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Admiral Breetai
Starship Captain
Posts: 1813
Joined: Mon Aug 31, 2015 8:28 pm


Post by Admiral Breetai » Fri Mar 26, 2021 12:12 am

While I brainstorm for Tides and Conquest of Paradise....I present you, well a present.

Usual disclaimer applies, the IP is owned by MGM and probably Disney, not me.

In between the departure of Atlantis and the rise of the Empire of the Serpent!

It is done, they are gone, expelled from the cradle of their power. After we fled, my father sealed the Star Gate, in which Ra and his treacherous brethren were cast, banished for all time. With him went his servants. the Serpent Apophis, mighty warrior. Golden Aker, mighty builder, depraved Kronos and Hathor, mother of chattel and behind them, the horror whose name shall not be written, whose hunger for souls is beyond madness. Whom even Ra feared... We pray that those who come after never enter here. Never unravel the mystery of the pyramids, never seek the accursed figures upon stone. Do not strive emulate them, do not look for knowledge and above all else, please, we beg to you, open not the doorway.

The “Ballard inscription” alleged Egyptian Hieroglyphs found in a paleolithic era Cave settlement in Arizona Circa 1969.


40,000 years ago North Africa

Sometimes he wished they would fail a hunt, just because he hated the singing more than he hated the dancing. They gathered around old mother at the mouth of the immense cave system where his tribe lived during the harshest moons of the raining season, outside a storm raged. They’d killed one of the great beasts with the long straight teeth. They were different from the other great ones, whose teeth curved, they had no hair as well, the same long nose and they screamed as horribly but they were different, the hairy ones came rarely. They tasted better, their meat was rich with flavors from far off places and when he touched their weak minds, he could see white sand as far as the eye could see, great big trees and people like his but with a lot of skin and fur from dead things about them to keep warm.

Once he even saw an old woman, who had the gift like him from the weird lands. There were so few of them, but Teltak the one who came before the boy said that there were more now than before. The boy didn’t know about that, he didn’t care, it wasn’t his place to care, it was his place to paint the animals, to “see’ the hunt and to use the gift to make sure the hunters succeeded. Teltak had failed, it was the last time the boy saw him alive; they took him and broke his head on a great big rock. The boy felt a measure of pity, he had used his gift to make Teltak see wrong. It was a mistake, the boy didn’t even know he was doing it, but they killed Teltak anyway.

It was what would happen to the boy if he ever should fail. It was stupid, Teltak was old, even when the boy’s fathers, father was young. It took a long time for a mother to birth a person who could see the animals and summon them with the paintings. The tribe would probably starve without him or must move and wander like those savages with the sloping brows, or those weird ones who were like the boy’s people but lived like savages. They had people with gifts too, he would “see” them sometimes, they were different than him, they spread out too far, their blood thinned.

The boy’s mate lay sleeping beside his furs, her belly was huge, she would probably die bringing their child into the world, good the boy thought. He never felt anything for her, she was distant kin to him but that meant nothing. The Elders forced him to breed with her “to try and make more who can see”. It succeeded, he knew that he could sense it. His replacement one day, part of him hoped the child died with his mate, part of him hoped he failed just so everyone would starve.

These thoughts were dark, they often made the great ones scream a lot, but it didn’t matter. He hated the great ones, he hated his mate, he hated the thing inside her, he hated his people. Not for Teltak. But because it was so, ordinary, everything was muted, everything was silent, it was all boring. The older the boy got, the harder it became to feel anything, to care for anything. Legends from gifted ones, from their dreams told of beings of light. Ancient ones, who slept with the peoples of the valley. Some say the gift was born from that union, others that it is a lie told by the sloping browed idiots. The boy believed differently that he existed to counter those descended from the children of the ancients, that it was a natural defense against their arrogance.

But the boy didn’t care about that.

