"McCay, Bill - Stargate Rebellion" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCay Bill)

highest dune in sight. Draven and Preston scrambled down and trailed
after the colonel. The sand seemed to suck at their feet, making their
steps slow and clumsy. O'Neil, in contrast, seemed to glide along, his
Desert Storm surplus uniform blurring his movements as he forged ahead.
Draven cursed under his breath as he slogged along in pursuit. He'd
reached a point in his UMC career where he expected to jet in to trouble
spots and be met by an armored limo and a few bodyguards. A week
ago-even a day ago-he'd have laughed at the notion of traipsing through
the boonies with a technical staff of one and depending on a smart-ass
Marine for protection. Yet here he was, preparing for the negotiations
of his life. Far better than the military, it seemed, UMC realized the
possibilities in opening up an entire world for development. They
wanted the best contact man they had for the job. And that man was Walt
Draven. He mopped sweat off his forehead, glancing up to see how far
ahead that damned Marine had gotten. Surprisingly, they'd reached the
foot of the large dune. O'Neil was working his way diagonally up the
crusted sand face. Then Draven noticed movement at the crest. "Colonel!"
he yelled, the warning coming almost unbidden from his throat. "Above
you!" O'Neil had already heard the commotion overhead. He stepped up
his pace as he scaled his way to the top, a grin stretching his face.
Lined up at the crest were Skaara and his ragtag band of shepherds. When
they spotted O'Neil, their right arms moved in unison to give him a
snappy salute. "What the hell-" