Groans and curses escaped from the tents of the two men. The women giggled softly at the familiar morning ritual. Sister Helena busied herself checking the coffee and preparing breakfast for the team. Soon, the men emerged, mess kits in hand, their faces marked by sleep and the crisp morning chill. Once everything was ready, the team sat down to eat. Colonel Larkin took a cautious sip of his coffee, his eyes widening as a smile brightened his face. “Wow! Wonderful coffee! Who made this?”

  “I did,” Helena replied hesitantly, her tone betraying both timidity and lingering shadows of last night's nightmare.

  “This is damn good coffee, Sister,” Larkin exclaimed, his voice sincere and animated.

  Helena hesitated but managed a small smile, her lips curving faintly. “It's made by my monastery. Our cowboy blend.”

  Noticing her subdued demeanor, Colonel Larkin leaned closer. “Is something wrong?” Helena hesitated before replying softly, “Just a nightmare.”

  “Ah! Nightmares… they have a way of haunting us, don't they?” Larkin's tone was understanding, tinged with warmth. “I have them all the time. Usually, it's me single-handedly fighting hordes of Jaffa or Wraith—or even both. But you know, they have a strange way of sharpening my focus, reminding me why I joined the SGC. If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here.”

  Her gaze softened as she met his steady eyes, though a tinge of anxiety filled her body. “I will. Thank you, Colonel.”

  The morning continued with lighthearted chatter. The team discussed the recent summer Olympics, their enthusiasm sparking lively exchanges. Helena tried to engage, though her cloistered life left her grasping for relatable anecdotes. Still, the effort was met with kindness from her teammates.

  Once breakfast wrapped up, Colonel Larkin stood and addressed the group. “Slight change of plans, folks. We'll finish clearing the monastery and head out to explore the cave afterward. We'll set up camp once we return from recon. We may not have time for a proper lunch, so pack enough protein bars and trail snacks to hold you over. If we’re lucky, we'll play some poker tonight.”

  Heads nodded in acknowledgment, and the team dispersed to gear up and check their weapons.

  Sister Helena paused, running her fingers through her blonde hair before twisting it into a secure bun. She remembered vividly the last time she lost her veil while sprinting through the corridors of Zulu Station alongside Will. Her lips pressed together in silent reflection. God would not mind her decision—it was not the veil that defined her Carmelite devotion but her vows to live out the Carmelite way and wear the Brown Scapular as a testament to belonging to Christ.

  Before joining her team, Helena took her scapular medal and held it in her hands. She knelt briefly and prayed: “Lord, guide me and protect me as I serve today. Bless my teammates and keep them safe. Amen.” Upon standing she kissed her scapular medal and whispered, “Use me.” Then she put it back on; she felt a tingle as the cool medal touched the warm skin of her chest. She was ready for the long day ahead.

  Once everyone was ready, SG-24 exited the refectory and stepped into the serene cloisters.

  “Alright, Sister, where should we go next?” Colonel Larkin asked, his tone inviting Helena to take the lead. She scanned the remaining structures of the monastery, her eyes lingering on the two two-story buildings behind the refectory and the larger building to their left. A sprawling courtyard lay at the heart of these structures, connecting them in quiet symmetry.

  “Let’s try the building behind the refectory,” Sister Helena suggested. “That’s likely the monastery’s dormitory.”

  “That would be an excellent spot for quarters, supply rooms, and the medical tent,” Fairbairn noted thoughtfully.

  “Not to mention an armory,” Bjornson added with a grin. “You know, Sister, this place reminds me of a low-tech version of Atlantis.”

  Sister Helena’s brow furrowed in curiosity. “Atlantis? You mean it’s real? I always thought it was just a myth.”

  Fairbairn chuckled. “Oh, it’s real, Sister. Hopefully, you’ll get the chance to see it one day.”

  “You’ll learn about it in the training videos Dr. Jackson and Cate put together,” Colonel Larkin assured her before addressing the team. “Standard clearing procedures. Fairbairn, you’re on point.”

  “Aye, Colonel. Gentlemen, and lady, follow me,” Fairbairn replied crisply, her P90 at the ready. The trio of soldiers moved methodically through the dormitory, clearing each room with practiced precision, while Sister Helena sketched floor plans and made meticulous notes in her notebook.

  When they finished clearing the dormitory, Helena examined the next building thoughtfully. “This is probably the monastery’s workshop and infirmary,” she speculated aloud. “The workshop would have been where the monks or nuns made wares to sell for the monastery’s income. The infirmary would have provided a place for the sick to recover in peace.”

  This time, Bjornson led the team through the building, which took some time due to its layout. Once cleared, the team approached the final structure.

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  “This looks like the chapter house,” Helena said, her voice tinged with both reverence and familiarity. “This is where the monastery’s important business would have been conducted—especially on Sundays or other significant days.”

  As if reciting from memory, she quoted the Carmelite Rule of Saint Albert: “On Sundays also, or on other days when there is reason, you shall discuss the preservation of the Order and salvation of souls, and at this time the excesses and faults of the brothers, if revealed in anyone, should be corrected by means of love.”

  The chapter house was the simplest to clear, and Colonel Larkin led the way. Once their sweep of the monastery was complete, the team returned to the refectory for a brief rest.

  Afterward, they gathered their spelunking gear and retrieved the mini-MALP, a compact version of the standard SGC probe designed for tighter spaces where a full-sized MALP wouldn’t fit. After double-checking their equipment, SG-24 secured the monastery, exited through the village, and set out toward the cave, ready to begin their reconnaissance mission.

