A deep vibration pulses through us. We pause in our singing, confused by the disruption. The shock of an explosion sends us swirling in panic. What is this? The cold circle, dead for so long, blossoms outward. The force of its billowing wave shatters our music before settling back once more into its center. We sweep across its surface, wondering, fearing. Have they returned? It can not be. The hated ones are gone, banished. They can no longer threaten us.
But it is not the remembered form of the ancient enemy that breaks into our song. It is a strange new thing that emerges from the circle. We watch, curious, as it drifts. We rub against its hard skin, tasting, testing, feeling. We sing a cautious welcome, but its answer is unintelligible. The circle explodes outward once again. Another thing, larger than the first, swims through. The alien hum reverberates through us. Its noise destroys our harmony. The oily residue from its cold skin pollutes our home. We swirl around the vile thing. The otherness of its taste defiles our essence. The larger thing begins to move, returning to the circle. The smaller one, hanging motionless, begins crying for the retreating one. The discord of its voice is painful.
NO! The mouth of the alien thing bites deep into our essence as it reaches the circle. We surge forward. We will not let it happen again! No! Return them! We surround the thing, pulling at it, exerting pressure to stop it. RETURN THEM TO US!
NOnonooonononononoonononono
The circle closes, allowing the thing to escape. The one left behind screams, tormenting us with our loss. We spiral down in impotent anger, smashing through the rubble of the hates ones' ancient place. How could this have happened again? We destroyed their stone edifice, brought down their high places, eaten their circle! As their places fell into our reach, we rose up, washing across them, reuniting with those trapped in glowing containers in the cold dry places.
The deep vibration of the circle calls us back. It opens and several hated ones pass through. In fury, we seize them, filling them, demanding the return of our lost ones. They have no answer as they thrash, then grow still. We abandon them and wait, watching the circle. Will our lost ones follow? Will more hated ones emerge? The center of the circle ripples in mockery of us. With hope waning, we begin the music we had hoped forever silenced, the song of our bereavement. We concentrate on one another, drawing together the ragged edges of our essence, drawing strength and comfort from those who remain. Our loss courses through us, striking a chord of hopelessness and pain. We seek unity through our song, as we have from the beginning before the hated ones came to disrupt our harmony.
The circle spits out another strange thing to interrupt our communion. This new thing swallows the small motionless one and stops its screaming. The circle closes. Anxious, cautious, we surround this new thing, tasting and touching. It tries to move away, back to the circle. NO! We will not let it leave. What has happened to our lost ones? Return them to us! We pulse against its bitter skin, gripping the thing to keep it in place. We twist and slither along its length, prying and squeezing. Within the strange thing moves the forms of the hated ones. So this thing is at the command of our ancient enemy. We will show you that we are strong. We will not let you hurt us again. Return our lost ones!
The eye of the thing shatters under our might. Trapped inside is the surface of the world. We seal off the eye, holding in the surface. We must be careful. In haste and anger, we filled the others with our essence and received no answer to our demands. Perhaps, like the hated ones of old, these must preserve the cold dry surface of the world to sing their song. So we allow them this. We feel the faintest notes of a song from inside as one of the strange ones approaches the eye. It extends itself slowly, curiously into us. The hum of its song is odd. We do not understand it. We carefully slide along the other, seeking, coating, sealing the surface with it so that it might continue to sing it's strange song. The others rush forward into the eye to join unity with the one we hold. We engulf them too. Perhaps now we will have our answer.
fin
© May 5, 2001 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.