Rebellion (5 page)

Hathor was, of course, not taking over Sebek's position in the godhead.

But she had decreed that her followers would not be allowed the traditional round of assassinations to determine who the new Sebek would be. Her faction couldn't afford the waste of good warriors. Instead, Hathor had invited all those interested in becoming the crocodile god to meet her in single combat. Her practical response to the problem had had several useful results. Considerably fewer candidates had come forward to battle for the Sebek position. And her success in handling them-in a non-lethal way-had greatly increased her standing among her own warriors. Besides, when the stories of the single combats got out-men being the gossips they are-her skill at the martial arts would spread among the other factions as well. Having consolidated her factional position and arranged a fresh influx of propaganda for her legend, Hathor prepared to reach out to another group that could help her establish supremacy over Ra's empire. Thoth had brought her the administrative mass of Ra's empire. While the present military men might deride Thoth's people as mere bean counters, they had no experience at large-scale operations. Hathor knew the value of good logistics from her time on Ombos. But there was another non-military component to Ra's power-the masters of technology led by Ptah, engineer of the gods. These were the ones who tuned the spacecraft engines, built the udajeet gliders, who fashioned raw quartz-crystal into Ra's instruments of wonder-including the blastlances the guards were so fond of using. To gain control of the empire's technicians, Hathor was going to meet Ptah. The engineer tended to wander the empire, constructing and repairing whatever was needed. The scribe spy system, however, had reported that Ptah had arrived on Tuatthe-world and would visit the palace on Tuatthe-moon. As Thoth stood with averted eyes, Hathor arrayed herself in the regalia of a warrior. "I am ready," she finally pronounced. "Have your people succeeded in locating him?" Thoth nodded.

"He's in the maintenance section of one of the older pyramids." "Lead the way." The two moved off with a small cadre of Horus guards. Thoth led them on a circuitous route, both to avoid strongholds of other factions and to disguise their final destination. Ra would never have been expected in the maintenance levels of his pyramid palace, as was shown by the spartan decor. Instead of polished marble and wide spaces with columns, Hathor's party marched through dark, narrow corridors of raw stone. The air grew warm and stuffier, with a faint ozone smell, as if the very stuff they breathed had been subtly charged, ionized by great energies at work. Hathor knew this atmosphere only too well. Long ago the first triumph of her career had been to marry the Ptah of the First Time. The move had elevated her status and brought her under the eye of Ra. She and the head god had consorted together, and there was nothing that Ptah could say. He had suffered his divine cuckolding in cold silence, not even commenting on the brilliant military career Hathor had carved out on the basis of her own competence. When she left for Ombos, Ra had been present ... but Ptah had not. Following her guards down the Stygian passageway, Hathor banished her thoughts.

Ancient history, she told herself. The Ptah of the First Time must have perished thousands of years ago, as had Thoth, Sebek, and all the others

... except for Ra. And, of course, herself, suspended somewhere between life and death. Ahead, Hathor discerned light at the end of the tunnel, not the murky, directionless luminescence that Ra favored but a harsh actinic glare. "His workshop," Thoth whispered. They entered to find technicians frantically shifting around some mysterious machinery while a masked man wielded an arc welder. The mask was made of smoked glass, unlike the animal heads surmounting most of the gods. The first Ptah had disdained the practice, and had gone into history depicted as a bearded human. This Ptah had apparently encountered physical disaster of cataclysmic proportions. The arm holding the welding device was mechanical, composed of golden-glistening quartz. In fact, more than half of Ptah's body seemed artificial, the joints between machinery and meat hidden in mummylike linen wrappings. The few patches of flesh Hathor saw were dead white, seeming to glow with the decaying luminescence of fungus on a swamp tree. The welding device clicked off as Ptah became aware of his guests, and the protective eye mask morphed into a decorative torc around his neck. "Ah," said a dry, whispery voice with its own metallic tang. "So the rumors were correct. My journey here is not for nothing. Welcome back, my dear." For a second Hathor stood frozen, her face almost as pale as the one that confronted her.

Once Ptah's face had been reasonably handsome, but now it was a wreck.