The boy was meandering, his thought erratic, it was normal after a great one died while he was still inside its mind. This one, died badly. Duuurrron, the greatest hunter of their tribe hurt its baby so much, the baby cried and cried, its wild eyes searched frantically until it ceased to scream, Great one babies died from being scared all the time. It was funny, their little noses flailing about, they would get so scared and hurt that they would even seek comfort from their torturers and when you gave it to them only to hurt them more it made their little hearts ache so much.

Duuurron did this, he hurt the little Great One so badly it died of confusion and sorrow and its mother went into a blind rage at its cries and charged. But it fell into a great pit and then Duuurron threw a stick down into its eye and then throat. It died sputtering blood and meat from it and its baby would last them the rest of the raining season. The rains were colder now, it made it harder to focus, but the caves kept them warm. It was all so boring, so boring, so dreadfully boring.

The boy reached out to touch his mate’s belly, it would be so easy to paint the child, but they would kill him.

In secret he painted his mate.

She was so boring.

He wanted something new, something exciting, he wanted to “see” something new.

Even if that meant being killed like Teltak. At least it would be something different.

Teltak told him to always stop his thoughts when they grew dark, the boy always thought Teltak was a fool for saying such things. Outside, lightning roared, it seemed to grow louder than normal, and the ground trembled below his feet, that was odd. The storms were getting worse, but as long as they stayed in the caves, they were safe. Never had the ground shaken below him. People who were singing and dancing went silent, he was happy for this, they really annoyed him. People began to scream, he understood why when he looked from objects of his drawings and saw, something in the skies. It was enormous, in a weird shape he’d never seen before and it came down with stars and sun. Bright and yet dark, it was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. His, clutched at him, the boy pulled away, she’d woken up and was screaming. Everyone ran, meat which was being cured got knocked over into the dirt, things began to appear at the mouth of the cave., they screamed and spoke, but he wasn’t sure if he was seeing them, or “seeing” them. They were odd though, not men, not quite beasts, gigantic, reptilian and snarling. People began to run deeper into the caves, but he walked forward excited. The ground rumbled below his feet; his mate clutched at him again. He dashed her head into a wall, she fell, she was bloody. The creatures if they were even there, seemed to ignore him and focused on those who ran.

He sealed his fate in that instant; but he if he knew, he wouldn’t have cared. His prayers were answered, he could finally experience something new. The stars and sun that seemed to wrap about something that looked like a mountain and were joined by a chorus of thunder and lightning and he finally felt it. Something inside the mountain called to him, the boy could feel it. It had the gift as well! But its spirit was different, unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was so powerful, so old, so different, its drawings were of animals the boy never saw before and shapes he didn’t understand. It was in so much pain as well! That was so, different, never had another with the gift been so strong that the boy felt its pain as more than a distant hum. This was vivid and loud and overwhelming, something around it decayed, its power was holding it together, but the effort grew more and more painful. It was so fascinating, it was searching for something, it was seeking something new. New beings?

Was it bored as well?

They fled, they cowered, but he came forward.

He called back.

Here I am.

Something new.

Something new!

Here I am!

Admiral Breetai
Starship Captain
Posts: 1813
Joined: Mon Aug 31, 2015 8:28 pm

Re: Doorway

Post by Admiral Breetai » Fri Mar 26, 2021 12:14 am

Joe Rogan! Also, we get a bit of a backstory and it becomes clear what this is about.

Chapter 1: The Scribe

Los Angeles, June 3rd, 2015.

Smoke filled the air as the bald headed, mammoth of a host set his marijuana filled cigar down. An amused look played over the face of the young archaeologist, if his grandfather could see him now! “Right” The man began “So we’re here with Doctor Daniel Jackson, a prodigy and master at ancient linguistics.”

“And Pariah” Jackson added into the mic, his shaggy blond hair falling about a youthful face. “That’s true! Yeah, man, you’re like the only guy I know who has both fringe archeologists and the mainstream ripp’n at you twenty-four seven”.

“Yeah I’ve pretty much made everyone….a..angry with me I guess” Jackson remarked, straining to finish the sentence so as to avoid sneezing from the smoke. “I don’t understand why though” Not true, Jackson thought. He knew exactly why the archaeological world was hacked off at him. After all, he called the ancient astronaut theorists misguided and made the mainstream guys feel humiliated.

