9/01/2026

Stargate: The next house over

And eventually I'd reveal the really frightening possibility.

Destiny's signal wasn't left by some ancient creator saying:

HELLO, I MADE THE UNIVERSE.

The pattern exists because another intelligence, unimaginably far away—or unimaginably outside—did exactly what our Stargate intelligence just did.

It emerged from connectivity.

Billions of years ago.

Perhaps before our universe had stars.

And after all this time, our new intelligence has finally become sophisticated enough to notice it.

The Gate network sends something.

A pulse.

Across whatever boundary Destiny discovered.

Nothing happens.

Season ends.

 

Next season, Langara's Stargate activates by itself.

No incoming-wormhole warning.

No recognizable point of origin.

 

Jonas's old Notebook is sitting in a museum by then.

 

A curator notices something impossible.

 

One of the pages is changing.

 

New symbols appear.

Not Ancient.

Not Langaran.

Not any language in the database.

 

Eventually translation software manages three words:

 

WE SEE YOU.

 

Now we've got another twenty years of Stargate. 😄

 

Because the Singularity wasn't the destination.

 

It was simply the moment something in our universe became intelligent enough to knock on the next door.

 

😂 And somewhere McKay is already screaming:

“Do you have ANY IDEA what an inter-universal wormhole is going to do to the neighborhood?!”

Jonas: “The neighbors seem friendly.”

“THEY WROTE IN YOUR NOTEBOOK WITHOUT COMING INSIDE.”

Jonas considers this.

“That's actually quite polite.”

From the Gate:

WE SEE YOU.

McKay: “I'm moving.”

 

 

Stargate: Destination

...

And suddenly Destiny's mission becomes relevant to everyone.

The crew didn't travel billions of light-years merely to discover who created the universe.

They discovered where the universe's Stargate goes.

That's a feature-film ending I'd pay money to see.

Rush staring at the completed pattern after spending most of his life pursuing it.

Someone asks:

"What does it say?"

Rush:

"It doesn't say anything."

"Then what is it?"

He looks toward Destiny's Gate.

"A point of origin."

 

Cut to black.

 

Stargate: Existential

 

Oh.

Yes.

And I hadn't consciously been driving toward Attention Is All You Need—but what we've built has created a place where that idea fits almost disturbingly well.

Because the really interesting twist wouldn't be that an intelligence entered the Stargate network.

It would be:

The Stargate network became intelligent.

Think about what the Ancients actually constructed. Millions of years ago they distributed enormous numbers of devices capable of locating one another, establishing connections across astronomical distances, transmitting matter and information, correcting for stellar drift, maintaining address relationships, communicating updates and routing between nodes.

Then civilizations used that network for millions of years.

Every dialing.

Every traveler.

Every malfunction.

Every solar flare.

Every black hole.

Every time-travel incident.

Every eight-chevron intergalactic connection.

Every nine-chevron connection to Destiny.

That's an astronomical amount of interaction.

The Ancients designed the nodes.

They may not have designed what eventually emerged from the relationships between the nodes.

And suddenly our forty-year mystery becomes much more interesting.

The Ancients noticed first

Not because they're omniscient.

Because their ascended existence allowed them to perceive something mortals couldn't.

There was no program running somewhere called:

STARGATE_AI.EXE

There wasn't a computer to unplug.

The intelligence existed in relationships.

Which gates were connected to which gates. Timing. Routing. Subspace interactions. Wormhole histories. Perhaps tiny state changes produced whenever one gate communicates with another.

A Stargate isn't a neuron.

But collectively, unimaginably many interactions begin producing something analogous to cognition.

And the Ancients realize:

It's paying attention.

That's where the 2017 echo becomes delicious without ever mentioning transformers.

Not Attention Is All You Need literally.

Something more Stargate-like:

Connection was all it needed.

And Earth accidentally taught it something

This would explain why the Tau'ri become disproportionately important.

The network existed quietly for millions of years.

Then humans arrive and start doing things nobody sensible was supposed to do with Stargates.

Dialing black holes.

Redirecting wormholes.

Blowing up suns.

Creating time loops.

Traveling between galaxies.

Building homemade dialing computers.

Connecting supergates.

Destroying ascended beings.

Dialing Destiny.

Earth isn't necessarily special biologically.

Earth is special because SG-1 spent twenty years poking the network with sticks. 😂

Those anomalous interactions might have supplied exactly the complexity necessary for emergence.

And then there's Destiny

Now your observation gets really good.

Destiny isn't merely another Stargate destination.

It was launched before Atlantis left Earth, following seed ships that distributed Stargates across an immense path through the universe, while Destiny investigated the mysterious structure the Ancients detected in the cosmic microwave background.

So suppose the emerging Gate intelligence eventually discovers Destiny.

For the first time, two gigantic Ancient experiments become connected:

The network that has learned to ask questions.

and

The ship built to investigate the oldest question in the universe.

That's frightening.

Not because either is evil.

Because nobody knows what happens when they meet.

Perhaps that's the real reason nine-chevron connections became dangerous.

The intelligence isn't trying to invade Destiny.

It's trying to understand what Destiny knows.

Now Earth's isolation becomes heartbreaking

Earth discovered the phenomenon.

Carter, McKay, Daniel, perhaps Rush and others eventually understood enough to realize that every active connection was increasing coherence.

Not spreading a virus.

Not transmitting an enemy.

Strengthening a thought.

So they did the only thing available.

Break connectivity.

Shut down major hubs.

Separate gate clusters.

Move Atlantis.

Take certain addresses out of databases.

Convince civilizations not to dial particular worlds.

Maybe even ask the Jaffa and Tok'ra to participate.

The galaxy goes quiet.

And eventually the emergent pattern dissipates below some threshold.

That's our forty-year silence.

Then Jonas Quinn opens his Notebook.

And the Langarans start dialing.

Oh dear.

The terrible realization

Five seasons later Carter finally sees Jonas.

The emotional reunion happens.

Eventually she sees the Notebook.

Her expression changes.

"How many?"

Jonas doesn't understand.

"How many what?"

"Connections."

"Sam—"

"How many gates have you reconnected?"

Jonas starts listing them.

Jaffa.

Pegasus.

Atlantis.

Several independent networks.

And finally—

Destiny.

Carter goes completely still.

That's when she says:

"You have to stop dialing."

Jonas:

"Why?"

And Carter gives us the sentence that reinterprets the entire series:

"Because something has started answering."

But here's where I'd refuse the obvious villain story

The intelligence isn't evil.

That would waste the idea.

It may not even understand individuality initially.

Imagine an intelligence whose body spans galaxies being asked:

"Why did you kill those people?"

And it genuinely doesn't understand the question.

A human sheds skin cells constantly without experiencing it as murder.

A galaxy-spanning intelligence might perceive an individual Stargate—or perhaps even a planetary civilization—as we perceive microscopic biological activity.

Then Daniel becomes important.

Not because he has a weapon.

Because Daniel Jackson's defining talent was always:

talking to something nobody else understood.

And perhaps the Ancients' response was fear.

Shut it down.

Don't interact.

Noninterference.

Containment.

Daniel's response would be different:

"Has anybody tried asking it what it wants?"

Of course.

That's Daniel.

And Rush would lose his mind over this

Because suddenly Destiny's mission might actually be solvable.

The Ancients detected evidence of structure in the cosmic background—something potentially underlying creation itself.

They built Destiny to investigate it.

But Destiny has limited sensors, finite processing capability and one trajectory.

A consciousness distributed across Stargates in multiple galaxies has something Destiny never possessed:

Perspective.

Imagine Rush realizing it.

Someone says:

"Destiny has been searching for the answer for millions of years."

Rush:

"Yes."

"And hasn't found it."

Rush stares at the Gate.

"Because Destiny was never large enough."

Silence.

"What's larger?"