Half the features, including one eye, were constructed of Ra's biomorphic quartzose material. The flesh that showed was beyond dead white. It had a waxen greenish tinge. Even more shocking, however, was the fact that Hathor recognized the ruined countenance. The man standing before her was the first Ptah-her erstwhile husband. Stark incomprehension stiffened her features. Then she turned in rage on Thoth. "He couldn't have told you, my dear," Ptah spoke up, forestalling her. "Information is only as good as the system that houses it. And certain facts have been ... removed from the chronicles over the years."

A half smile tugged at the human side of Ptah's face. "My own origins, for instance, were known only by Ra. Our relationship was expunged, while your connection with our leader took on nearly mythological dimensions." "How-" Hathor began, gesturing at his cyborg shell. "What-"

"A mishap in correcting a drive flaw in one of the warships you wheedled out of Ra." Ptah strove for suavity, but Hathor could detect a more metallic note in his whispering voice. "You were already occupying Ra's backup sarcophagus, and he was unwilling to forgo his primary unit for the amount of time it would take to cure me. What if he should unexpectedly need it? So he took a more mechanical approach to repairing my ills. Unfortunately, that meant I could never use the sarcophagus again." Ptah ran a metallic hand down the mechanical side of his face. "But I've managed to survive with these expedients. How ironic that I, who eschewed the use of a mask, now wear one permanently." What Hathor needed to know, however, was what lurked beneath Ptah's mask. Obviously, he blamed her for his disfigured existence. But she could overlook personal enmity in a political alliance. "You, more than any other, must know what I intend," Hathor said. "Will you support me?" Ptah spread his arms, one dull-burnished metal, one wizened flesh. "I've examined your rivals," he said candidly.

"Left to themselves, they'll destroy everything unless curbed. Yes, dear Hathor, I support you.."

But the unsaid words "for now" hung in the air between them.

Jack O'Neil was wryly amused-and grudgingly impressed-by Skaara's boy soldiers as they accompanied the visitors to the city of Nagada. Skaara had a point man, rear guard, and flankers out as they marched through the dunes. It was perfect Marine recon patrol doctrine-and a testament to Skaara's powers of observation. His order of march was obviously lifted from the way O'Neil had done things on his last visit to Abydos.

The colonel glanced toward the toiling figure of Walter Draven. Maybe UMC's hotshot negotiator was unwise in equating primitive with stupid.

The moment they came in sight of the city walls, Skaara snapped off an order. Nabeh raised his rifle, this time being careful to fire only one shot. As soon as the strangers were spotted, people in the watchtowers began sounding trumpets that looked like gigantic mutated ram's horns.

The low-pitched, penetrating mooing sound brought the inhabitants out into the streets. O'Neil was reminded of his first visit to this city, of the people's almost instinctive courtesy and hospitality. They'd been somewhat frightened of strangers then, thinking they came from Ra.

This time the huge, heavy gates opened to reveal a smiling, cheering throng. It struck O'Neil almost as a physical blow when he realized this hero's welcome was for him. The Nagadans were turning out in force to hail the man who had destroyed Ra and won their freedom. The colonel felt an acid pain in the pit of his stomach as he glanced from the cheering multitudes to his earthly companions. The people will take these snakes to their hearts-just because they're with me, he thought.

This is why he was here, not to act as a guide-a bitter fact for O'Neil to swallow. A familiar face appeared in the crowd. Sha'uri beckoned to Skaara, then whispered in her brother's ear. Skaara led the way to a central square. Kasuf and the city Elders stood gathered outside one of the adobe buildings. As the visitors arrived, Daniel Jackson pushed his way out of the crowd to join them. "We were expecting visitors by and by. So I'll be acting as translator." Draven stared. "You mean you haven't been teaching those people English)" "We've been more busy trying to recapture this people's history, stolen from them by Ra,"

Daniel replied. "Abydos has been kept illiterate for generations."

Draven's smile indicated that he thought this was an excellent notion.

"But in the past few months, more and more people are learning to write

. . . in their own language." "You had to know that sooner or later, contact with Earth would be reestablished. We are here to inquire into the export of this world's unique mineral wealth." Draven's gesture took in the dilapidated mud structures around the square. "Let's face it, this world could use a generous infusion of American capital and modern conveniences." "This isn't Disneyland," Daniel angrily retorted.