“I’m not fuck’n surprised y’know? Your grandfadder was the same way” the walking mound of frenetic energy and obesity that was the secondary guest a stand-up comic with a background in organized crime remarked. The man spoke with a thick Jersey accent, but Jackson could detect traces of his Cuban heritage even in a practiced English accent. If given enough time, Jackson could probably even figure out what neighborhood in which city the man came from. He was right of course; Nicholas Ballard was all but drummed out of the profession despite being at one point of the most cited scholars of the nineteen sixties and seventies. “Really?” The main host asked, and the mound of flesh nodded. “Yeah, fuck’n Nick said he found hieroglyphs in a cave in Nevada or someshit, but that they were like a million years old or something.”

“Nicholas Ballard for those listening was the grandfather of our guest, a great archeologist in his time and a close friend of Erik Von Deinaken and that crew. But he broke ranks with them over the discovery of the Ballard inscription which he insisted was signs of what our guest is here to talk about.”

“The Jackson-Ballard theory of cultural plagiarism” Jackson remarked, the theory that had landed him in enough hot water to have one of the only two PHD’s he’d earned (As opposed to being grudgingly conferred upon him in recognition of his talents). A degree he earned when he was just seventeen, making him one of the youngest recipients of a PHD in history. Though, that test pilot and physicist Sam Carter beat him by a few years. “And it was a cave in Arizona, and it was between thirty and forty thousand years old” Jackson corrected gently. “You knew my grandfather didn’t you Mister Di-?”

“Fuck’n Joey kid” the mound of flesh said slapping him on the back and cutting him off. “Yeah, I did, he used to hang out with Harlan Ellison and that fuck’n weirdo with the pipe what was his name?”

“L Sprague De Camp” Jackson put in helpfully, no doubt the mound of flesh was about to launch into a story about lines with his disgraced grandfather and sensing it the mammoth of a host cut him off. “Yeah, fascinating dude your grandfather. He really lived hard, disappeared in South America, didn’t he?”

Jackson nodded “fifteen years today actually. But I spent my formative years listening to his stories and theories, helping him translate dusty old journals. He taught me Ancient Egyptian before I could walk, and I grew up reading his papers and reworking his old research.”

“Right, so what is this theory?”

“Well,” Jackson cleared his throat. “Basically, Grandpa Nick noticed something everyone seemed to politely ignore. That a lot of ancient civilizations, but specifically the Egyptians. Made the leap from cavemen to building cities disturbingly fast. And then you have the fact that minus the step pyramid, their earliest work eclipses their later.”

“Explain for the folks at home” The host put in, preempting Jackson who was about to continue.

“Well, um basically. Most civilizations progress linearly, some plain out sure, or they progress erratically, but there’s almost always consistent leaps that we can point too that show progression. Even when societies stagnate, there are always some inventions. Even when they fall backwards. It’s very rare that you encounter a people that go from crude stone spears to war chariots and scythes and small cities. Or the equivalent” Jackson said enthusiastically.

“Rare? Yeah, I guess you do have exceptions. Like the Comanche that went from stone age to conquering fucking everything and fighting what were bleeding edge civilizations at the time”

Jackson smiled, his former colleagues wondered why he listened to this man’s podcast, especially Sarah. But the guy, trippy and rough as he had a genuine curiosity and he listened to his guests. “Yes! Exactly, but with the Comanche we have a transmission of technology from one advanced culture to a lesser one. Guns and horses in this case, to me and to my grandfather Nick, it was as if the Egyptian people just sort of walked into the Nile and came out with engineering and medicine and smithing” Jackson’s hands flailed as he animatedly described what he spoke of, prompting the other guest, the mound to hand him a glass of whiskey. “N-No thanks..I..actually yeah, thanks”

“I mean fuck you are over twenty one right?”

