He rubbed a hand over his face. It felt gritty. “All I want is some rest, some food-“ Uh-oh. Bad choice of subject change.
“Oh, yes, you talk all the time of how we’re part-ners-until you come home and expect me to have a meal all ready for you. My father and mother were better partners. They worked together in the mines-and when he had to, Father could come up with some-thing to eat for Mother, Skaara, and myself.” “I can cook-sort of. But this isn’t the kind of food I’m, used to from back home.”
“Your splendid planet Earth, where everything comes in little boxes and people have wonderful lives that make us look like savages.” Sha’uri had worked up a good head of steam by now. She went to another section of the kitchen and dug out a pair of packages. Daniel recognized them from the Marine camp-Meals, Ready to Eat.
“If Earth is so wonderful, why don’t you go back?” Sha’uri demanded. Daniel became exasperated.
Hadn’t he explained it often enough? “The StarGate on Earth is guarded. If I went for a visit, I might not be able to come back.” “And why should that worry you?”
Sha’uri’s bitter words brought Daniel up short. “Hey, my life is here now.
You’re my wife-“
“Am I? I’ve talked with some of Colonel O’Neil’s Marines. We didn’t marry under the forms of your world. If you’re so committed to me, why do you keep cadging those ugly little cloaks you put on before we make love?” Daniel flushed. It was bad enough, dealing with the military joshing as he begged for condoms. Now to be criticized for his precautions-“Sha’uri, I told you, that’s to protect you. These are crazy times. Neither of us wants to be saddled down with a baby.”
When he saw the tears trickling down Sha’uri’s face, he wished he’d made his point more gently.
“We’ve talked about this. You don’t really want a baby right now.” He gulped. “Do you?”
“Yes-no! You don’t understand what it’s like!” Sha’uri’s voice was hoarse as she spoke through her tears. “In the days before, under Ra, no one knew how long they’d live. Children were the only way to reach toward the future. Of course, Ra took a crueler view. The Horus guards used to say, ‘Breed early, breed often-make more workers for Ra.’ “ She stared at Daniel with red-rimmed eyes. “Things may have changed, but the old ways remain. Some of us-young ones, like Skaara-we see that new times need new customs. But it’s easier to free ourselves of Ra than to change the ways of thinking-especially for the older folk. My father keeps expecting grand-children-the sooner, the better. He hints, and asks, and pokes about...” “Then we’ll have to tell him to wait,” Daniel said.
Sha’uri’s eyes filled with renewed tears. “There is another answer we could give,” she faltered. “Maybe I can’t free my mind from the old ways, either.” Daniel tried to be logical, pointing out the inconve-nience, the problems, a pregnancy would cause. His fledgling academy would lose Sha’uri as a teacher and translator. She responded that Abydan women worked in the mines almost to birthing time.
Surely she’d be able to do the same in a sit-down job. Then Daniel played the health-care card. He’d pre-fer to wait until Earth doctors and medicines were available.
“But they’ll be coming now, under this agreement with the general,” Sha’uri said.
In the end, there was only one argument left to him, one he didn’t wish to use. Daniel Jackson was scared green of fatherhood. “I’m committed to you,” he in-sisted to Sha’uri. “I love you, I want us to be together. We should be enjoying this time. To bring in a kid-I think it’s too soon.” The discussion went downhill from there. Daniel ended in full retreat, disguised as storming out the door.
Should have taken the MRE with me, he thought, strid-ing through the dark streets. His stomach was roiling with tension. But when it finally settled down, hunger pangs took over.
Daniel set a course for the building that housed the Council of Elders. With luck, he might be able to horn into a meal there-eat at government expense. Maybe he could take Kasuf aside, ask him to cool it with Sha’uri-The little square in front of the adobe hall was full of people. Some were shouting, others had their fists raised. Daniel had been on Abydos long enough now to recognize accents. By their speech, these were mem-bers of farmer clans from outside Nagada.
“We came many miles to bring our petition!” one farmer cried. “Why will the Elders of Nagada not hear us? We cannot spend another day waiting to catch their ear. Let us come to them now!”
Another man complained more sharply. “These El-ders grow fat on the tools and coins they get from the Urt-men!”
