam said, more bile on her tongue, "in a gold bikini?"

"I would have higher duties for you than that." Rhadamanthys' voice lowered. "But yes, you would understand that should you pledge yourself to me, your obedience would extend to every aspect. Which is why I cannot accept."

"Is this revenge for a Tau'ri's disrespect?" Quiet tears. A good soldier never bawled.

"If Agatha found out you had traded yourself," Rhadamanthys said, "to me for the use of the sarcophagus, it would strain our alliance. "

"I can't expect a god to help my dad out of the goodness of his heart," Sam spat out.

"If I aid your father out of charity, then where does it end?" Rhadamanthy was infuriatingly reasonable. "A child dying of HIV, a prominent scientist cut off in his prime...or a great leader. I would hear no end of it if I were free with divine power."

"Agatha can demand it on my behalf," Sam said.

"Again, more conflict we cannot afford," Rhadamanthys said. "Her own medical techniques are rather, uh, drastic--"

"The closest procedure that can save Dad," Sam said, "is the Si Vales Valeo. The one labeled 'hideous re-animation procedure from Krakow'."

"Ah. That one." Rhadamanthys paused. "There is another option. Your father isn't covered by my agreement vis-a-vis SG-1. I am in need of skilled military men for my court."

"No."

"Should not your father have the right to decide?"

"Thank you for the audience, Rhadamanthys, for what it was worth."

Sam ripped the RJ jack right out of the wall.

Down and down, fighting all the way, bleeding energy and space.

Boom.

++++

"Mmmm a leetle *hic*," Agatha said, swaying, "effer--effervesk--drunk."

"Must be a leak in the fuel synthesizer," Alec said, pointing at the tangle of tubing containing what had once been a very extensive open bar.

"Ha!" Agatha peered owlishly at him. "Do you have a twin?"

"Just me!" Alec welded the last joint with her galvanic screwdriver. "Let's fire it up!"

"No, no." Agatha frowned. "Um. Wanna be good, not set things on fire alla time. Two words...dipl--diplomatic inshident! That'd be bad."

"Brian! To White Sands!" Alec ordered.

"I shink your minion's out." Agatha took in the lobby full of unconscious figures. "They're all out."

"Come, a tour of the museum!" Alec offered his arm.

"You're *hic* luring me off for nefarioush purposhes!" Agatha kicked off her court heels. "Wass nefarioush purposhes? I didna get that far with Daniel."

"I'll guard your virtue with my life." Alec wobbled. "So I am not the first man in your life?"

"Daniel? Naw, he'sh nice, but married." Agatha snorted. "Only man in my life now ish Teal'c with hish big staff. Never leave me alone. Though, when he rubs me all over after, it feelsh good."

"You're a temptress!" Alec crowed. "Am I next to fall for your wiles?"

"Hah, like I'm my mom." Agatha giggled. "Heh--then there's Rham..mama...Rhamadamadingdong. He'sh 'oh, I'm so manly, with buncha concubines', but he'sh really inna farm animals."

"Kinky." Alec waved ducked under a rope marking off a gallery. "Behold, the Vostok space capsule."

"Marveloush!" Agatha said, regarding the spherical space capsule. "Here, boosht me up so I can--OOOPSH!"

"Fumble fingers," Alec said, peering into the open hatch.

"I shlipped." Agatha's hiccup echoed from within. "Really coshy. Wanna, um, shleep. Ugh, thish dresh is all sticky."

"I'll air it out." Alec took the bedraggled silk dress shoved out the hatch, and draped it over a cosmonaut's space suit. "Will you be--ooof?"

"Hah! Now I have you trapped!" Agatha giggled, dragging him inside. "I--I conquer wish my wilesh."

Snoring emanated from the open hatch

"Awwwwwww. I'll jusht take a...*yawn* nap."

Darkness filled the gallery.

"Heeee. H-haaaaaans!"

The Tyrant is Klaus, right? But Beetleburg isn't Klaus' hometown, how could his grandfather have installed it?

"Tyrant" is also the formal title for the ruler of Beetleburg.

Ah, actually now that you mention it I do recall griping about that confusing bit of canon.

In other news: Kinsey decides to not outsource to China. Maybe.

I have no idea who Alec here is and I already find him awesome meshing with Agatha, this will be a riot!

Wow! Agatha and Alec Colson sure know how to party don't they?

Well, it looks like Sam almost made a deal with the Devil, but even the he's afraid of Agatha, so no dice. They'll just have to find the Tok'ra, and have Jacob become Selmak's host...

This guy. He's a mix of Richard Branson and Tony Stark, with a strong anti-establishment bias.