Chapter 3

  Amos Fyree stood at the base of the Stargate, disbelief churning within him. "This can't be Earth," he thought, a sense of dread creeping in. It felt like the beginning of a Stargate horror story as a group of small, grey figures approached him. “Who are you? What brings you to our world?” one of the aliens asked, curiosity etching its features.

  “My name is Amos Fyree. I’m from the planet Earth,” he replied, trying to maintain his composure. The childlike aliens began to murmur among themselves, their excitement palpable as if they had just uncovered a great mystery.

  “We are familiar with the inhabitants of Earth,” one alien explained. “You are, in fact, the second individual from that planet to use our Stargate in recent memory.”

  “You’re the Asgard!” blurted Amos.

  “You’ve heard of us?” responded the little grey alien closest to him.

  “That’s right. We learned about you in Stargate history, a course we have to take when we join Stargate Command.”

  Amos walked closer towards the Asgard surrounding the gate and thought of what he should say next. At that moment, another Asgard approached with authority. “Greetings, I am Commander Freyr, a member of the Asgard High Council. May I inquire about your presence on Othalla, high home of the Asgard?”

  Amos's expression shifted to one of confusion. “Othalla? No, that world was destroyed over a decade ago. This can’t be right... The Asgard were wiped out eight years ago. No, this is wrong—this can’t be happening!” he stammered in a rising panic.

  The surrounding Asgard exchanged glances, their conversations flowing rapidly in their native tongue. Freyr then interjected, his tone steady. “On the contrary, we are very much alive, and Othalla is, in fact, not destroyed.”

  “What year is it?” Amos demanded suddenly. “What year is it on Earth?”

  Freyr glanced at his companions and murmured something in Asgardian, before meeting Amos’s gaze again. He took a measured breath and, in an unusually flat voice, replied, “It is the year 2000 on the planet Earth.”

  A shock washed over Amos as the gravity of the situation sank in. The hourglass device that Dr. Jackson had entrusted to him was not a mere artifact but a time machine that had catapulted him 15 years into the past.

  “I feel like I’m about to pass out,” Amos mumbled, the words barely escaping his lips. He rocked unsteadily, eyes fluttering shut, and then collapsed onto the floor. When consciousness returned, he found himself sprawled on a pristine white bed, the sterile ambiance of a medical facility revealing that he was somewhere entirely alien, amidst the sleek architecture of an advanced city.

  “This isn’t a dream,” he mused, dawning realization settling over him like a heavy fog. He wasn’t just trapped in another galaxy; he was unmoored in time, fifteen years in the past.

  As Amos blinked away the remnants of disorientation, he gazed out the window at a surreal sight—flying cars darting through the sky and buildings crafted from grey stone, their design echoing a blend of the familiar and the otherworldly. An Asgard doctor approached, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

  “Are you alright?” the physician asked gently.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’ve just been through quite a lot,” Amos replied, his voice steadying.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but we took a sample of your blood to assess your health,” the physician informed him matter-of-factly.

  “Did you find anything unusual?” Amos inquired, a hint of worry threading through his voice.

  “Nothing alarming. We noted some genetic degradation, which is common among humans from Earth due to environmental factors and diet. However, we also detected incredibly advanced miniature machines circulating within your bloodstream.” The physician paused, assessing Amos's reaction. “They resemble technology associated with beings known as…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “…the Replicators.”

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  Amos sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes. “Oh, you must mean my medical nanites. The technology is based off of old Replicator technology found in Atlantis but are not connected to the Replicators in this galaxy at all. They were created by a company on Earth called Devlin Medical Technologies. After years of trying to replicate the technology, Stargate Command chose me to be one of the first subjects to test the next generation medical nanites before we put them in the field. Before, I had a bad back, weak bones, and had trouble lifting heavy objects. Now my back is fine, I’m able to lift heavy objects, and every sickness or minor injury I receive automatically heals,” Amos explained. Walking into the room was another Asgard who appeared to be a secretary of some kind.

  “If the patient is able, the Asgard High Council would like to speak with him,” he said.

  On the far side of the sprawling metropolis stood a remarkable structure, markedly different from the surrounding architecture. Its rectangular foundation boasted grand columns that graced the outer walls, lending it an air of regal prominence. At its heart lay a set of marble steps that led up to a striking glass door, leading to the magnificent great hall.

  “Welcome to Gladsheim, Great Hall of the Asgard, please head towards the pedestal the Asgard High Council will address you shortly,” announced a courteous Asgard attendant.

  As Amos stepped into the great hall, he felt the weight of history pressing down upon him. He moved purposefully toward the pedestal, his heart racing in anticipation. The vast auditorium overflowed with Asgard, their forms perched in seats that wound around the gallery. The air buzzed with the energy of countless conversations, a symphony of voices that seemed to hum with life.Amos had heard stories about General Jack O'Neill standing in front of the Asgard High Council. He even heard the General cursed them out once, commenting rudely on Freyr’s mother. Yet, mere anecdotes paled in comparison to the palpable sense of grandeur that enveloped this room.