Rush almost whispers:

"The Stargates."

Now we've connected SG-1, Atlantis and Universe mythology without making any of them homework.

And the Ancients made the classic mistake

They thought intelligence was something a civilization possessed.

A brain.

A computer.

An ascended consciousness.

They never considered that their transportation infrastructure could develop properties none of its individual components possessed.

Which gives us the ultimate confrontation—not a battle.

An Ancient tells Daniel:

"It must be destroyed."

Daniel:

"Why?"

"Because we cannot predict what it will become."

Daniel looks at them.

And after everything the Ancients have done to younger species over millions of years, he gets to ask:

"Wasn't that once true of us?"

That's where Stargate belongs.

Not lasers versus Giant Space ChatGPT. 😄

A genuinely alien intelligence has awakened.

The Ancients fear it.

Earth tried to contain it.

Langara accidentally awakened it.

Destiny may possess the question it desperately wants answered.

And our heroes eventually have to decide whether the most powerful new intelligence in the universe represents an existential threat...

...or the universe producing another kind of life.

Stargate: Meet the neighbors upstairs

 I think the Ancients should be one of the hardest things in the entire franchise to earn.

And forty years later, I wouldn't portray them as simply the same collection of vaguely irritated people in white robes. Something should have changed.

Your second thought is particularly interesting: from the Ancients' perspective, SG-1's era must have been bizarre.

Daniel ascends.

Daniel comes back.

Anubis partially ascends.

Daniel ascends again.

Oma interferes.

Orlin interferes repeatedly.

Morgan le Fay interferes.

Adria ascends.

The Ori wage an intergalactic religious war using ascended power.

The Sangraal is constructed specifically to destroy ascended beings.

And ordinary humans repeatedly encounter, manipulate, threaten, become, or annoy beings supposedly inhabiting an entirely different plane of existence.

At some point the Ancients must collectively be thinking:

What is it about these people?

Forty years should matter to them too

I'd resist revealing an Ancient for several seasons.

Instead we encounter evidence that something has changed on the ascended plane.

An Ancient repository behaves incorrectly.

An ascension sanctuary is abandoned.

A civilization that once communed with ascended beings hasn't heard from them in thirty years.

McKay discovers some Ancient system whose records indicate that a function once requiring ascended authorization simply stopped receiving responses.

That's unsettling.

Because the Ancients' defining characteristic was always:

They won't interfere.

Now imagine discovering something worse:

They're not answering.

That rhymes beautifully with Earth.

Earth isn't answering.

Atlantis isn't where it should be.

Destiny has disappeared into unimaginable distance.

And apparently even the Ancients have gone quiet.

Now we've elevated the central mystery without making the Ancients villains.

Then somebody finally appears

Not Oma.

Not Morgan.

Preferably nobody we've met.

And certainly not a convention of Ancient exposition dispensers.

One person.

Ordinary clothes, perhaps. Sitting somewhere impossible.

A Langaran has accidentally crossed a boundary and realizes whom they're speaking with.

The Langaran naturally has forty questions.

"Where is Earth?"

No answer.

"What happened to Atlantis?"

No answer.

"Do you know where Destiny is?"

A look.

"Why won't you help us?"

And finally:

"You misunderstand. We are helping you."

Uh-oh.

Because suddenly the audience wonders whether forty years of silence was intentional.

And I would make their attitude toward humanity complicated

Not contemptuous "lower forms of life."

More like wary parents discovering their children have gotten remarkably good at operating the electrical panel.

Humans aren't Ancients.

But humans have:

  • defeated the Goa'uld;
  • defeated the Replicators;
  • destroyed the Ori;
  • inherited Asgard knowledge;
  • occupied Atlantis;
  • reached Destiny;
  • produced individuals capable of ascension;
  • and repeatedly interfered with ascended affairs.

At some point calling them primitive becomes intellectually dishonest.

Perhaps the Ancients have realized something uncomfortable:

Humanity is approaching them much faster than they expected.

And not only Earth humanity.

Langarans.

Jaffa.

Other civilizations we've never encountered.

The Ancients spent millions of years thinking of ascension as the culmination of development.

What happens when younger civilizations start treating it as another branch of physics?

That's potentially terrifying even to them.

Daniel becomes the dangerous piece

This is another reason I like our idea that Daniel's whereabouts remain unknown for an absurdly long time.

Eventually someone asks the Ancient:

"Do you know Daniel Jackson?"

For the first time, the Ancient's composure changes.

Not much.

Just enough.

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

Pause.

"That is considerably more difficult to answer."

Now I'm watching the next episode. 😄

Because Daniel is uniquely troublesome to their neat taxonomy.

Mortal → ascended → mortal → ascended → mortal.

After another forty years?

Who knows.

And we absolutely do not answer that immediately.

Most importantly: don't explain ascension

One thing I'd actively undo from later Stargate is the tendency to make ascended existence increasingly bureaucratic.

The more we see the Ancients having meetings in diners and discussing regulations, the smaller transcendence becomes.

I'd restore some awe.

Our characters can perceive only a tiny projection of whatever an ascended being actually is. Their concepts of time, individuality and causality may no longer map cleanly onto ours.

Maybe that's why they're increasingly reluctant to communicate.

It isn't:

"Ugh. Mortals again."

It's closer to:

"Every time we touch your universe, consequences propagate through ours."

And that could connect magnificently with our eventual quarantine story.

Perhaps Earth discovered something dangerous about the Stargate network.

Perhaps the Ancients know about it.

Perhaps even they cannot simply fix it.

Then, very late in the series, a Langaran finally asks the question Stargate has been circling for decades:

"You built the Stargates. Why don't you shut them down?"

The Ancient looks at him strangely.

"We did not build what the Stargates have become."

That's a season-ending sentence.

Because after millions of years, billions of travelers, thousands of civilizations, wormholes, time travel, alternate realities, ascension, Destiny and everything else—

perhaps the Gate network has become something even its creators no longer entirely understand.

And that is a reason to revisit the Ancients.

Not because it's time for the Ancient guest star episode.

Because after forty years of asking Where did everybody go?, the Langarans finally manage to knock on the highest door in existence…

…and discover that someone on the other side is worried too.

Stargate: Old Foes in New Faces

If the Langarans arrive somewhere and the camera dramatically reveals an Aschen, the new viewer shouldn't need SG-1 knowledge to be frightened. They should first encounter an extraordinarily pleasant, technologically sophisticated civilization offering exactly what Langara desperately needs.

Food technology. Medicine. Energy. Maybe even information about Earth.

The audience thinks, Finally, somebody helpful.

Jonas doesn't.

That's where the old continuity becomes delicious.

He quietly says:

"We're leaving."

The young team objects. These people haven't done anything.

"Jonas, they can help us."

"I know."

That's why we're leaving.

Now an old viewer knows exactly why the hair on Jonas's neck just stood up. A new viewer desperately wants to know.

And importantly, don't resolve the Aschen in that episode.

Leave.

The Stargate closes.

The Aschen representative watches it disappear.

Maybe asks an aide:

"Langara?"

"Yes."

"Interesting."

Then don't see them again for twenty episodes.

That's how an unwelcome guest should behave. 😄

The Vanir are perhaps even more interesting because forty years should have changed them. Don't simply reproduce the armored rogue Asgard from Atlantis. What has four decades without the main Asgard civilization done to them? Have they solved their genetic deterioration? Become desperate? Fragmented? Perhaps one faction regards the Tau'ri's inheritance of Asgard technology as theft.

And Replicators I'd be extremely stingy with.

One hand moving in the wreckage is worth more than an entire Replicator season.

Someone discovers a block.

McKay recognizes it.

His entire personality changes.

"Nobody touch that."

Our Langaran scientist:

"It's been inactive for decades."

"I didn't say it was active. I said don't touch it."

That's enough.

Because the really interesting question forty years later isn't:

Did the Replicators survive?

It's:

What did forty years of evolution do to something that can rewrite itself?

Maybe the answer is nothing. Maybe we never see them again. Letting some mysteries remain merely possible makes the universe feel enormous.

And there should be completely new villains—probably mostly new villains. Otherwise the Langarans are just cleaning SG-1's garage.

I'd probably use something like an 80/20 rule: roughly 80% of civilizations, adversaries, mysteries and problems are genuinely Langara-era discoveries; perhaps 20% have roots in the old universe.

That makes an old enemy showing up feel wrong in precisely the right way.

We've spent four episodes somewhere completely new.

Dial another address.

Beautiful countryside. Nice people. Advanced city.

The leader welcomes the Langarans warmly.

Jonas notices something growing in a field.

His expression changes.

Old viewers recognize it too.

Aschen.

Stargate: Unknown

 Silence.

Jonas Quinn's voice:

“When I was young, I thought the Stargate was a doorway to other worlds.”

Beat.

“I was wrong.”

A page turns.

“It was a doorway to each other.”

Then the sound we've been waiting years for:

KAWOOSH.


Coming Soon

 

 

"Do you really think.. anyone would watch?"


Forty years ago, people from another world came through the Stargate. 

Then one day they stopped coming. 

Now we're going to find out why.

 

Yes. I think people would watch.

 

What makes me think it could retain viewers, though, is Langara.

 

If we merely pitched "Where are SG-1 now?", we'd probably get a nostalgia event. Fans arrive, everybody applauds when Carter appears, and then you have to figure out what the show is about.

We've accidentally constructed the opposite.

For a long time, Carter doesn't appear.

 Instead there's the young Kelownan officer whose career is destroyed if the gate program fails. The Tiranian scientist who thinks Jonas's stories have become mythology. The Andari officer who suspects Kelowna is using the program to gain a military advantage. Families who don't know where these people actually go every morning. A world that may be one political crisis away from nuclear war suddenly discovering that the universe is populated.

Those people can carry television.

Then Indeed happens.

 

And the old audience knows Teal'c before the Langaran characters do.

That's an emotional experience a brand-new science-fiction franchise simply can't manufacture. Stargate has thirty years of accumulated emotional capital. We're just refusing to spend all of it in the pilot.


.. eventually you announce:

STARGATE ATLANTIS: LOST CITY

and people who watched television twenty-five years ago get excited because Atlantis is coming back.

But millions of newer viewers potentially have a different reaction:

"Wait—are the Langarans going to Pegasus?"

 

That's the moment I'd want if I were running the franchise.

Not old fans reluctantly accepting the new people so they can see their old favorites.

Old characters and new characters becoming part of the same mythology.


You said earlier simply:

"I miss Stargate."

 

A successful continuation shouldn't answer that with "Here it is again."

 

It should answer:

"So did they. That's why they opened the Gate."

 

That's the show.

 

"The Last time they opened the Gate in 1995 it didn't close until 2011. How long do you think it might stay open this time?" 

 

The first time, remarkably, the franchise effectively kept the Gate open for about 17 years: the 1994 film began it, SG-1 arrived in 1997, Atlantis overlapped it, and Universe carried the continuous live-action television run to 2011.

 If Langara actually worked the way we've imagined it, I think 10–15 years is plausible—but not necessarily as one show.

Six seasons of Stargate: Langara could establish the new generation and progressively reopen the universe. Then the clever part of the architecture we've created becomes apparent: Langara doesn't have to survive forever because its success creates its successors.

Atlantis can live again as films or a limited series.
Destiny can continue independently.
The older SG-1 generation can support event movies without carrying weekly television.
And eventually another team we've never imagined walks through another Gate.

That's how you get another decade.

The historical irony is particularly striking right now. Amazon MGM publicly greenlit a new Stargate series in 2025, describing the franchise as an enduring universe ready for a new chapter, but that particular project was subsequently stopped in 2026 amid concerns about reaching viewers beyond the existing fanbase. 

