Retaliation (13 page)

“In my old job, I met dozens of guys, all of them try-ing to save the world,” O’Neil told him coldly.

“Some were decent men. A few were sincere. But the majority were so intent on saving the world, they didn’t care who got hurt in the process. I had my orders. I killed them all.”

“You were an assassin?” Daniel’s voice sounded stupid in his own ears. “Special ops. Spook work.”

For an instant Jack O’Neil’s face was as remote as that of the late, unlamented, not-quite-human Ra.

Then a little feeling showed in his eyes. “That’s why I’m very careful about politics, Jackson. I’ve been out on the sharp end.”

Long after Jack O’Neil strode out of his office, Daniel Jackson sat at his desk, dissecting the conversation- and himself.

By the time he was finished, he had to admit that O’Neil’s description was all too fitting. Delta Foxtrot Bravo, indeed! People who want to save the world shouldn’t alienate two of their major allies in the fight.

Nor was it a good idea to have O’Neil thinking he was a loose cannon. First things first. He called in one of his students and sent him with a message to Kasuf, asking for a private meeting as soon as possible. If that came through, he’d have to go home, clean up, and change his grubby clothes. Daniel’s heart sank at the prospect of returning to an empty house. He wouldn’t be able to stay there. Too much history and emotion was tied up in that little adobe hole in the wall. The happiest times of his life had been spent in there. Unfortunately, there were also some of his worst times. He hadn’t fallen this low since he-and his theories-had been laughed off the stage by his fellow Egyptologists.

The StarGate had come through to rescue him that time. Now-damn it, he had a world to save. Once he’d guaranteed a future, he could rebuild a life with Sha’uri.

One thing was certain. He had to keep his distance with Faizah. In politics, appearances were just as im-portant as reality.

And Daniel Jackson intended to get into politics in a big way. Shaved, showered, teeth brushed, and dressed in a new robe, Daniel felt like a new man.

The question is, he thought worriedly, can I convince Kasuf that this is the new Daniel Jackson?

Kasuf had sent a message setting the meeting at his own house. On the way in, Daniel bumped into Skaara and received an unreadable look. Perfect. Another ally squandered.

Kasuf sat stiffly on a pile of cushions, his eyes al-most wary as Daniel entered. Every other time Daniel had been in this comfortably shabby room, there had been trays of sweetmeats around.

Today there wasn’t a crumb to be found.

Daniel’s stomach gave a hollow groan. Herb tea did not a breakfast make. But Daniel had decided on the proper approach. There were enough precedents in Egyptian funerary painting-and in every old Jon Hall movie. Daniel sank to his knees and bowed low enough to konk his forehead on the floor. “Kasuf, Father of my wife-“ Funny how that title seemed to hit him in the heart. “I want to apologize for my foolishness yester-day. Perhaps the bullet that almost missed filled me with too much passion. I let my tongue run away with itself.”

“It seems that is not the only thing that has run away on you,” Kasuf said coldly.

Daniel rose up on his haunches, looking Kasuf right in the eye. “Sha’uri and I have had our troubles before this,” he admitted. “My behavior yesterday did not help our problems. I love your daughter and hope to have a future with her. To make that happen we must have a future for this whole world. There are many points of view about where Abydos should go. The best thing might be to allow the people to air their differences-before they begin fighting.” Kasuf nodded. “What do you suggest?”

“In my own world, my country was founded in revo-lution. But the revolutionaries found they needed to invent a new way to govern themselves. They gath-ered leaders from all over the country in a grand con-vention to draft a blueprint for government-what we call our Constitution.”

He looked at Kasuf, who seemed interested. “You could call together all the Elders on Abydos-farmers and miners-to discuss our problems. Perhaps,” Daniel added, thinking of Faizah’s group, “you could even invite representatives from the people. The job would be to hammer out a government that will pro-tect the rights and freedom of everyone. I’ll get you copies of my land’s Constitution. It’s been used as a model by many countries on Earth.” “You ask much of me,” Kasuf said. “There will be difficulty-people will say I’m reaching for power, or trying to foist an Earth government on them.” Then the older man gave Daniel a slight smile. “But your idea holds out a goal for everyone to work toward.

Get me copies of your people’s Constitution. Let us start.”