"These people have a culture thousands of years old. They aren't going to roll over for flush toilets and fast food." "How about modern building materials and medical supplies?" Draven purred. He nodded to the Elders. "And shouldn't these local leaders make the choice for their people?" O'Neil shook his head. Watching the unworldly academic go up against the corporate shark was the worst mismatch since Godzilla versus Bambi. As the negotiations began, the Elders drove a better bargain than Daniel. Unless, perhaps, he'd given them some advance warning. Grudgingly, Daniel offered to start classes in English. "I don't think it's necessary to divert you from your studies," Draven said smoothly. "My company will take on that job." And control who can work with UMC and who can't, O'Neil added silently. "Perhaps our first order of business is to set wages for those who work in the mine," Draven suggested. "Daniel has mentioned this," Kasuf said, earning the translator a black look. "We wish you to explain how the system works,"

the Elder went on. Draven started. "Don't you pay your miners?" As Kasuf went into a long, detailed explaination, Daniel looked over at Draven. "Do you want this word for word, or short and sweet? He's going back to the beginning of the mines, about eight thousand years ago." "You might want to keep to the high points," Draven said, looking a little dazed. "Okay," Daniel said. "Under Ra's rule the mine was a civic obligation-consider it sort of a sweaty local version of jury duty. The whole community worked whenever they were needed. In return, the Elders here provided food and drink, and shelter from the suns. When you go to the mines, you'll see that the largest construction there-other than the nine million ladders to get up and down-is something the people here call the Tent of Rest. And after you've been down in the heat and the dust of the mine itself, you'll see why it's needed." "Please tell Kasuf that my company will gladly take over the expense for this rest tent," Draven said. "In fact, I was going to suggest some such arrangement." He gave a sidewise glance toward the Elders. "So you're saying that they have no idea of how to pay for labor?" "No, they pay wages, but when it came to the mine, people didn't get paid because Ra didn't pay. He just demanded the ore, and if they didn't deliver enough and on time, they died." "Sounds like an interesting character," Draven said. Daniel nodded. "I'm sure you'd have loved his labor-management style." The UMC negotiator's lips twitched. "Anyway, to payment. From the sounds of it, there probably won't be enough local coinage to allow us to pay the workforce we'll need." Daniel translated, and after some discussion with his colleagues, Kasuf agreed. "Perhaps we can agree on some sort of interim coinage,"

Draven suggested. O'Neil's face tightened. Certainly. UMC could probably provide company coins at a huge profit. They could even manipulate the value of the company currency. Daniel and the Elders went back and forth several times on this point. "I'm explaining about scrip and company stores," Daniel told Draven with a grim smile. So much for that proposal. In the end, Draven had to agree on paying American money. But that agreement led to new problems. The Elders-for that matter, no one on Abydos-had ever seen paper money. When Draven provided some samples, they fiddled unhappily with the bills. "They say they want coins," a frustrated Daniel translated. "That may not be a problem,"

Draven said. "Suppose we offer one of these an hour." He pulled a quarter Out of his pocket. Daniel stared. "You've got to be kidding!"

he sputtered. "You want those people to do that back-breaking labor for two dollars a day?" "Do you want to flood this city's economy with American dollars?" Draven shot back. "I've seen what happens to local industries when people start buying foreign goods." He extended a placating hand. "Besides, this is merely a token payment. I think a fair arrangement would be to offer the government here a percentage of the ore's value on the world-our world-market. A royalty, if you will."

A royalty calculated by UMC. O'Neil wondered how much that would be worth. From that point the discussion went back and forth, but the basic payment structure had been set. Royalty payments would allow the Elders to buy modern conveniences the city really neededa hospital, for instance. Clean water. Plumbing. The burghers of Nagada fought hard for their people, but they had no idea of the scale of resources UMC

represented. Daniel's one victory came when he dug a Susan B. Anthony dollar out of his pocket. "I got stuck with one of these, and now I carry it for a good luck charm. Lucky for these people, at least. This should be the coin you pay the workers." So Daniel at least had quadrupled the miner's take-home pay. The first round of negotiations ended with effusive compliments on both sides. Daniel wanted the agreement in writing, but Draven avoided that Pitfall with easy facility. "I'm sure the Elders would see no need for a written document," he said. "Certainly a bond of honor is sufficient between men of good will." Daniel doubted that, and argued the point fiercely with Kasuf and his circle. But Nagada's illiterate civic leaders had done business verbally all their lives. Draven won the point, and Jackson looked too disgusted to enjoy the obligatory feast for the visitors.