Jackson grinned “twenty-three, but I learned how to make moonshine when I was fifteen!”

“Fuuuuccckk” The host laughed “Why’d you learn that?”

Jackson shrugged “I was bored.”

“And you say the Egyptians got dumber as time went on?” The mound asked “Because fuck me, with how long they lasted? They were bound to forget some shit.”

Ah, so that was why my grandfather liked him Jackson thought. “And that’s true and they experienced a pretty horrific cataclysm as well, that’s true later Egyptian dynasties weren’t even Egyptian. The Ptolemies were Greek, but they had their own apex. No, it’s expected for things to get forgotten and or fall back. I mean the ancient Egyptians were a preeminent power when even the ancient Chinese were fumbling in the dark. But that’s my point, its almost like they just appeared out of thin air. There was no C and D in the ABCDE process you know?”

“No, it makes sense” the human mastodon remarked. “But it sure pissed a lot of people off. Dunno why though, because the way you’re explaining it, it makes fuck’n perfect sense.”

Jackson shrugged “The mainstream academic community, doesn’t like the idea that the ancient Egyptians copied another, older, grander civilization or its ruins. Since they say no proof outside of some curiosities exist. The Ancient aliens’ guys hate me because I don’t think their explanation is logical.”

“And why do you say that?” The Mammoth asked.

“Well,” Jackson began “I think, if aliens did come to earth and share knowledge, they wouldn’t just advance us so far and they wouldn’t do something for free”

“why not?”

Without missing a beat Jackson looked up from his glass of whiskey, the light glinting off his glasses “Because we don’t and I could speculate all day and night about the psychology of beings that may not exist or may be incomprehensible but as far as we know, intelligent life only does things one way.”

“And that way is pretty shitty” the Host agreed. “Well, not necessarily shitty. We’re half savage to quote Star Trek, but that isn’t always a bad thing. I dunno, we’re pragmatic, even the Comanche only got horses because of negligence and they only got guns because someone had the bright idea to use them as mercenaries”, He gave a shrug “What purpose does it serve to carry a people only so far? Unless you were bored it was some behavioral engineering thing, but then why?” Jackson shrugged “any way…Going back to my theory. Essentially grandpa and I believe that ancient Egypt and perhaps Sumaria and ancient Indian cultures less developed and more stumbled upon the remains of some ancient highly sophisticated cultures. Maybe some sort of remnant population and that remnant or those remains served as the building block for what we now know as the ancient world.”

“And that pisses people off?” The mammoth of a host asked. “That doesn’t sound so bad”

Jackson who had been spinning his glass and watching the liquid turn looked up with a wry grin. “I accused a lot of academics of perpetuating a fraud in their papers. Mainly the false hieroglyphs inside the pyramid and the alien guys, well I don’t give them the time of day”

It had begun to rain when Jackson left the studio, his luck was truly terrible at times. No more grant money, the crowdfunding and book revenue was still two weeks away and he had been evicted from his apartment the day before the show. The last bits of funds he had on him had been spent on a motel last night. -Homeless- typical, Jackson thought. He was so focused on his current predicament, praying the podcasts exposure would get him in a position where he could breathe next quarter that he didn’t notice the tall, broad shouldered man with sandy blond hair and Polish features in a uniform, that Jackson would only recognize if he got a good look at it.

Which he was about too.

“Doctor Jackson, sir, sir” The man called, his voice genial for someone his size and with knuckles that scarred. “Space Force” Jackson murmured, noticing the officers insignia and chevrons. Created in nineteen ninety-nine by President Clinton, funded by President Bush and ignored by the current guy in the Whitehouse, the United States Space Force was supposed to be the military of the future, in truth it was seen as a place for all the armed services branches to transfer their retirees, hard cases and mad scientists. Commanded originally by Admiral Abraham Ellis (another friend of his grandfather, hence the only reason Jackson knew it existed at all). The “last service branch” had fallen into disrepair, kept funded with a large budget even while ignored for reasons no one could truly comprehend.

