Rebellion (3 page)

here on Earth, while dismemberment of the StarGate would close a profoundly disturbing door on a hostile universe. He went back to reading, this time switching to the survivors' after-action reports.

Energy weapons, matter transmission, a working starship. Those were just a few of the technological goodies the recon team had observed on the other side of the StarGate. On the other hand ... West shuddered as he went back over Colonel Jack O'Neil's classified report. The StarGate had almost been used as a delivery system for an amplified atomic bomb, with a blast big enough to end civilization on this planet. Were the possible advantages worth the all-too-concrete risks? Of course, O'Neil had succeeded in using the matter transmitter to plant the bomb on the starship, blowing it up and ending the career of the alien which had styled itself as a god. But since the THREE surviving Marines had returned to Earth, no one had gone through the StarGate. West had not only secured the missile silo that housed the artifact, he'd posted the toughest combat Marines he could find for roundthe-clock guard duty.

Nothing was to go in or out of that alien dingus without his say-so.

Managing the threat factors on Earth gave him difficulty enough. He was unwilling to throw an entire new world into his risk calculations.

However ... O'Neil's report also stated that among the resources of the planet Abydos was a sizable deposit of Ra's magic quartz-crystal. Much as West would like to decline the proffered invitation to the universe, he had to consider the strategic implications. With a ready supply of the quartz element, Earth's technical base specifically, that of the United States-could advance by a quantum jump. Even better, the U.S.

would have an absolute lock on this new technology. The Japanese wouldn't be able to horn in and usurp production, because the raw material that was the bedrock for the technological wonders would be available only from America. It would come out of a hole in an American mountain. So what if it had to traverse a million light-years to get there? According to O'Neil's report, the natives of Abydos conducted their mining operation in an inefficient-in fact, downright primitive-manner. Apparently, that was due to the alien god's strangling grip on the people. All well and good, but the situation would have to change. If this brave new technology were to go into production, the factories would require regular shipments-in bulk. That would be the only economic reason for keeping this portal to the unknown open.

Large-scale mining would require machinery and, of course, the people to operate it. And those operators would have to be people General West could control. At first he had thought of the Army Corps of Engineers.

They certainly had the knowhow, and they were Military, by God. But he'd quickly identified a drawback to using the military's construction arm.

The requirement was secrecy. Could they depend on some shorttimer driving a bulldozer not to come home and talk about his building job on another planet? Once again West wished that O'Neil had blown up the StarGate on the Abydos side and removed this problem before it landed in the general's lap. If nobody knew this stuff existed ... But the technology and the crystal did exist, and in the Pentagon's need-to-know culture, it was up to West to make a decision about it. He hadn't reached his rank by passing the buck. He had a reputation for making the right choices in clutch situations. The decision he was leaning toward was the mining option-with a sizable security complement in case any more unpleasant surprises came down out of the sky. But the miners wouldn't be soldiers. They'd come from the United Mining Consortium.

UMC had done lots of government work in the past-including a number of sensitive overseas operations in conjunction with representatives of the intelligence community. West had done his homework, assuring himself that UMC not only had the resources but the right kind of people to do this job-people who could keep their mouths shut. Even better, the company was used to working in the Third World, which would be a plus in dealing with the primitives on Abydos. And UMC was quite resourceful in keeping up production of whatever ore was being excavated, despite piddling complaints by the natives or annoying shifts in their governments. The general referred briefly to the newspaper clippings in his UMC file. A native potentate toppled, a separatist movement in the area of richest mining, a recalcitrant president supplanted by a more accommodating military junta ... Yes, UMC was certainly a company that could handle itself in the clinch. And for civilians, they would do exactly the sort of job he wanted done. He had the names and numbers he needed to start the ball rolling. No doubt UMC would want to send over some prospectors, advance men, people to do a feasibility study. All under the deepest shrouds of national security, of course. Well, he had just the man to bird-dog them. Someone who had experience on the far side of the StarGate. A military man who knew how to follow orders and keep his mouth shut.

Colonel Jack O'Neil.

