Rebellion (18 page)

"Speaking of stockpiles, Keogh wants to send back all the hand-held missiles I managed to assemble." "The anti-udajeet armory?" Kawalsky frowned. "He's convinced that if we end up fighting, it will be our friends in Nagada," O'Neil said. "And they, of course, won't have air support." He glanced at his lieutenant. "Now, I can't countermand a direct order from a superior. But I don't have to tell you to hurry.

I'm sure you have lots of priorities. just don't move stripping our air defense to the top of the list." Kawalsky's frown deepened. "That's not as easy as it sounds. Those crates of missiles take up a lot of space.

We're having a hard time keeping all our food supplies under canvas right now. There's just so much space on this plateau. We've got guys trying to set up a regular motor pool. That means maintenance bays, and they're going to start digging storage tanks for fuel. Keogh doesn't want to depend on tanker trucks out in the open." O'Neil's lips twitched. "Great. All the inconveniences of home." "The other problem is that there are a lot of truckloads of stuff coming out of the StarGate, but nothing much is going in-back to Earth." The lieutenant paused for a second. "I mean, not since the STRIKE at the mine." "So you think some conscientious supply sergeant will truck off our air defense to accommodate a few more boxes of Meals, Ready to Eat?" "'Fraid so, sir." Kawalsky, however, suddenly grinned as a thought struck him.

"If they could find them. There's going to be a lot of earth moved. Who knows, maybe some of it will cover those rocket crates." O'Neil laughed out loud. "Just as long as you remember where they're buried. If we end up needing them, we'll probably need them in a hurry." Further conversation was interrupted when a young lieutenant wearing an orderly's armband burst into the tent. He executed a salute with the robotic precision of a recent cadet. "Colonel O'Neil, sir! General Keogh's compliments. Your presence is requested in the command tent.

Immediately." "Hope that means I'm allowed to pull on my boots first,"

O'Neil said, sitting up on the cot and returning the green soldier's salute. "The sun may have gone down, but I'll bet the sand is still pretty hot out there." He tied his boots, then slipped a field jacket over the T-shirt and fatigue pants he was wearing. "Lead away, Lieutenant." Gas lamps lit up the command tent like a Christmas tree.

O'Neil hid a frown. He'd preferred to keep the amount of illumination down, a habit from his commando days out in the field. No sense turning the camp's brain center into a beacon for snipers. Keogh had wrought other changes besides the lighting, his battle flag, and the presidential picture. An honest-to-god desk had been shipped over, teak by the look of it, with a matching tallback leather chair complete with hydraulic suspension. O'Neil had gotten by with a camp table and folding chair. Still, perhaps the trappings of authority helped the general as he half crouched behind his teak barricade, listening to the protestations of two UMC executives. "I tell you, I saw it." Lockwood was almost gobbling as he spoke. "That Skaara character blasted a hole in the warehouse wall!" Walter Draven presented a calmer front, but his face was grave. A good poker player facing a very dubious hand. "We both saw it, General. Frankly, I was shocked to find such a weapon in native hands." Keogh swung in his chair and returned O'Neil's salute.

"What do you know about this, Colonel?" "I'm not sure what you're referring to, sir," O'Neil said carefully. "We're talking about weapons-terror weapons-in the hands of the native militia!" Lockwood cried. O'Neil frowned. "I don't know how that could be. Blasting a hole in a wall, you say? Maybe he stumbled across a couple of blocks of C-4 and det cord in our old base camp-" "Negative, Colonel," Keogh snapped. "These two gentlemen are reporting that the natives have energy weapons like the ones you recovered after the fighting here on Abydos."

O'Neil shrugged. "I suppose it's possible. We recovered one of the cannons and some of the innards from one of the landed udajeets. They were in almost as bad shape as the one that had crashed after the crowd was done. Anything that represented Ra's authority got pretty well trashed that day. We also had two of those spear-like blasters-"