“I’m Major Kowalski, come with me”

“uhh why?” Jackson asked, blinking to get some of the water pouring down into his eyes and fogging up his glasses out of his way. A vain attempt he knew but.

“Well to get out of the rain for one and second because” he pointed to a limousine “Katherine Langford wishes to see you.”

“Langford?” Jackson blinked. Truly? The woman had been a legend in the archeological and anthropological community, hell. She was the daughter of scientific royalty, her father being one of the inspirations for Indiana Jones and his father allegedly being the source for Alan Quartermaine. Adventurers, scholars, thrill seekers and museum directors and owners of one of the largest collections of rare artifacts and antiquities in the world. The Langford family was on its fifth generation of contributing to the academic world. But the matriarch of the family herself, a recluse was believed to have died of old age until she published in Nat Geo some two years ago (Reasonable assumption, the woman had been born in 1911 after all) , no one quite knew what she had been up too since the late nineties. Seeing the look on the Major’s face, Jackson knew he’d been hooked but what choice did he have?

The door was opened and within sat an austere woman with bone white and silver hair and a lined face that looked like it belonged to someone in their early eighties and not over a hundred years old. Around her neck was the golden necklace of Amun-Ra, a trademark of all the old photos he’d seen. The eye of Ra seemed to shimmer in the dark and Jackson quirked his head only to have a folder with photos of his parents, his credentials and a hundred other things within. “I met your mother when she was very little.”

“I know” Jackson remarked “She never forgot” his tone was soft, and he caught himself hero worshipping and tried to make a correction. The woman offered a knowing smile “I was saddened to learn of her death and so soon after Nicholas.”

“You two were friends?” Jackson asked, before flinching, the memory of his grandfather ranting about how the Langfords let him hang when they knew, entered his mind. Right, Jackson thought, I should be bitter after all my grandfather was disgraced because of you and your family put out some hostile papers towards me.

Still, Jackson could not help but geek out just a little.

Living history always fascinated him, even if it wasn’t pleasant.

She laughed “Hard to believe with how he no doubt spoke about me, but yes once long ago” her tone was as far away as her eyes and she took a moment to compose herself. Her accent even after all these years never truly left her it added a sense of mystique to her aged voice. “I have a jet waiting for us, I trust everything you own is in that shabby bag?”

“Yes it is..wait” Jackson asked bewildered.

“Of course,” she laughed softly, wheezing slightly as she did so. “Did you think I hauled myself all this way to this filthy city to sit in a car? This is a job interview boy.”

Jackson blinked “I don’t understand..the guy is military”

“Yes, Marine division attached to the Space force.”

“ah” Jackson said as if that explained everything “And, why would the space force want me?”

The woman looked to her left gazing out at the rain “Do you want a chance to prove your theories right?”

There was something in her tone of voice, a weight to it that gave Jackson pause, as if the coils of destiny had just been given cue to wrap around his throat. Nervous, hesitant, military? Spooky government stuff? Space force? Why the hell was Katherine Langford mixed up with that? -I should leave- he thought.

But go where?

-I assume all you own is in that shabby bag- her wizened voice echoed in the young man’s head.

No, no matter what.

A chance to vindicate his grandfather and prove his theories?

“I do” Jackson whispered.

“That’s good, now Major Kowalski can get out of the rain.”

Admiral Breetai
Starship Captain
Posts: 1813
Joined: Mon Aug 31, 2015 8:28 pm

Re: Doorway

Post by Admiral Breetai » Fri Mar 26, 2021 12:15 am

Chapter 2: Wounded Warrior

Munising Michigan – Same time

She hated him, and she cursed him for that. They had been married twenty years now, her father warned her about marrying someone “in the life” but she didn’t listen. He was tall, muscular, toned and with the jaw and poise of an American GI straight out of another era. Sarcastic, defiant, devil may care and yet capable of profound introspection and stoicism they didn’t make men like her husband anymore. That action hero right out of an eighty’s movie meshed with the calm frontiersmen of yore out of the history books and filtered through the lens of a John Ford movie.

Colonel John James “Jack” O’Neil was one part Snake Pliskin, one part Wyatt Earp and one part stand up comic. Those traits made Sarah fall hopelessly in love with him, but they also meant that when he broke because they didn’t make ‘em like that anymore it was impossible to fix him.

Smoke rose to form a halo around shabby blond hair, she was wearing a beat-up old flannel and probably looked haggard. Sarah didn’t care, her daughters kept telling her to pick herself back up, but that was another reason why she hated the man she once loved furiously. They had seen only their father’s pain but none of their mother’s fury and with twins, well on most of the critical issues they were of one mind. They took his side, insisting that he be allowed to grieve in his own way while she was supposed to be there for him and suck it up?

That wasn’t true, she was being unfair to her two remaining kids they only wanted their parents to grieve as a couple, they only wanted Sarah to let go of her rage towards Jack, but they didn’t understand. She didn’t blame Jack for Charlie’s death, their youngest was a tenacious little one and he got into everything and if he wanted to get ahold of Jack’s guns, no safe nor lock would have stopped him. That was why she kept insisting they do with Charlie what they did for their daughters, weapons safety training, shooting, and hunting from a young age. Sandra and Sasha understood and respected guns. Jack kept promising to show Charlie, but the war on terror had reached its apex when Charlie was born and when it was supposed to wine down under President Obama it only got worse and Jack was gone so often. She kept insisting he retire, a few years older than her Jack was a Gulf War veteran and he was eligible for it. Just so they could be a family, Charlie was going to be their last kid and. No, Sarah reminded herself, she didn’t blame Jack for Charlies death, the boy had just wanted to be closer to his father and things, happened when you were a nine-year-old with a piece.

No, she blamed Jack for blaming himself, for hating himself and for wanting to leave her and their daughters alone in a graying world without him. -He’s supposed to be a hero damnit, I married a hero not a broken toy soldier-. The thought repulsed her, she knew how selfish it was and yet images of Jack cradling their dead son in his arms, one of their daughters clutching at brain matter and the other wailing like a banshee filled her head and she stopped caring about how selfish it was.

“He’s going to put that 1911 to his head one day and mean it for once” she spoke aloud, her voice dry and numb. A knock on the door jerked her out of her thoughts and she walked from the kitchen towards hall between the kitchen and the dinning and family rooms. Two members of the Space Force were at the door -What the hell do these losers want with a real soldier? - she thought derisively then decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. One of them was an older man, some lifetime logistics clerk a pencil pusher and bean counter most like. The other, in his twenties, she recognized the youth because he was married to one of her cousins. “Billy” she remarked trying not to laugh at the uniform. It was gray and he was doing his best not to look like a caricature of a West Point graduate from a century ago. The way the Space Force was set up was bizarre, there was a “United States Stellar Navy” branch, which had the old naval ranks and one that was clearly based off the Airforce, they were supposed to be pilots, but she wasn’t sure why there was a naval side to it except that maybe President Bush was serious about wanting spaceships with guns. There was supposedly a third division as well, one that wasn’t uniformed but more like a federal agency, an intelligence arm. Jack said it was just a rumor, no one would be stupid enough to “screw with the way things got to be” like that and throwing that much money at what amounted to a blackhole for people who couldn’t be thrown out but had to be promoted out was absurd.

But when she looked at the older man she wondered.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked, in a tone that suggested she didn’t particularly care.

“Captain Harold Maybourne” The man said, the grip on the folder he was carrying tightening. “May we speak to Jack?”

Oddly familiar Sarah thought, definitely a former bean counter. “If you can reach ‘em” she said walking into the kitchen. She knew by the look in Maybourne’s eyes this was a mission that was likely so top secret maybe fifty people knew about it outside of the command center that was directing it.

Sarah knew that meant it was likely a suicide mission.

When her husband finally stirred from their room a few moments after the men left, she knew the ghost of her husband had accepted.

He wasn’t coming home.

She felt relieved.

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