West smiled. Perhaps someday O'Neil would thank the general for putting him in touch with the right people. Certainly, West expected to be thanked ... by UMC. Not immediately, of course. But a person who puts a company in the way of making a handsome profit-a monopoly position on a scarce resource with many valuable uses. Well, such a person deserves a reward. Lucrative consulting opportunities, perhaps a seat on the board of directors. West leaned back in his seat. After all, the military would expect him to retire one of these days. The military-industrial complex just wasn't what it used to be. Even a general had to think about his future.

Shielding his eyes from the brutal desert suns of Abydos, Skaara conducted a quick head count on the mastadge herd he and his friends were watching. Sha'uri's brother had to admit that after his brief stint as a freedom fighter, the shepherd's trade was even more boring than before. He and his friends had become boy commandos almost by accident, rescuing the otherworldly visitors from Ra's wrath. Indeed, Skaara had learned most of his soldiering by observing the man he called Black Hat-after the black beret worn by Colonel Jack O'Neil. There was a warrior, despite the dull green clothes he wore. The man had a sharp temper, exacerbated by the language difficulties-the only visitor who spoke the local language was Daniel, his sister's husband. But Skaara had admired O'Neil, and a certain friendship had grown between them.

He'd been vastly disappointed when his idol had disappeared into the StarGate, returning to whatever unguessable world he had come from. It wasn't merely a wish for action that fueled Skaara's discontent. He'd quickly learned that war did not necessarily mean glory-his mates had suffered casualties, and his friend Nabeh had nearly been killed. Still worse had been the innocent civilians butchered as the flying udajeet had blasted the city of Nagada from the air. Between his days of labor and his work at night learning hieroglyphics, he had more than enough activity to take up even the energies of youth. Yet even his studies spurred restlessness. Translating the wall paintings of Nagada's hidden archives gave more tales of Ra's tyranny, and tantalizing clues about other worlds ruled over by the false god. What, for instance, had happened on Ombos after cat-headed Hathor had covered that planet in blood? Even the wise Daniel could offer no information. Slowly as his studies progressed, Skaara also developed a desire to see these worlds on the other side of the StarGate, to tell their peoples that Ra was no more-to join with these star-brothers and fight for freedom as the inhabitants of Abydos had done. He hadn't discussed these inchoate aspirations with his father, the Elder Kasuf, with Sha'uri, or with Daniel. But when he'd sounded out his shepherd friends, his fellow veterans of the war against Rathe response was resoundingly affirmative.

So a new activity had been added to his schedule. In whatever spare time remained after shepherding and studying, Skaara and his mates practiced the arts of war. They drilled themselves in the arts of concealment, in quick, darting movement under simulated fire. They experimented with various weapons, and zealously worked to maintain the few rifles and pistols the visitors from Earth had left behind. Skaara had organized a careful scavenging operation in the ruins of the visitors' base camp. The search had been rewarded when several boxes of rifle ammunition turned up. And night and day, as an exercise in war and discipline, Skaara detailed a few members from his shepherds' complement to keep watch on the pyramid that housed the StarGate. Thus, when the sudden chatter of a rifle on automatic echoed over the dunes, Skaara wasn't exactly surprised. A gunshot was supposed to be the signal that new visitors had arrived. But Skaara wasn't pleased. The signal was supposed to be a single gunshot. He would have some choice words for the watchers about wasting ammunition. Unless ... what if the visitors weren't friendly and the watchers were defending themselves? Skaara had a sickening vision of Horus guards pouring from the carved entrance arch of the pyramid. He'd dreamed of taking freedom out to the other planets of Ra's empire. Suppose one of Ra's lieutenants had come to Abydos with the intention of restoring despotism? He snapped an order to the others, and in an instant shepherd boys became warriors. They all carried whatever weapons they could. Now, abandoning the mastadges, they formed a rough skirmish line and headed for the watch point, a tall sand dune that commanded a view of the rocky outcrop that supported the pyramid.