Thus, in addition to running a school and teaching, Daniel Jackson became a de facto constitutional lawyer. He translated the document into Abydan, and dis-cussed the fine points with Kasuf and other Elders. It wasn’t a perfect cultural fit. Kasuf himself was scandal-ized that it had taken Daniel’s “perfect”

government eighty years to abolish slavery. But it gave the Abydans a basis for discussion on how to run their affairs. Even Jack O’Neil grudgingly admitted that was a good idea-even though Daniel was driving him crazy with requests for books on the Constitution and similar charters to come through the StarGate.

“I wish West would relax his sphincters and let some experts on law over here,” Daniel complained one day. “It’s hard enough translating this stuff with-out acting as an advocate for it. But I guess that’s the military for you-they can blow stuff up or dig it up, but they’re not really interested in building up.”

“Right,” O’Neil agreed sarcastically. “Like the way our occupation government helped Japan set up its constitution.” He frowned. “I’ll see if I can help round up any local talent on my staff.”

“Oh-Army officers who don’t do things the Ma-rine way,” Daniel joked.

“Hey, you’re the one asking for help.”

“We all need it.” Daniel had turned deadly serious. “The situation is getting worse in Nagada-and everywhere else. It’s like watching a pressure cooker build up steam. If we don’t manage to vent things off...”

He looked at the colonel. “West hasn’t said anything on what we’re doing, has he?”

“No.” O’Neil was surprised. “Why should he?”

“I was just thinking ... a power vacuum here might just suit his needs right down to the ground.”

“I think you’re a little paranoid on the subject of the general, Jackson.” “Why?” Daniel demanded. “Isn’t destabilizing regimes something that hush-hush types do?” ( “First of all,” O’Neil said from harsh experience, “you need a regime that’s halfway stable to begin with. I can’t see any advantage to the mining opera-tion in having starving people shooting one another. So I’d say no, West isn’t pulling any strings here.” The colonel managed a wintry grin. “If he were, we’d be having political assassinations by now.”

It took Daniel a moment to realize that O’Neil was grimly joking. The colonel wasn’t smiling as he went on. “But that doesn’t mean West doesn’t have contingency plans set up in case things get out of control. I think he’d be happy to see a peaceful, productive democracy take root here.” O’Neil tapped Daniel’s shoulder with a heavy fin-ger. “With the emphasis on productive. He’s depending on regular shipments of that gold crystal they dig up in the mines. If he thought that supply line was threat-ened-well, let’s just hope this constitutional conven-tion of yours works.” For the first time since the initial, heady days of freedom, hope walked the streets of Nagada. Young Aha could actually feel it in the air as he marched his contingent of militiamen to the hall of the Elders.

Personally, he was sick of the petty corruption, the feeling that everything was sliding out of control.

He’d joined the militia to defend Abydos, not to steal from armories and lean on businessmen. The Elders had tried to arrange food allotments for militia members on full duty. But week by week Aha had watched supplies dwindle as prices rose. Even as he’d risen to command a squad, he’d seen the growth of scams as his soldiers struggled to feed themselves. Aha glanced back at the squad marching behind him. They were fundamentally good men, he knew.

But they were hungry-not just for food but for leadership.

And now, it seemed, they might be getting some.

Kasuf had managed to blandish, bully, or blackmail every Elder on Abydos to come to Nagada and discuss the planet’s problems. But it was an open secret that the Elders would be working to create a real govern-ment to take care of those problems. Committees would be formed to listen to the viewpoints of every interested citizen.

Oh, there were always the few who viewed any change since the overthrow of slavery as a dreaded Urt-man conspiracy. But in the last few days before the Convention, as it was coming to be called, faction violence had fallen in the town.

Some of the delegates from the more remote areas were still en route. Their caravans were protected by special details of militia. The Earthman Marines were giving logistical support. And it didn’t hurt that their huge tanks and patrols had eliminated the raider bands close to the city.

Today marked the second set of meetings-Aha heard people using the Earth word “conferences”

between Kasuf and Nakeer. The pre-Convention connection between the two tribal leaders was the cause of much of the euphoria in town. If the chief Elders finally decided to get things done ....

