He stared down at the planet, the anger coursing through him so strong it kept his eyes a constant golden glow. "They remember nothing of their god?"

"No...My Lord." He stumbled over the title as though unused to uttering it. "It is a grave dereliction of our duty."

"Yes, it is." He wanted nothing more than to lash out and show his wrath, inflicting the punishment so richly deserved. However, he refrained. Barely. This Jaffa, though he used the term loosely, still had information that he needed. Besides, there was another with whom he could vent his frustration on, one who served no purpose other than to provide amusement for him. "However, I am a reasonable god, I shall not blame you for the sins of your forefathers, though you shall make up for them."

"My gratitude, My Lord."

"Tell me of the people on the planet." He strode to his throne, relishing that despite the unexpected problems he was facing, he was once again in his rightful place. "What their society is like, who erroneously claims to be the ruler."

"The current monarchy has ruled for almost a millennia despite a feud dividing the primary nation for five centuries."

"A feud?" Perhaps he could use that to his advantage.

"Yes, My Lord," he nodded. "A false god proclaimed himself to the people. The ruling Queen refused to acknowledge him, however he had amassed quite a following, it divided the nation. An attack early on saw the false god slain, yet it only fueled the zealots more."

"I am curious, which side did my Jaffa align with?"

"The Queen's, My Lord." He couldn't tell if his god was displeased by his ancestor's choice and he hurried on giving the reasoning. "The Queen may not have had the same faith as us, but we could not switch our loyalty to support a false god. We have but one god...you, My Lord."

The Goa'uld ignored the man's flagrant attempt at stroking his ego. "Considering the reason for the feud, I'm surprised she allowed the alliance due to your own devotion."

"The Queen did not have a problem with worship as such. It was enforced worship she would not stand for."

So another Goa'uld had tried to take over his secret little planet. "What was the name of this false god?"

"I believe he called himself Isten."

He did not recognize the name but he smirked nonetheless. Good riddance. One less of his brethren to worry about. "The zealots, how large are their numbers?" Perhaps he could use them to man his army. It shouldn't be difficult to convince them that he was their god reincarnated. He frowned when the Jaffa hesitated. "Speak up, how many?"

"None, My Lord."

"Explain."

The Jaffa swallowed at the drop in the dual tone. "The reason for the feud was forgotten three centuries into the battle. They fought for the next two centuries solely on the premise that they were enemies, without questioning why. It has been less than a decade that the two ruling families signed a peace pact which ended the feud."

"This attitude of free choice that the queen stupidly adhered to, does it remain to this day?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"How loyal are the people to the monarchy?"

"It is unquestioning, My Lord. Both nations would follow the King and Queen to the death, for they are fair and just rulers."

"And there are how many Jaffa?"

"Ten thousand, mostly based in a monastery just outside the capital."

"In a land of...?"

"Approximately one hundred thousand."

His fingers strummed against the golden armrest, the metal finger caps of the ribbon device echoing a steady tap. A one to ten ratio of Jaffa was actually better than when he left over seven thousand years ago. The secret to ruling a world, he had learnt, was not the amount of Jaffa he had to enforce his reign, but rather in the bending, or breaking if necessary, of the slaves, to the point that none would have the courage to retaliate. A suitably submissive herd of a thousand could be managed by as few as a dozen Jaffa. However, these Jaffa were not the trained, battle-hardened warriors he had left behind. They would not incite the fear required to induce docility. It went without saying that a show of force would be required. After seven thousand years of dereliction of their worship to him they would lack the discipline and submissiveness that should have been second nature to them. The key, it would appear, lay with the monarchy. The blind devotion of the people that was rightfully his had been transferred to mere humans. If he could 'convince' the monarchs to bow before him, then the rest of the people would fall into line. Gaining control of this planet was a necessity. He needed it if he was to rise to the rank of System Lord. "What of the mining operation?"

"Mining, My Lord?"

"Yes, of the ore quorite."

"The vein ran dry centuries ago, My Lord."

"What?"

"There is no more of the quorite left to mine," he stammered, shaking a little at the tone that once again was seething. "It is important, My Lord?"

Maybe all was not lost. "What was the ore used for?"