  Approaching the edge of the forest, Colonel Larkin raised his hand to signal a halt, then gestured for the team to crouch. Obediently, SG-24 sank into the undergrowth and moved stealthily through the forest, every step deliberate and cautious. When they reached the mouth of the cave, they took time to observe the area from the cover of the brush, watching for any signs of activity. After ensuring no one had been coming or going, they activated their flashlights and slipped quietly into the cave.

  Inside, the dim light revealed crates stacked in clusters, filling the entire front chamber of the cave. On one side of the crates, faded inscriptions in Pre-Chaucer Middle English stood out. The sight intrigued Helena, who examined the markings closely.

  “Split up and search the room,” Colonel Larkin ordered, his tone firm but composed. “Stay in radio contact. We’ll regroup here in ten minutes.” The team dispersed, each member heading in a different direction.

  As Bjornson inspected the crates, his flashlight revealed something startling. The markings on one set of crates weren’t Middle English at all—they were Egyptian hieroglyphs.

  “Colonel, come here,” Bjornson said over the radio. “You need to see this.”

  “On my way,” Larkin replied promptly. He was at Bjornson’s side within moments, his own flashlight illuminating the hieroglyphs. His expression tightened in recognition.

  “That’s Goa’uld!” Larkin declared, his voice tinged with shock as he examined a second crate nearby. His suspicions were confirmed—it was unmistakably Goa’uld. His eyes caught a symbol etched on the top of the crate: a winged scarab beetle. He strained to recall his training at the Alpha Site during his early days in the SGC, but the symbol eluded him.

  “Recognize the symbol, Bjornson?” Larkin asked.

  “No, sir. I don’t recall it from SGC training,” Bjornson admitted.

  Larkin nodded thoughtfully, then spoke into his radio. “Fairbairn, Sister Helena, report in.”

  “Fairbairn here,” came the reply.

  “Helena listening,” followed shortly after.

  “Are you both examining crates?” Larkin asked.

  Both responded affirmatively.

  “Do the crates have Goa’uld markings on the side?”

  Another affirmative.

  “Is there a scarab symbol on top?” he asked.

  “Yes, Colonel,” came their replies.

  Larkin decided not to ask Fairbairn about the symbol, suspecting her training at the SGC wouldn’t have covered it either. Instead, he turned his attention to Helena. “Sister Helena, was this symbol mentioned during your NID training?”

  “No, sir,” Helena replied. Then, catching sight of something metallic glinting faintly on the ground, she paused. “Actually… there’s something here. You might want to see this.”

  “Where are you?” Larkin asked.

  “Approximately 200 meters due east from our initial position,” she answered.

  “On our way,” Larkin confirmed. Within minutes, he and the rest of SG-24 reached Helena’s location—and stopped abruptly, astonished by what lay before them.

  It was a Goa’uld Ring Transporter.

  “Bless me bagpipes!” Fairbairn exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and awe.

  “How long do you think this has been here?” Bjornson wondered aloud.

  “No idea,” Larkin admitted. “But now we know how these dissidents are receiving supplies.”

  “Could Sokar have installed the rings to service a Goa’uld weapons platform?” Helena speculated.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Larkin replied, turning to Fairbairn. Isolde pulled a tablet from her backpack and connected it to the transporter’s control crystal interface. After running diagnostics, she announced her findings.

  “It’s fully functional. The coordinates indicate a connection to the weapons platform, though there’s a set of inactive coordinates as well.”

  “Deploy the Mini-MALP,” Larkin instructed. Fairbairn positioned the compact probe at the center of the ring transporter. After inputting commands on her tablet, the rings emerged in a synchronized motion, stacking neatly on top of each other. A beam of light enveloped the Mini-MALP, and with a final hum, the rings descended, leaving an eerie silence in their wake.

  “Will this work?” Sister Helena asked.

  “It should,” Fairbairn replied. “The Invincible successfully tested the Mini-MALP using the Ring Transporter at the Ancient Outpost in Antarctica. As long as the target is at least in high planetary orbit, we should receive telemetry.”

  At that moment, her tablet emitted a sharp beep. “Receiving Mini-MALP telemetry… now.” The team gathered around, eyes locked on the screen. The feed displayed nothing but darkness.

  “Switching to infrared,” Fairbairn murmured. The screen shifted to a reddish hue as she panned the camera around the chamber. “No signs of life. Atmosphere is viable.”

  “Copy,” Colonel Larkin acknowledged. He turned to Bjornson. “Stay here and keep watch. If you don’t hear from us in two hours, return to the gate and call for reinforcements.”

  “Understood, sir,” Bjornson replied, his stance firm.

  “Fairbairn, Helena—you’re with me,” Larkin ordered, stepping into the inner circle of the platform.

  “Bjornson, hold the line if you have to—but don’t be a hero,” he added.

  Bjornson smirked, his grip tightening on his weapon. “No promises, sir.”

  Larkin and Fairbairn checked their P90s one last time. Larkin turned to Fairbairn, who gave him a crisp nod. Then, his gaze fell on Sister Helena as she tucked her notebook into a secure pouch and gently drew her Zat.

  “You sure about this, Sister? No backing out after we beam up to a potential Goa’uld death trap,” Larkin quipped.

  Helena met his gaze with quiet certainty. “I’ve walked cloister corridors darker than this cave. I don’t carry fear—I carry faith.” Her voice was steady, her conviction unwavering. She glanced at Larkin and Fairbairn. “Besides… I’m part of this team.”

  Something about her words unsettled Larkin, but he couldn’t help but respect her resolve. Fairbairn and Bjornson exchanged knowing smiles.

  “Then let’s ring up,” Larkin said. “Eyes open, weapons tight—no unnecessary chatter.”

  Fairbairn quickly input the coordinates into her tablet. A familiar hum filled the chamber as the rings rose and stacked into place.

  “See you topside,” Bjornson said as a bright light enveloped the three. The rings descended.

  Silence settled over the cave.