labor force to sweat a little until we get modern methods in to pick up some of the slack-" "'Pick up the slack?"' Preston echoed. "There's no way we can modernize part of that operation without disrupting the rest of it. These people have been working that deposit in the same manner for thousands of years. There's no way you're going to come in with hoists and ore conveyors and not joggle their elbows.
You're not even considering a training curve for using your new technology. Production at that mine is going to go down-perhaps steeply-before it heads up." "Thank you for your consultation," Lockwood said. "I think you're wrong. Why don't you let me worry about modernizing the place while you do the job I need you to do. You just keep these Abydos people as productive as possible during our teething pains." Lockwood gave Preston a wintry smile. "Until we have the machines in and can afford to get rid of most of them." "Meals, Ready to Eat." The bald supply officer looked dubiously at the amount O'Neil was requisitioning. "For the number of men you're taking, this will be a six-month supply." "We don't know if reinforcements will be needed,"
O'Neil replied. "I thought you were expecting to get supplies from the local people." "We expect to," O'Neil said. "But I want to make sure we don't strain their resources-and I want a reserve." It's just a case of trucking the stuff here and getting it through that StarGate thingie,"
the supply man said. O'Neil hid a smile. There spoke a man who'd never been through the StarGate. He wondered how the man would feel about the
"StarGate thingie" after it tore him down to atoms and squirted them a million light-years through a tunnel that didn't obey THREE-dimensional geometry. The bald officer moved on, his hand scratching in puzzlement through the fringe of hair around his vast expanse of scalp. "Now, about all this ammunition." He squinted at the quantity requested. "You intend to run a whole lot of livefire exercises?" "I don't know who or what we may end up shooting at," O'Neil said. "But I don't want the balloon to go up and have us stuck without enough ordnance to handle whatever happens. Besides, we may get reinforcements, and I want bullets for them as well as food." "Um-hmmm," the bald man said. "A chicken in every pot, and a Stinger missile for every man." He tapped another figure on the requisition list. "You want more Stingers than we sent to Afghanistan for their entire holy war. And the towel heads on this-um, Abydos-are so backward they'd probably think a bow and arrow was hopelessly high-tech. Why do you think you'll need so many hand-held missiles?" O'Neil restrained himself with difficulty. "I need the Stingers because General West turned me down on building some hardened SAM sites." The officer stared at O'Neil in disbelief. "You wanted to set up fortified surface-to-air missile sites on this planet? What for?
You think the Russkis are going to sell the towelheads-" This time he caught O'Neil's disapproving look. "Ah, the natives have a couple of AirForce surplus MiGs that we'll have to defend ourselves against?" Then understanding dawned on the officer's face. "Oh, maybe you're concerned about flybys from the people who built the StarGate." He tried a joke.
"Are you sure Stingers are effective against flying saucers?" O'Neil didn't laugh at the man's heavy humor. "I could give a rat's ass about flying saucers." His face grew more somber as he remembered the combat gliders his second in command, Lieutenant Kawalski, had had to dodge.
Not to mention Ra's own spacegoing palace. "It's the big flying pyramids that worry the crap out of me."
CHAPTER 7
LEARNING THE MOVES
On the Abydos side of the StarGate, a sudden wash of energy spurted outward from the toroidal quartzose ring, then formed itself in a vortex pointing in the opposite direction. Then the energy flux stabilized into a shimmering lens shape, like a glowing liquid jewel in a golden quartz bezel. An instant
You're not even considering a training curve for using your new technology. Production at that mine is going to go down-perhaps steeply-before it heads up." "Thank you for your consultation," Lockwood said. "I think you're wrong. Why don't you let me worry about modernizing the place while you do the job I need you to do. You just keep these Abydos people as productive as possible during our teething pains." Lockwood gave Preston a wintry smile. "Until we have the machines in and can afford to get rid of most of them." "Meals, Ready to Eat." The bald supply officer looked dubiously at the amount O'Neil was requisitioning. "For the number of men you're taking, this will be a six-month supply." "We don't know if reinforcements will be needed,"
O'Neil replied. "I thought you were expecting to get supplies from the local people." "We expect to," O'Neil said. "But I want to make sure we don't strain their resources-and I want a reserve." It's just a case of trucking the stuff here and getting it through that StarGate thingie,"
the supply man said. O'Neil hid a smile. There spoke a man who'd never been through the StarGate. He wondered how the man would feel about the
"StarGate thingie" after it tore him down to atoms and squirted them a million light-years through a tunnel that didn't obey THREE-dimensional geometry. The bald officer moved on, his hand scratching in puzzlement through the fringe of hair around his vast expanse of scalp. "Now, about all this ammunition." He squinted at the quantity requested. "You intend to run a whole lot of livefire exercises?" "I don't know who or what we may end up shooting at," O'Neil said. "But I don't want the balloon to go up and have us stuck without enough ordnance to handle whatever happens. Besides, we may get reinforcements, and I want bullets for them as well as food." "Um-hmmm," the bald man said. "A chicken in every pot, and a Stinger missile for every man." He tapped another figure on the requisition list. "You want more Stingers than we sent to Afghanistan for their entire holy war. And the towel heads on this-um, Abydos-are so backward they'd probably think a bow and arrow was hopelessly high-tech. Why do you think you'll need so many hand-held missiles?" O'Neil restrained himself with difficulty. "I need the Stingers because General West turned me down on building some hardened SAM sites." The officer stared at O'Neil in disbelief. "You wanted to set up fortified surface-to-air missile sites on this planet? What for?
You think the Russkis are going to sell the towelheads-" This time he caught O'Neil's disapproving look. "Ah, the natives have a couple of AirForce surplus MiGs that we'll have to defend ourselves against?" Then understanding dawned on the officer's face. "Oh, maybe you're concerned about flybys from the people who built the StarGate." He tried a joke.
"Are you sure Stingers are effective against flying saucers?" O'Neil didn't laugh at the man's heavy humor. "I could give a rat's ass about flying saucers." His face grew more somber as he remembered the combat gliders his second in command, Lieutenant Kawalski, had had to dodge.
Not to mention Ra's own spacegoing palace. "It's the big flying pyramids that worry the crap out of me."
CHAPTER 7
LEARNING THE MOVES
On the Abydos side of the StarGate, a sudden wash of energy spurted outward from the toroidal quartzose ring, then formed itself in a vortex pointing in the opposite direction. Then the energy flux stabilized into a shimmering lens shape, like a glowing liquid jewel in a golden quartz bezel. An instant
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