Crouched in a "hasty"—a quickly scratched fighting hole atop the main berm of his ruined camp—Jack O'Neil watched as the exodus of vehicles from the motor pool ended. Judging from the sudden rush of flames over there, young Charlton was either pursuing a scorched-earth policy... or he'd been overrun.
Long shadows flickered grotesquely against the sand wall. Even the radio operator silently monitoring transmissions looked up as Charlton and his scratch force ran to join O'Neil's troops.
"I think my farewell present will keep those bad boys busy for a little while." The lieutenant climbed to his commander's position with a hangman's smile on his thin face. "It's the extra-crispy recipe for southern-fried hawk."
Joining the two men in the hasty, the young officer peered off into the darkness in the direction of Nagada. "Where the hell is the local militia?" he muttered. "Skaara has to know there's trouble out here. You'd think he'd get up off his ass—"
O'Neil cut off his subordinate. "From what we heard before we lost radio contact, there's big trouble in Nagada, too. I suspect the civil disturbances Kasuf and Nakeer were trying to avoid have just escalated into a full-fledged civil war." He shook his head. "If so, we can't expect much of anything in the way of aid from Skaara—no matter what he'd like to do."
Charlton's face set in worried lines. "It's just that if we had enough warm bodies on this line, we could make the position look too expensive for the Whorehouse guards to attack right away."
"Where did you pick up that endearment?" O'Neil asked.
The lieutenant shrugged. "Just another insult yelled in combat." He returned to his theme. "I'm sure those birds are stretched pretty thin. If we forced them to back down, we could arrange a more orderly withdrawal in the night."
"You forget, those masks have night-vision equipment that's better than our goofy goggles," O'Neil said.
"This way they'll see we don't have enough men to hold the line." Charlton looked worried. "I know we're trying to get most of our remaining forces to the rally point. It's just that this plan is—well, risky!"
"And therefore better suited for a brave young lieutenant instead of his crotchety commander?" O'Neil inquired.
"I just worry about the men. If you go, Colonel Felton ends up in command."
The radio operator abruptly spoke up. "Message from the pickets, sir. We're being joined by a force from Nagada."
"All right!" Charlton said sotto voce. "I just hope Skaara's brought enough dancers to the ball..."
Both sides were disappointed at what they found. The newcomers were neither fresh nor numerous enough to dissuade an attack by the Horus guards. And the Abydan militiamen were visibly shaken to see the forces they considered their powerful allies so gravely reduced and literally pushed to the wall.
Skaara's youthful face looked more like a death's-head mask. "The city is falling apart," he admitted. "But the more serious danger is still here."
"I suggest you fall back on the mines," O'Neil said formally. "That is our designated rally point. You'd better start your movement now. I think the enemy is beginning to stir."
Skaara nodded and returned to his troops.
Charlton's voice was quiet as he said, "He was coming to ask us for help—but he offered all he could."
The mass of Abydans began to stir. Most of Skaara's people set off for the mines. But in ones or twos, a significant proportion were veering off toward the city.
"You could have warned him," Charlton began.
O'Neil cut him off. "Here it comes," he said tightly.
The Horus guards had regrouped and were once again moving out. Given their ability to pierce the dark, they had surely spotted the Abydan militia. It looked as though Skaara's offer of help might only have served to precipitate the final assault.
The men have been briefed. ONeil reminded himself. They know what to do.
With fuel fires still raging off to one side, there was no way the Horus guards could advance in the darkness. They looked even less human, stippled by the flickering flames—like some bad dream out of humanity's childhood.
The advancing tide passed the three-hundred-meter mark—an inconspicuous stake.
"Open fire," O'Neil ordered.
Single shots rippled out as the Marines carefully chose their targets. Light mortars chuffed. Grenade launchers fired. Horus guards dropped, but the losses made about as much difference as pinpricks to a charging rhino.
Two hundred meters.
Blast-lances were now crashing in answer to the patter of gunfire. O'Neil crouched lower, adding his own shots to the fusillade. His stomach muscles tightened...