Skaara carefully deployed his men, rifles at the flanks, as they climbed to the crest of the dune. They might be able to get a few shots at the invaders. But when they reached the watchers, they found a pair of madly capering boys. "Skaara!" shouted Nabeh, pointing into the distance beyond the dune's face. "They're back! They've come back!" Skaara threw himself on his belly, slipping another treasure from Earth out of his cloak. O'Neil had given him the pair of black, compact binoculars before leaving Abydos. As Skaara focused on the THREE figures sliding down the escarpment to the sands below, he saw that Nabeh's eyesight and words were true. The visitors were dressed as people from Earth. And one of them wore a black beret. Fixing his gaze, Skaara saw this was indeed Jack O'Neil. The black-hatted man wore a different suit: not green this time, but mottled in tans and yellows-the colors of the sands. The camouflage made it more difficult to spot the newcomers. But Skaara had gotten a good look at the colonel's face. That was all he needed to see to tell him that these were friends. Turning, he reorganized his little command from an ambush party to an honor guard.

But, like any good officer, he still took a moment to lash into Nabeh for wasting their precious ammunition. Walter Draven, UMC's advance man on Abydos, threw his long, thin body to the sand as the noise of rattling discharges echoed against the face of the pyramid. "That sounds like gunshots," he said. The hard eyes in his hatchet-like face turned almost angrily to their military liaison. "At least a clip on an M-16

firing at full auto," Colonel Jack O'Neil agreed. "You said these people were primitives-that they barely had metal tools when you met them!"

Draven's legal background broke out at the oddest moments, like this accusatory speech. "Well, it sounds as if the locals got themselves some hardware," Martin Preston, the engineering side of the scouting party, pointed out. He was short and stocky, with a round red face and bandy legs. But he was supposed to know everything there was to know about mining in primitive conditions. "A group of kids helped us," O'Neil explained, a brief smile coming to his lips at the memory of Skaara and his friends. "They used some of our guns. Although," he admitted, "I'm surprised by this date that they'd have any bullets left." "Maybe they salvaged some from your supplies," Preston's practical voice pointed out. "According to your report, you chose to abandon most of the equipment at your base camp." O'Neil barely hid his surprise that General West had given classified reports to a mining engineer. He glanced toward the growing mound of sand that entombed most of the cases of supplies left behind. "If so, they showed more initiative than I'd have expected." His face became grim. "More discipline, too." "How so?"

Draven demanded. "Kids and guns are a dangerous combination. Put a gun in a kid's hand, and it may well go off." The UMC men glanced at each other, then followed silently as O'Neil led the way down the rocky face of escarpment. No other shots rang out. "Could it have been target practice?" Preston suggested a trifle breathlessly as he swung down, his foot scrabbling for a foothold. "I'd say it was more in the nature of a signal," O'Neil opined. He was breathing as easily as if he were on a stroll across the parade ground. "So these people have someone watching the StarGate." The sharp-faced Draven managed to make it sound like a hostile act. "Well, they would have a vested interest in knowing if anyone appeared," O'Neil pointed out. "You think this could be due to that professor who took up with the local girl and went native? What was his name-Jackson?" Draven asked. O'Neil had to chuckle at the idea.

"Daniel? I think he'd be too busy translating hieroglyphics and enjoying married life to organize any sort of civil defense." "Then who has people out there spying on us?" Draven wanted to know. "There's an easy enough way to find out," O'Neil responded. "We'll go out there and ask them." He reached the base of the stony outcrop and set off for the highest dune in sight. Draven and Preston scrambled down and trailed after the colonel. The sand seemed to suck at their feet, making their steps slow and clumsy. O'Neil, in contrast, seemed to glide along, his Desert Storm surplus uniform blurring his movements as he forged ahead.

Draven cursed under his breath as he slogged along in pursuit. He'd reached a point in his UMC career where he expected to jet in to trouble spots and be met by an armored limo and a few bodyguards. A week ago-even a day ago-he'd have laughed at the notion of traipsing through the boonies with a technical staff of one and depending on a smart-ass Marine for protection. Yet here he was, preparing for the negotiations of his life. Far better than the military, it seemed, UMC realized the possibilities in opening up an entire world for development. They wanted the best contact man they had for the job. And that man was Walt Draven. He mopped sweat off his forehead, glancing up to see how far ahead that damned Marine had gotten. Surprisingly, they'd reached the foot of the large dune. O'Neil was working his way diagonally up the crusted sand face. Then Draven noticed movement at the crest. "Colonel!"