"That's what we saw!" Lockwood interjected. Even Draven gave the man a look of disgust. "Were there others that weren't accounted for?" Keogh demanded. O'Neil tried a quick mental count. "There was the one lance that I took from Daniel, when Ra ordered him to execute us. We picked up another at the mine, when I zipped one of Ra's guards. There were four armed guards in the pyramid when we tried to sneak into the StarGate. And Anubis was carrying one when I faced him "That's at least six," Draven said. "And you only brought back two." "Plus there were at least two Horus guards who landed their udajeets and got caught on the ground when Kasuf led the people of the city to our rescue, " O'Neil added. "So there are a minimum of six of these energy weapons unaccounted for." Keogh swung to O'Neil. "Good lord, man! Why didn't you confiscate them?" "At the time I had only two surviving subordinates and a civilian volunteer-Jackson," O'Neil pointed out. "Not enough to argue with the several thousand people who live here." "All right, not then," the general conceded. "But you could have initiated a search mission when you returned with the expeditionary force." "You think I should have started turning the city upside-down for some weapons which theoretically existed?" O'Neil said. "Besides being high-handed, I think such an action would only stir up a hornet's nest of trouble."

"Nonetheless, for the safety of the mine and the UMC personnel here, that's exactly what these gentlemen have been asking me to do." Keogh gestured toward Draven and Lockwood. "And what were these gentlemen doing in the city that they saw this demonstration of firepower?" O'Neil asked. Draven's poker face broke for a second-just the merest tic under his eye. "We were attempting to ... negotiate an end to this insane STRIKE." It had started as a hunch but turned to solid certainty as O'Neil looked into the UMC man's eyes. Draven was indeed showing a bad hand! "You tried to bribe Skaara into overthrowing Kasuf and the elders." O'Neil's voice was quiet, his tone almost wondering. "How could you do something so stupid? You had to know that Skaara is Kasuf's son-" His voice cut off as he watched Draven aim an acid look at Lockwood. "Well, obviously, you didn't." O'Neil turned from Draven to Keogh. "It would seem that Draven has gotten his foot-and UMC's-caught in the honey bucket. And now he wants us to pull him free." Keogh sat very still, digesting this new information. "Skaara is sure to tell Kasuf about Draven's approach, and when he does, UMC will be finished on this planet. The Elders will conclude quite rightly, I think-that Draven and company can't be trusted." "General, you are here to insure that our operation at the mine isn't disturbed," Draven said. "What's disturbed your operation is the fact that you shot yourself in the foot," an angry O'Neil pointed out. "The question is whether or not you can allow a potentially hostile population to retain those energy weapons," Draven pushed. O'Neil bit back his first angry words. "The only reason they'd use those weapons-however many working versions they may have-is because you pressed them into hostility in the first place!"

"Nonetheless," Keogh broke in, "they are hostile . . . now." The general looked around, his craggy face suddenly haggard. "Initiating a search and-seizure mission may just present additional provocation, but-" "But I don't see how you can avoid it," Draven said in cold triumph. "By the way, that's the message I've already sent to General West." In keeping with his theories on protective camouflage, the West household occuped snug but not ostentatious housing in Officers'

Quarters. Mrs. West had been asleep for several hours already. But the general was still up, going over reports. A ringing telephone in his den cum office, even at this hour, was not out of the ordinary. "General West," the voice on the other end of the connection said, "is this a secure line?" "Yes," the general answered. "My name is Vernon Ballard, sir. I'm security coordinator for UMC's operation in Ab-" "I understand," West interrupted. No matter how secure the line, it was better not to mention too many details. "I'm calling from Creek Mountain." So, Ballard must have just stepped out of the StarGate-he was actually calling from inside the missile silo complex. "Perhaps you could get to the point," West said. "Mr. Draven-Walter Draven-sent me to tell you about the situation on-you know where. He's got a request, and a message. The message first. It's payback time for Chile." "Ah," West said. In the shadowy intelligence world he worked in, favors were the coin of the realm. Favors given, favors gotten-markers called in. Chile was many years ago, one of his early successes-achieved with the aid of UMC resources. Whatever Draven wanted, it would not be small change.

"Suppose you explain the situation," West said. "Then I'll decide on the favor." On Abydos, Jack O'Neil hurried through the armed camp for the motor pool. Even as he walked through the tented streets, soldiers were stirring, hours before reveille. General Keogh had not decided on a response to Draven and Lockwood's report. He was passing the buck up to West. But just in case action was ordered, preparations had to be undertaken. The general had also given O'Neil orders ertain unalterable demands that he'd have to pass on to the Elders of Nagada. When O'Neil arrived at the motor pool, mechanics were already at work on the tanks that had come through the StarGate. The colonel stared at the 120-mm cannon, which seemed almost stubby compared to the massive turret.