"Now!" He gripped the radio operator by the shoulder.
The man was already shouting into his mike. "Battery Four!"
Out in the desert, the four-gun Marine artillery battery O'Neil had secretly emplaced in case of disaster tore down its camouflage nets and began firing.
The guns were zeroed in to drop their shells a hundred meters from O'Neil's position. A slight error in elevation, and yet another force would become the victim of friendly fire.
Blasts ripped the night—tore through the ranks of advancing Horuses. They might be gods on their own world. But here on Abydos they had been reduced to the level of statistical targets.
In the desert artillerymen pulled their lanyards. A second salvo, a third, a fourth.
It was too much for the hawk-headed guards. They recoiled...
The fifth salvo was a starburst, the signal to break contact and run for the mines.
O'Neil launched himself from the fighting hole. "Time to boogie out of Dodge."
Daniel Jackson awoke to a pounding head and a strong urge to barf. He was hanging upside-down, on some sort of coarse material. That explained the head. And he was moving, which might contribute to the nausea.
Funny. I'd expect at least I'd feel physically better after being seduced.
He didn't even have pleasant memories.
Then he discovered his hands were tied.
"Wha—" The word came out more like a croak. "What's going on?"
He was feeling a little more aware now. The rough cloth was a homespun Abydan cloak. He was being carried on someone's shoulder—a fairly big man, he would guess. Certainly, the guy had no problem with Daniel's weight. He managed to maintain a steady marching pace.
Someone on the far side of Shoulders, as Daniel instantly dubbed his carrier, was engaged in a brief conversation.
No one spoke to Daniel.
By craning his neck, Daniel realized he was able to get a view of wherever they had come from. It didn't help much. All he saw was sand dunes, illuminated in a rushing reddish glare.
"Hey!" A drunk-sounding Abydan voice came from ahead of them (behind him?). "You're heading the wrong way! Didn't anyone tell you? The Earthmen have run for it, toward the mines. All you'll find at their old camp is hawk-heads. Thousands and thousands! They'll go to the mine tomorrow and kill them all. Might as well go home—"
Shoulders dumped Daniel ingloriously to the sands and advanced. As Daniel pushed himself to hands and knees, he heard the noise of a scuffle, a scream, then an ominous crunch!
Feet, do your stuff, Daniel thought.
His feet couldn't, though.
They were tied at the ankles.
Daniel did manage to turn himself around, so he'd face whoever was coming. The murderous Shoulders advanced, a threatening black shadow outlined against a huge fire raging in the Marine camp.
Could the late drunk have been right? Had Horus guards taken over the beachhead from Earth?
Another low conversation. Daniel didn't make out the words, but he was sure the other voice was female. He turned, peering into the red-tinged darkness.
Shoulders threw back the hood of his cloak and fiddled at his throat. The silhouette of his head abruptly turned into that of a giant hawk.
I think that answers one question, Daniel thought.
The big man fiddled again and his normal silhouette returned. This time Daniel caught the sense of the female voice—assent.
Shoulders removed his robe, revealing the full regalia of a Horus guard.
Daniel also heard a flapping of cloth off to his right. He peered. Another one of the boys? No.
"Oh, my God!" he burst out.
"Goddess, actually," the answer came in English.
The face that gazed down at him was vaguely similar to Faizah's, like that of an older, harder sister.
Of course, the last time Daniel had seen this face, it had also been under strange illumination—the blue glare of the matter transmitter.
"Hathor," Daniel finally said.
"Yes," the warrior woman looming over him said, and Faizah simply vanished.
"You should be grateful you're here to be astonished, Daniel," the cool, ironic voice went on. "I had intended to enjoy—then dispose of you. You might call it pique. Few men have ever rejected what I offered you."
And lived, the unspoken completion of that sentence seemed to hang in the air.
Hathor's hand went to her throat and held out the Eye of Ra medallion.
"Then I found you had this. And I thought that as a scholar, you might enjoy a bit of... final research."
Her voice abruptly became businesslike. "Now, if you agree to walk along with us, I'll free your ankles."