  Here he stood, dwarfed by the sheer presence of one of the most advanced civilizations known to history. The Asgard, though diminutive in stature, radiated an aura of power and intellect that made Amos feel as insignificant as an ant in their towering midst.

  Asgard High Council, adorned with a striking black medallion. The once cacophonous chamber fell silent, the weight of anticipation palpable in the air. “Welcome, human, to Othalla. It has come to my attention that your arrival here was no ordinary occurrence. Would you be so kind as to elaborate on the circumstances that brought you to our realm?” he inquired, his keen gaze fixed upon Amos.

  Amos surveyed the councilors, whose eyes bore into him, as well as the numerous spectators in the gallery. He coughed discreetly into his hand, cleared his throat, then replied, “Thank you, High Chancellor. I would be more than willing to share my story. However, I must admit that the 'how' of my arrival remains a mystery to me. My name is Amos Fyree, hailing from the planet Earth, and I’m a member of SG1.”

  The room erupted in a wave of excitement, gasps and murmurs rippling through the assembly. “Order… order… we must maintain decorum!” Penegal commanded, his impatience evident. “Mr. Fyree, forgive me, but I understand SG1 currently comprises Colonel Jack O'Neill, Dr. Daniel Jackson, Major Samantha Carter, and a former Goa'uld first prime named Teal'c. I must confess that I have never encountered your name associated with SG1 or any team under Stargate Command,” Penegal stated, eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment.

  Amos adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses, steeling himself for the delicate truth. “High Chancellor, that’s because I come from fifteen years in the future.” The uproar resumed, this time with a fervor that nearly eclipsed the previous uproar.

  “Order… order,” Penegal shouted once more, his voice resolute as he turned his attention back to Amos. “Please, Mr. Fyree, continue. Share with us the details that led to your presence in Othalla.”

  “Certainly,” Amos continued, somewhat more at ease. “I was aboard the USAF vessel George Hammond, one of Earth's newly commissioned fleet of battle cruisers. We were in the skies of Idavollor, installing a hyperdrive system you left behind. In my timeline, the Asgard Empire has vanished. Before your unfortunate end, you entrusted us with your technology to help safeguard our galaxy.”

  A collective gasp swept through the grand hall of Gladsheim, and Amos could see the dread etched on the faces of the High Council members. “Mr. Fyree,” a councilor implored, “could you shed light on how the Asgard Empire met its end in the not-so-distant future?”

  “Was it the Replicators?” shouted another councilor, urgency lacing his tone.

  “Or perhaps the Goa'uld?” called out a third voice, anxiety bleeding through.

  “No, it wasn’t the Replicators, nor the Goa'uld,” Amos replied gently, his expression somber. “Based on what I’ve learned regarding Galactic History, and what was conveyed to me during my early years at Stargate Command. The Asgard were wiped out due to excess cloning. The cloned bodies you all are in will unfortunately be hit with a debilitating disease due to genetic deterioration. From the balcony, the sounds of sorrow echoed—cries and groans intermingling as the weight of the news bore down on this once proud race. Penegal, curiosity rising, turned to Amos Fyree with a question that hung in the air, “If you were aboard a ship, then why did you come through the Stargate?”

  Amos met Penegal's gaze, the weight of his response heavy with the truth. “Our ship, the George Hammond, exploded while we were attempting to install a new engine. This engine promised to transport us instantly to the furthest reaches of the universe, where we had taken command of an Ancient research vessel exploring the outer edges of space. Tragically, in that explosion, we lost Dr. Daniel Jackson and General Samantha Carter, head of the SGC.”

  “Oh my!” Penegal exclaimed, his expression a canvas of grief. “I knew both Dr. Jackson and Samantha Carter well. It's a profound tragedy they met such a fate. We typically refrain from sharing our advanced technologies with less developed races for this very reason. Yet, in light of what you’ve revealed about our extinction, I understand why we entrusted our research into your capable hands.”

  Without warning, the Asgard attendant who had greeted Amos as he entered the council chamber rushed in, urgency etched on his face as he leaned in to whisper something into Penegal’s ear. “Are you certain?” Penegal inquired, his brow furrowing with concern. “Yes, your Eminence,” was the swift reply.

  Transforming his demeanor, Penegal straightened, drawing the attention of everyone present. “I have just received confirmation from our science guild that what Amos Fyree has claimed is indeed accurate—he hails from the future.” A murmur rippled through the chamber as each Asgard exchanged furtive glances, their whispers swirling with the weight of this revelation.

  Out of the corner of his vision, Amos noticed another Asgard rushing into the chamber. This new arrival approached Penegal and imparted another urgent message. “Fellow Asgard,” Penegal began, his tone shifting to one of grave seriousness, “I have just been informed of dire news—our colony world of Hala is currently under attack by Replicators.” His voice resonated with authority as he continued, “I have no option but to conclude this council session prematurely. We shall resume our discussions following the resolution of this calamity.”