General Jack O’Neill watched lazer lights, bat-dogs, and cat-shadows on the planet Mau. The cats stalked the lights, batting them and each other in play. The bat-dogs mingled with the cats. One bat-dog even let a gray tabby kitten jump on its back for a ride. O’Neill had wanted a ride through the stargate. He had not had any time off-world in months, thanks to his latest promotion to head of Homeworld Security. Desperate, O’Neill had done the unthinkable; he had accepted an invitation to Mau: “An invitation from that whack-job ex-goa’uld, ex-tok’ra, ex-god of death, ex-husband of Nirrti, ex-cuse me while I vomit,” thought O’Neill.
The soldier noted the symbiote and host as they crossed the room of creatures to greet him: “They still dress like a goa’uld,” decided O’Neill. “I don’t think either of them has ever heard of anything as mundane as cotton – nothing but silk and velvet – champaigne silk and a black velvet cloak. The snakes always wear capes or cloaks to twirl with their egos,” he mused bitterly.
Nirrita spoke: “Hello. The rakshasa at your feet wants attention. Do pet him.”
O’Neill looked down into the eyes of a bat-dog puppy – all six eyes. “Whoa! Geez!,” he exclaimed. “What’s with Rove, Rover, and Rovest over here?” Two of the rakshasa’s heads regarded O’Neill quizzically. The third head – the one in the middle – nuzzled O’Neill’s hand. It….they had very, very, very soft fur.
“Who is our dearest Cerebus?,” cooed Nirrita, kissing each head in turn. “You are. Yes, you are.”
Enkil clarified: “This is a single three-headed animal, General O’Neill, although each head displays distinct personality traits.”
Nirrita elaborated:
Cerebus represents a periodic abberation in the rakshasas’ bio-engineered genome. Nirrti did not correct it, for she saw its usefulness. Sokar wanted a creature to fulfiill the requirements of the mythological Cerebus on Netu; Nirrti wanted access to Sokar’s prisoners for her experiments. They struck a bargain. Nirrti accused me of voiding it, but the fault lay with no one but Sokar.
O’Neill saw a flash of rage in Nirrita’s eyes. “Yeah, I don’t remember seeing any three-headed critters when we were there. What happened?”
Nirrita answered, struggling with his emotions:
Nirrti designed the rakshasas to my specifications to ensure quick deaths. Cerebus I’s temperment did not suit Sokar’s ends. If Cerebus could not inflict suffering, Sokar would inflict suffering upon Cerebus. Sokar cut off one of the poor creature’s heads and left the wound uncauterized to promote infection. That piece of filth watched Cerebus die a painful, lingering death. Then, he had the gall to summon me to Netu to retrieve the remains.
“That son of a bitch,” said O’Neill through clenched teeth. “I would’ve taken his head off.”
“No weapons were allowed on Netu,” reminded Nirrita, tears streaming down his face. “I had to settle for gouging out his eyes with my bear hands.”
O’Neill cuddled the current Cerebus in his arms, listening to the sounds each head made. Rove, on the left, sounded like a bat. Rover, in the middle, sounded like a kitten mewing whale song. Rovest, on the right, snuffled and grunted. “No one’s gonna hurt you, any of you guys,” he assured. “I’d zat anybody who tried.”
“Would you like to keep him, General?,” asked Enkil.
“Everyone should have a pet,” said Nirrita. “We could have him declawed, if you worry about the poison. You could keep him at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, as a mascot, to avoid questions.”
“Yes,” continued Enkil, “and you would have to take him through the stargate for his walks, as civilian Tau’ri would react badly if they saw him.”
“I take it back,” O’Neill responded. “You’re not one gum wrapper short of a fishing lure, after all.”
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