"Um—okay." Daniel didn't hesitate to give his parole. He might be able to outrun the big guy. But he'd never beat Hathor—or the blast-lances they carried. "Who's your big friend?"
"He was my aide in destroying Abydos," Hathor said nonchalantly. "His name is Khonsu."
It was in some Egyptian poem—Daniel couldn't recall the source. But he did remember one line. "Khonsu the killer is."
The two godlings activated their masks, and conversation was over. Hathor now wore her conventional sign of the cat instead of the Horus mask. How anyone, with her figure, could have been taken as a run-of-the-mill Horus guardsman...
Daniel supposed the witnesses had other things on their minds—like surviving combat.
Apparently his captors had donned their masks for communication purposes. Soon a squad of Horus guardsmen appeared, greeting Hathor with deep obeisance. They formed up around the odd trio like an honor guard and conveyed them toward the Marine camp.
Hathor resumed her human appearance as they entered the shambles of the camp. Tents flapped in shreds, a lot of war machinery lay destroyed, and there were dead bodies—Earthmen and Horus guards—everywhere.
"Your friend the Marine has escaped for the time being," she announced, after receiving reports. "I'll let my minions handle the pursuit tomorrow. I have other concerns."
"Forgive me for sounding nosy," Daniel said. "I don't want to go looking into military secrets. But you barely had enough guardsmen to operate that ship over there." He nodded toward the Ra's Eye. "So where did you get the army?"
Hathor looked at him, then shrugged. "One of my rivals governed a fairly populous planet. "He retreated there when I established my ascendancy on Tuat."
"Ra's throne world."
"Yes. I forgot you deciphered those childish hieroglyphs." She looked annoyed at his interruption—which could definitely be a life-shortening problem, Daniel reminded himself.
He took his life in his hands again. "So, how did you get the army? Your rival had thousands, apparently, while you had fifty."
Her voice was almost bored. "How did I turn the Abydan fellahin against one another with only two followers? A stroke against the head is usually the easiest."
They reached the golden spaceship. Teams of guards were at work in the corridors cleaning up.
The same activity was underway in the pyramid of the StarGate. More minions appeared and reported, all in low voices. Hathor shared one bit of what struck her as amusing gossip. "It seems your wife is above us, holding out in the upper levels of the spaceship," she said. "Much as I was not so long ago."
Some of her amusement faded. "My people do not think her resistance will be as successful as mine."
The goddess apparently came to a decision. "I regret you won't be able to offer your good-byes. We're going on a journey."
They marched down to the chamber of the StarGate, which Hathor had cleared. Even Khonsu was ordered to go, though he put up an argument.
When the room was empty, Hathor produced the Eye of Ra medallion. "I examined this while you slept," she said. "While the exterior is bronze, there are workings inside made of Ra's special mineral."
"What does it do?" Daniel asked.
"I saw it once," the goddess replied serenely. "I'll show you."
Sure, Daniel thought. Dead men tell no tales.
Hathor approached the StarGate with the medallion in her hand. She stopped at the carving that represented the constellation Serpens Caput—the serpent's head. Hathor pressed the amulet to the center star of the constellation and stepped back. The huge gold-quartz ring swung into silent operation, revolving, then stopping as the triangular chevrons clicked into place.
Then Daniel noticed that the place markers were not locking on to the usual constellation signs. It seemed that Ra had designed the portal to two different coordinate codes—the constellations, which everyone in his empire used, and the spaces between the star signs, which was apparently his secret!
The final chevron fell into place, provoking that odd harmonic which accompanied the formation of the StarGate's energy fields.
Energy gushed forth in the usual way, then settled into that deceptively placid-looking rippling pool of light.
Daniel found his wrist grasped in a strong, competent hand.
"Come," Hathor said briskly, "let's see what Ra was hiding."
She didn't have to pull, however. Daniel was already stepping up to the energy interface with her.
Throughout his youth and through many misadventures, Daniel's stepmother used to complain that his curiosity would be the death of him.
Maybe, Daniel thought, after all these years, Mom will turn out to have been right.