the summit of a sand hill. "What is this place? Some sort of training ground for your people?" "Well-" the gyrene began, but he didn't need to answer. The ATV
was suddenly surrounded by a squad of homespun-clad young warriors who seemed to erupt from the sand itself, aiming an assortment of weapons.
Lockwood had a moment of terror before he realized that the guns had no ammunition clips, the crossbows no bolts. "Abba-" Lockwood quickly revised his terminology. "Abydos natives?" The squad leader, an intense-looking young man with the dark skin of someone continually outdoors, growled a brief, disgusted word in the native language. "You not in ex-uh-size!" He pronounced the English words carefully.
"Exercise?" Lockwood repeated in bafflement. "What's going on here?"
His answer came as another squad of young native men appeared to engage the first group in mock combat. Suddenly, the dunes seemed to be covered with struggling figures. A platoon-sized war game was underway, the two teams of Abydos natives battling not merely with zeal but obviously with well-trained skill. The first ambush team was taken down with a speed and adroitness that took Lockwood's breath away. Still more astonishing, however, was the referee who appeared to listen to the first squad leader's complaints. Lockwood had studied his files carefully before taking over the Abydos operation. He immediately recognized Lieutenant Adam Kawalsky, O'Neil's second-in-command on the initial Abydos reconnaissance, from photos in those files. The lieutenant was serving as a junior officer in the present expeditionary force. He patiently listened as the intense young man who'd led the first group of Abbadabbas complained in broken English about the accidental triggering of his ambush. "Not in ex-uh-size!" he complained. "Sorry, Skaara," Kawalsky said. "You should have seen that before committing your forces, um, before you moved in." This young Skaara character showed not only spirit but discipline. He accepted Kawalsky's ruling with a smart salute. Lockwood turned to view the rest of the battle and spotted another referee-Feretti, the other survivor of the reconnaissance team. And standing on another dune, binoculars in hand, stood Colonel Jack O'Neil, observing the whole training exercise.
CHAPTER 10
DEPARTMENT OF COMPLAINTS
General West maintained a small office in the Pentagon, a working space whose size grossly undervalued his true influence in the military establishment. For the general, however, this seemed to be S.O.P.-standard operating procedure. Eugene Lockwood could appreciate the appearance of being only a small cog in the large Pentagon machine as useful camouflage for West's true, if somewhat shadowy, power. The pokey little room didn't even boast a window. But West kept a formidably dragonish WAC posted at a desk outside his door to discourage unwanted visitors. Lockwood had traversed a million light-years by StarGate from Earth to Abydos. He'd moved forward in terms of civilization eight thousand years, from ancient Egypt to an ultramodern missile silo in Colorado. He'd survived a jet trip to Washington. But as he drove through the Virginia countryside to the Pentagon, he glanced at his gold watch, hoping he'd budgeted enough time to make his official appointment. Lockwood negotiated his way through the Pentagon labyrinth with the ease of a true bureaucrat, arriving at West's office precisely on time. The female Cerebus led him in with a growl. But Lockwood faced far worse attack after the WAC had closed West's door. "Problems on Abydos?" the general asked, riffling through some papers on his desk.
Lockwood noticed the UMC logo atop the sheets. The military man had been going over his supposedly secret progress reports! "We've had some setbacks," Lockwood chose to admit. "Our language-acquisition program has not progressed as quickly as we'd hoped, in part due to native antagonism generated by Daniel Jackson, your former expert who remained behind
was suddenly surrounded by a squad of homespun-clad young warriors who seemed to erupt from the sand itself, aiming an assortment of weapons.
Lockwood had a moment of terror before he realized that the guns had no ammunition clips, the crossbows no bolts. "Abba-" Lockwood quickly revised his terminology. "Abydos natives?" The squad leader, an intense-looking young man with the dark skin of someone continually outdoors, growled a brief, disgusted word in the native language. "You not in ex-uh-size!" He pronounced the English words carefully.
"Exercise?" Lockwood repeated in bafflement. "What's going on here?"
His answer came as another squad of young native men appeared to engage the first group in mock combat. Suddenly, the dunes seemed to be covered with struggling figures. A platoon-sized war game was underway, the two teams of Abydos natives battling not merely with zeal but obviously with well-trained skill. The first ambush team was taken down with a speed and adroitness that took Lockwood's breath away. Still more astonishing, however, was the referee who appeared to listen to the first squad leader's complaints. Lockwood had studied his files carefully before taking over the Abydos operation. He immediately recognized Lieutenant Adam Kawalsky, O'Neil's second-in-command on the initial Abydos reconnaissance, from photos in those files. The lieutenant was serving as a junior officer in the present expeditionary force. He patiently listened as the intense young man who'd led the first group of Abbadabbas complained in broken English about the accidental triggering of his ambush. "Not in ex-uh-size!" he complained. "Sorry, Skaara," Kawalsky said. "You should have seen that before committing your forces, um, before you moved in." This young Skaara character showed not only spirit but discipline. He accepted Kawalsky's ruling with a smart salute. Lockwood turned to view the rest of the battle and spotted another referee-Feretti, the other survivor of the reconnaissance team. And standing on another dune, binoculars in hand, stood Colonel Jack O'Neil, observing the whole training exercise.
CHAPTER 10
DEPARTMENT OF COMPLAINTS
General West maintained a small office in the Pentagon, a working space whose size grossly undervalued his true influence in the military establishment. For the general, however, this seemed to be S.O.P.-standard operating procedure. Eugene Lockwood could appreciate the appearance of being only a small cog in the large Pentagon machine as useful camouflage for West's true, if somewhat shadowy, power. The pokey little room didn't even boast a window. But West kept a formidably dragonish WAC posted at a desk outside his door to discourage unwanted visitors. Lockwood had traversed a million light-years by StarGate from Earth to Abydos. He'd moved forward in terms of civilization eight thousand years, from ancient Egypt to an ultramodern missile silo in Colorado. He'd survived a jet trip to Washington. But as he drove through the Virginia countryside to the Pentagon, he glanced at his gold watch, hoping he'd budgeted enough time to make his official appointment. Lockwood negotiated his way through the Pentagon labyrinth with the ease of a true bureaucrat, arriving at West's office precisely on time. The female Cerebus led him in with a growl. But Lockwood faced far worse attack after the WAC had closed West's door. "Problems on Abydos?" the general asked, riffling through some papers on his desk.
Lockwood noticed the UMC logo atop the sheets. The military man had been going over his supposedly secret progress reports! "We've had some setbacks," Lockwood chose to admit. "Our language-acquisition program has not progressed as quickly as we'd hoped, in part due to native antagonism generated by Daniel Jackson, your former expert who remained behind
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