The linguist in Daniel wondered where the guy had appropriated the English word “Earthmen.”
Obvi-ously, it was a case of street phonetics, a term repro-duced by word of mouth. Pidgin English had come to Abydos. So, apparently, had protests by the have-nots against those perceived as the “haves.”
In a way, Daniel was reminded of his college days. There was the same mixture of a few vocal types fronting a large crowd waiting to see what would hap-pen. But this wasn’t campus politics. These were people in deadly earnest, coming before their govern-ment for a hearing, and, hopefully, justice. By Abydan tradition, they had the right to petition the Elders.
They’d picked a lousy day for it, though. Kasuf and his confreres had been closeted the whole day, listening to General West’s offer, negotiating with him, debating the proposal, then deciding how to imple-ment scarce resources to meet their end of the bargain.
By now they were tired old men who wanted rest, not wrangling. As far as the farmers were concerned, there were se-cret deals afoot to make the Nagadans richer-and the farming clans poorer.
The vocal minority led the crowd in a rush for the doors, intending to put their case forcefully.
Then the doors opened and militiamen marched out. The Abydan militia organized by Sha’uri’s brother Skaara was not a spit-and-polish outfit. His citizen soldiers wore their street clothes, robes of brownish homespun. Usually the only clues of mili-tary organization were proficiency in maneuvers- Skaara drilled them mercilessly-and the weapons they carried.
The unit deploying to cut off the mob was armed with M-16 rifles recovered from the battlefields out-side Nagada. These militiamen also wore another item of military salvage-the new Kevlar helmets issued to American troops. In the torchlit square, the coal-scuttle helmets gave them the appearance of cloaked Nazis moving into battle.
Confrontation quickly turned to bloody riot control. The protest leaders tried to push through, and were met with rifle butts. Apparently, the militiamen were under orders not to fire. No shots rang out, but there were plenty of broken heads and bloody faces.
The militia troopers ruthlessly drove the angry farmers about halfway across the square. There, the resistance of the hustled protesters began to stiffen. Surprisingly, the militia riot squad broke contact, stepping back. The farmers were preparing a charge when a single rifle shot resounded across the square. The sound came from above. Daniel and the pro-testers looked up to find a line of militiamen strung across the roof of the Elders’ hall. They leaned across the waist-high parapet, aiming their rifles down at the crowd. The unspoken threat was enough. When the militia officer on the ground told the farmers to disperse, the crowd began melting away.
The least committed went first. They’d have to be back at their farms before sunup to begin a new day in the fields. More and more of the protesters drew away, until all that remained were the real fire-eaters-and those too banged up to move quickly.
All that was left was the mopping up. The helmeted riot-control line moved forward again, chivvying the last of the protesters away. At least they were more sparing with their gun butts.
Daniel stared, so spellbound by the unpleasant spectacle that he didn’t notice the militiaman advanc-ing on him until it was nearly too late. “Get moving, scum!” The hard-eyed trooper reared back with his rifle.
Instinctively Daniel moved to grapple with him. A flurry of movement from the corner of his eye gave an instant’s warning. Daniel twisted as another militiaman charged in, ready to smash his face with the butt of his M-16. The guy’s face seemed vaguely familiar under the Fritz helmet. His features slackened in shock when he apparently recognized Daniel. Stepping between the struggling pair, he waved back his snarling comrade. “He ain’t one of the troublemakers,” he said. “Look at the yellow hair. That’s the chief’s brother-in-law!”
The first militiaman let down his gun, giving Daniel the disgusted look reserved for innocents who inter-pose themselves in police actions anywhere. Daniel found himself a little breathless as he asked the other to give him a safe-conduct across the square to the Elders’ hall.
The rope and wood bridge under Skaara’s feet swung slightly in the breeze. He stood equidistant between the watchtowers that flanked the main gates of Nagada. The height gave him a vantage point to observe inside the city as well as beyond its walls. He lowered the binoculars he’d aimed toward the central square. ‘They’re leaving,” he said. “We’ve won.”
Baki, the young warrior who stood beside him, called down to the group of messengers crouched by the gate, ready to run. “They’re breaking up, but keep ready. We may still have to call out more men.”