"Some buildings, My Lord, but mostly cobbles. The durability of the stone has seen replacement work has not been necessary for many centuries."

"You used the quorite...the most sought after substance in the universe on insignificant hovels and streets?"

The Jaffa bit back the retort that the city structures were hardly hovels. He was barely controlling the mix of emotions that had assaulted him in the last few days. To believe in one's god was one thing...to be summoned from out of nowhere to him was a wonderful and frightening honor...especially when due to the unexpected death of...what was the term his god had used?...the First Prime, he had been thrust into the head role. His god was not at all what he expected. The deity's mood swings were quick and often, and twice he had seen his god unleash his wrath upon the person who had displeased him. He never expected his god to be so cruel. He had witnessed the prisoner his god had chained in the antechamber of his quarters. The bruises and cuts marring the man's pale skin were evidence that he had endured much since being captured; had heard the agony in his screams. He had faith that his god had a reason for such torture, for who was he to question the will of his god? A lowly servant had no place wondering at the motives of the divine. "Yes, My Lord."

He watched his god turn from merely angry to furious. Cringed when the red jewel in the god's palm burned bright red and was pointed at him. Then as quickly as it came the fury was replaced with perplexity.

"Tell me, and make no mistake that your life depends on your answer..."

"Y...yes, my Lord?"

"The town is paved with the quorite?"

"Yes, My Lord. Approximately one third of the streets of the old town are made of it."

"And you and the other Jaffa, you walk in the streets without mishap?"

"Mishap?"

"Remain in good health?" he clarified.

"Yes, My Lord." When his god remained silent he hurried on, elaborating in hope of pleasing him. "And those who follow your path have been blessed with longevity and strength."

He was about the retort that 'Of course the Jaffa lived long and strong, they were Jaffa!' Then his eyes narrowed. Given the situation of their existence, it should not be so. There were a lot of things that should not be so. Seven millennia had seen too many changes. He needed a history lesson, not only on what had transpired on the planet, but in the galaxy. He spent the next four hours intensely questioning his eager servant. By the end of it, he realized that the standard fire and brimstone routine would not work even if his Jaffa were fully battle trained. A plan was already formulating in his mind as he dismissed his newly appointed First Prime. "Maintain orbit until I say otherwise."

"As you command, My Lord." The Jaffa bowed low and left.

The prisoner cringed away as best he could with his wrists and ankles shackled to the wall.

"I have a new line of questioning," he purred, striding up to him. He patted the man's head as though he were a dog. "Answer me in as much detail as possible and maybe I shall forget about reacquainting myself with the fine and delicate art of torture...or as you so diplomatically put it, interrogation."

A spark of defiance crossed his bruised face. "You'll never get away with this. My people will already be mounting a rescue mission." He tried to inject as much force and confidence into his voice as he could.

The Goa'uld called his bluff, a laugh of genuine amusement howled from his throat, sending a shiver down the chained man's spine.

"Your own people had no qualms about shooting you. I doubt very much that they would go to the trouble of attempting a rescue...unless of course it was to finish the task of ending your pitiful excuse of a life." The smirk he gave was of complete and arrogant confidence. "And you're forgetting the tiny little detail that no one knows who I am or where any of my holdings are...you saw to that. You are completely at my mercy. Whether you live or die rests solely on my good grace, so you'd better not displease me." His smile becoming vicious, he absently opened a panel in the wall to reveal a row of various knives, pain sticks and bottles of acids and serums. "I take that back. Displease me a little, for punishing you brings me great pleasure."

The defiance dropped away as his gaze latched onto the pain stick the Goa'uld had picked up and flicked on and off making sure the electrical charge worked. "Wh...what is it you want to know?"

"To begin with, what became of Ra?"

The prisoner frowned at the request for 'old' history. "He died." When the Goa'uld put down the pain stick and perused the selection of torture tools he hurried on. "Jackson and O'Neill, with the help of the Abydonians, destroyed him."

The Goa'uld selected a knife with a long thin blade and swung it back and forth like a conductor's baton, testing its weight. "You're going to have to do better than that, Kinsey. I want details."

The disgraced senator swallowed, wracking his brain to dredge up every detail of that first mission nine years ago.