A. Human

[Politus]

The bright, glittering lights of Sirius made themselves known to him. From his spider-hole, his cabin in the woods, he looked out at the curious rocks dancing among the impenetrable green nebula, a miasma of gases which, were it not for the design of his fortress, would pose a threat to him. No, to him they were another bulwark against unwanted intruders, those who would seem him dead or bought. He went to his console, a series of screens, inputs, optronics stacks, conventional computers, enough hardware to serve all the needs of a small nation, where he let his prosthetic hands do the talking; fingers and hands divided into mechanical tendrils, inputting information into the machines as fast as he could think -which was rather fast- and setting up the data feeds which were his lifeline; his eyes, augmented to scan visual information by the best optical surgeons and bionics techs during his days of corporate espionage, taking in the output as fast as it came, scanning for any niche into which he could drive the thin edge of his crusade.

Once he found some, the mask came on, and his real work began.

---

"Things will not calm down, Daniel Jackson. They will, in fact, calm up."