“I don’t think so,” Skaara said. “The fight seems to be knocked out of them.” In Baki’s hand, a field radio crackled to life, report-ing the retreat of the disruptive elements. Skaara sighed. “And you told me I was crazy to train a troop to control crowds.”
“I just didn’t think you could convince any of our men not to shoot first,” Baki responded. “A volley or two into that crowd would have dispersed them sooner, with a lot less effort.”
“At too high a cost,” Skaara said.
“We’re not that low on ammunition,” his lieutenant objected. “That’s not the price that worries me.”
Skaara’s face was grim as he surveyed the square again. His line of men had almost cleared it completely. “Crack a man’s head, and he gets up and perhaps fears you. Kill him, and you spark a feud with all his relatives.”
“That makes sense,” Baki admitted. “But why are we up here, commanding through runners and radios?
Are you afraid of blame in case things went wrong? After all, your father is in that hall-“ “That’s why I couldn’t be there,” Skaara cut him off. “Those people were coming to complain to Kasuf-to protest against him. How would they react if Kasuf’s son came forth to drive them away?”
Baki gave him an eloquent shrug. “That’s politics, not war.” “Wrong,” Skaara said. “Politics is war-merely carried on at a slower speed. Mark my words, Baki. We’re fighting a war right now.”
He could feel the uncomfortable glance from his subordinate, even though Baki said nothing.
Good old Baki. He was a survivor from the very be-ginnings of the militia. They’d begun herding mastadges together. Baki had been one of the boy commandos who’d defied Ra and fought to save the captured Earthmen. Half of those young rebels had died from the*1 blasts of the Horus guards and their udajeets. Baki had been promoted to command his own troop in the expanded militia. Skaara trusted him as his chief aide.
Yet Baki didn’t understand the battle that faced them. Skaara had formed the militia for two reasons.
First and foremost, he’d wanted to protect his home and family. Both had proven so terribly vulnerable when Ra’s wrath had fallen on Nagada.
He’d also had a dream of leading brave forces through the StarGate to bring the revolution of Abydos to other worlds in Ra’s former domain. That dream had been put off as Skaara had orga-nized a larger militia to defend against the avarice of the mining company that had come from Earth. It had been a shock for Skaara to learn that all allies were not necessarily friends. The ones who had originally come with Colonel O’Neil-Lieutenant Kawalsky, the little one, Feretti, Daniel, who had married his sister-they had proven themselves. Feretti and Kawalsky had helped him train his fledgling recruits. Even the great O’Neil had given him advice.
But they had also nearly gone to war against him. Only the arrival of a battlecraft from Ra’s empire had averted that conflict. Still more problems had come with victory. New volunteers swelled the ranks of the militia, some of them joining on the battlefield as they picked up guns. There was status to be enjoyed from being a soldier. Some looked for power. Others wanted to settle old scores. Too many men, both in Nagada and the farm-ing lands, wanted guns for their own uses.
The influx of manpower had been too much for Skaara’s trained cadres. Some units were now com-manded by men who had never shared Skaara’s dream. Even among those who could be trusted-Baki, the troops in the square-the hope of expanding freedom had been postponed.
How ironic, Skaara thought. My dream helped build a potent weapon. But that weapon may shatter in my hand to kill the dream that birthed it.
Daniel Jackson stood with his hood up in the broiling sun. In a few minutes he’d be taking part in one of the biggest meetings ever held on Abydos. His hand crept into his robe to touch a bar of heat-resistant chocolate. He’d found it left beside his clothes that morning- and the only place it could have come from was Sha’uri’s MRE from that awful night. She was already off to work, preparing for the scientists from Earth.
But at least he had a peace offering as he joined the welcoming committee for Abydos’ first summit con-ference. Sha’uri knew he was a chocoholic. In the distance Daniel could just make out a mastadge caravan toiling its way over the dunes. A warning had come just moments before from the watchtowers of Nagada. So Kasuf and other town notables of Nagada stood to greet the arrival of Elders from the farming communities.
This was the one good result of the free-for-all in the market square four days ago. After Skaara’s militiamen had dispersed the protestors, the Elders of Nagada had decided to talk with some of their opposite numbers from the farmer tribe. Messengers had gone out to the nearby farming enclaves with invitations for a joint deliberation on the farmers’ complaints.