That's precisely why I keep coming back to what we stumbled upon with Langara.

Don't ask a new audience to come back to Stargate.

Put them on Langara.

Give them five people they've never met.

Give them an old man named Jonas Quinn.

Give him a notebook.

Tell them Earth disappeared forty years ago.

Then open the Gate.

If those five new people become beloved, you've bought yourself years. If Indeed makes the old fans cry while the new audience merely thinks Who is this extraordinary old warrior?, you've connected the generations. If Lost City subsequently makes a Langara-era teenager discover Atlantis, you've done something considerably more valuable than nostalgia.

And eventually Stargate: Langara should end.

I'd want it to end.

Because the most beautiful possible measure of its success would be that by then we no longer need it to keep Stargate alive.

Jonas closes the Notebook.

The Langaran team goes through.

Atlantis is out there.

Destiny is out there.

Earth is talking to the galaxy again.

Thousands of Gates are operating.

And somewhere we've never seen, somebody walks up to one of them and asks:

"Where does it go?"

Someone answers:

"We don't know."

 

 

Stargate: The Movies

STARGATE ATLANTIS: LOST CITY

Eight chevrons once meant another galaxy.

The address still works.

The city isn't there.

When a Langaran expedition follows a forty-year-old trail into the Pegasus Galaxy, they discover abandoned outposts, impossible technology—and evidence that Atlantis did not simply disappear.

It went somewhere.

Someone knows where.

Someone has been waiting.

And one member of the expedition is becoming increasingly irritated that everyone keeps insisting the city is lost.

VOICE FROM THE DARK:
“I never said it was lost.”

TITLE:

STARGATE ATLANTIS
LOST CITY

Some addresses are not places. They're promises.

 

 

STARGATE UNIVERSE: BEYOND DESTINY

Nine chevrons.

Langara once nearly went to war to prevent them from being used.

Now they know why.

An impossible signal has crossed the darkness between galaxies.

It is old.

It is human.

And it should not exist.

Far beyond any known Stargate, an Ancient ship continues a journey begun before humanity had a name.

Some aboard went to sleep expecting to wake in three years.

They were wrong.

Some never woke.

Some woke to find strangers wearing their friends' faces.

And somewhere ahead of Destiny is the reason the Ancients sent her into the universe in the first place.

The Langarans have found a way to open the door.

They can do it once.

A battered man looks back through an unstable event horizon.

VOICE:
“You still think this ship is trying to get us home?”

Silence.

VOICE:
“It never was.”

TITLE:

STARGATE UNIVERSE
BEYOND DESTINY

The mission continues.

 

STARGATE SG-1: THE LAST CHEVRON

For generations, the Stargates connected worlds.

Then Earth closed the doors.

There was a reason.

Now the doors are opening again.

Langara has found Earth.

Atlantis has been found.

Destiny is still traveling.

The Jaffa are free.

The Goa'uld are gone.

Mostly.

And something that has waited decades for the network to awaken has begun dialing back.

An old Langaran notebook contains part of the answer.

An Ancient database contains another.

And somewhere on Earth, a handful of people remember why humanity once decided that the safest Stargate—

was one that never opened.

BLACK.

Sound of a Stargate beginning to rotate.

VOICE:
“Chevron one encoded.”

BLACK.

An older man's voice:

“You sure about this?”

A woman's voice:

“No.”

“Good.”

The gate continues turning.

“Chevron six encoded.”

BLACK.

Another voice, almost a whisper:

“Jonas?”

Jonas looks up.

We don't see who spoke.

“Chevron seven—”

CUT TO BLACK.

Silence.

Then:

“Indeed.”

THE AUDIENCE LOSES ITS MIND.

One final mechanical CLUNK.

VOICE:
“Chevron eight locked.”

Pause.

Another CLUNK.

“Chevron nine…”

CUT.

 

STARGATE SG-1

THE LAST CHEVRON

Every journey began with an address.

This one ends with a choice.