Nonetheless, it would take only a couple of rounds from that gun to batter in the gates of Nagada. Hell, between the tank's gun and huge treads, it wouldn't take much more to get through the walls of the city.

He wondered, however, how the Chobham armor would deal with energy bolts. O'Neil shook himself out of his reverie. He was here to requisition a Humvee and get over to the city in the hopes of avoiding such combat experiments. Keogh had been unwilling to lose his second in-command, but O'Neil had argued passionately. Such government as the city had knew him and, hopefully, still trusted him. He also had the friendship of the leader of the suddenly much feared Abydos militia. If there was a peaceful solution to be negotiated, he had to try. O'Neil declined the use of a driver. Setting off down UMC's mining road, he relentlessly pressed the vehicle to its highest speed. When he reached the dune that marked Skaara's watch station, he braked the vehicle and honked the horn. No one answered. O'Neil hopped out of the Humvee and stepped into the glare of his own headlights. "It's me, O'Neil!" he called up to continued silence. "Black Hat!" he added in Abydan. After turning around in the light to show he was unarmed, O'Neil began climbing the face of the dune. I'm going to feel really stupid if somebody shoots me for this, he thought. The watch station was empty, although it showed signs of recent occupation. Prolonged use had brought some of the comforts of home. O'Neil saw the masked embers of a small fireapparently with dried mastadge dung as the fuel. There were water skins and some neatly folded sand-colored blankets. They could offer shade from the suns by day and warmth by night. The scanty gear had just been left where it was, but there was no sign of violence.

Apparently, the militia members had simply been recalled. O'Neil frowned. It seemed that Skaara took it for granted that some sort of force would be coming from the camp, and didn't want his people in a known position. The colonel skidded down the hard-packed sand and returned to his vehicle. Next stop, Nagada. Impatience flayed O'Neil's nerves as he jockeyed the vehicle beyond the mine pit. He felt torn between the need to get as much speed as possible and the danger of flipping the vehicle and killing himself. At last the bulk of the sleeping city rose before him. No giant trumpet mooed a warning of his arrival. O'Neil had wondered if there was a curfew for the oversized noise maker. In the silence that followed when he turned off the engine, however, O'Neil caught a much less welcoming sound. It was the metallic rattle of a round being jacked into firing position in an automatic pistol. Hands out, O'Neil again stepped into the twin cones of illumination thrown by his headlights. A voice cried out in recognition,

"Black hat!" But the doors didn't open. O'Neil stood for what felt like forever, trying to keep still, to act unthreatening. What he really wanted to do was run in place and hug himself against the desert cold, which seemed to be leaching the very life out of him through his field jacket. He had almost decided to sit on the still warm hood of his vehicle when a voice called, "O'Neil! Thank God it's you!" It was Daniel Jackson. The gates swung open. O'Neil sipped at a bowl full of water.

His throat was raw from hours of talking. He handed the bowl to Daniel Jackson, who had to be even more parched. Not only had he translated O'Neil's words to Kasuf and the Elders, but then he'd had to convey their words to the colonel. And the upshot of this conversational marathon? Nothing. Kasuf and his colleagues wanted UMC off Abydos. They hated Ballard, the company's security man, distrusted Draven, and actively despised Lockwood. General Francis Keogh didn't get high marks from the local government members, either. Everyone remembered that his green-clad soldier had been helping to guard the rest tent when Zaid fell to his death. O'Neil had tried to be as diplomatic as possible, but Keogh's demand had been emphatic. All blastlances in the city had to be turned over to U.S. forces. Skaara, who was sitting to one side of the assembled Elders, broke into loud argument. At least he was able to offer his view directly in English. "Those spears-we captured them.

They are our best weapons, next to your guns. See what Draven and his friends would have given us!" He beckoned, and one of his militia lieutenants appeared from the darkness of the sidelines. He bore the burned and melted remains of a rifle. One glance told O'Neil that this was an antique Garand, the sort generally used by National Guard units in parades. "What comes next? Will Keogh demand the return of your guns-the ones we dug out of the sands to use against Ra? If the Horus guards come again, are we to resist them with stones and walking staffs?