Aha’s command reached the market square before the hall of the Elders. There he found another contin-gent of militia, this one recruited from the farming communities. The two groups would form the secu-rity detail for the front of the building and serve as an honor guard for the tribal leaders meeting inside. All the guard posts in the area would be manned by mixed bands from the major factions.

Aha grinned as he recognized his opposite number in command of the other squad, a big, stolid farmer named Perre.

“What kept you city boys?” Perre inquired with pointed good nature. “You get lost in all these streets?”

“Nah,” Aha joshed back. “We just don’t get up with the crack of dawn like farmers. What do you do, get-ting up that early? Get naughty with the mastadges?” The kidding had been an important social lubricant between the different tribal units thrust into working together. Miners screwed rocks, farmers had to be told to wipe mastadge shit off their sandals. Aha and his men didn’t mind the humor. In fact, he’d been a bit surprised at Perre’s inventiveness in the subject of good-natured abuse. Despite the farmboy’s pointed reference to the time, both contingents were early. Aha let his men fall out and talk with the members of the other unit. Soon enough, though, the men fell into formation and marched through the changing of the guard.

Once their people were on post and ready, Aha and Perre fell into conversation again.

“So,” the farmer asked, “you think we’ll see any ... Earthmen today?” He’d grown very careful pronouncing the foreign word, having quickly learned that “Urt-man” was the hick’s term for the strangers who had come through the StarGate.

“We’ll probably see Daniel turning up,” Aha replied. “He’s usually around Kasuf.”

“Ah, him,” Perre said dismissively. “He’s just like one of us, anyway.” Aha broke into a crack of laughter. “Ha! How nice of you to notice. Most of you shitkickers came here thinking that Urt-men were nine feet tall and covered with hair all over, like mastadges.”

Score one for the city boys.

“Nah, the Earthmen look like people. There’s just some of them I’d like to look at more than others.”

Perre had a glint in his eye as he leaned toward Aha. “That hot little brunette we saw yesterday with the Earthman warrior. What did they call her? Babrazhor?”

“These Earth types have two names,” Aha said. “Don’t ask me why. But I know the one you mean.

She’s called Barbara. And she’s supposed to be pretty hot stuff-pretty free with her hands, if you know what I mean.” The two men snapped to attention as a procession arrived at the square. Nakeer was staying at Kasuf’s house, but the two leaders were holding their meet-ings in the official place of government.

Kasuf wore the formal red robes of the miners. Na-keer wore the green traditionally associated with his tribe. To Aha’s eyes, the color seemed especially brilliant against the drab dun walls of Nagada. Aha and Perre both saluted as the leaders left their honor guards and entered the building. The door guards snapped to action, pulling the portals open. The big shots entered, the honor guard marched off, and life returned to business as usual.

Perre resumed their earlier conversation. After all, a good-looking woman was always pleasant to talk about. “Come on, city boy. Tell me more about this Barbara.”

Aha happily passed along the barracks gossip on the flamboyant Dr. Shore. “You were lucky to see her in that blue outfit. Usually when she comes to town, she wears this baggy white thing that’s almost like a tent.” He lowered his voice. “Once, though, I saw her leave it open ...”

“Get out!” exclaimed a scandalized Perre.

“Well, she had clothes under it-sort of. Some kind of white thing that covered her up to the neck-but it was tight across the breasts. And you could see her legs-up to here!”

Aha used his hand to indicate the thigh height of the doctor’s shorts. Considering that they saw their women either robed or nude, it made for an exotic story. Perre begged for more.

“Most of the Earthers speak only a couple of our words,” Aha went on. “But Barbara can sure curse and swear! For her feast of welcome she wore one of our robes and sandals. She stubbed her toe coming in here and muttered something that made Kasuf jump!”

Perre laughed appreciatively. “I wouldn’t mind if she made me jump,” he said.

“Looks to me like it would be agreeable work.”

“Sure,” Aha scoffed. “I bet she’d be eager to play cow-mastadge to your bull.” “Give me a chance to find out about that hairy all over story,” Perre said with a coarse laugh.

“Dream on, soldier.”

“Anything’s possible,” Perre argued. “That Daniel yellow-hair wound up with Kasuf’s daughter, didn’t he? It’s only fair that a worthy Abydan win an Earth-woman.” He grinned. “Hey, I feel worthy.”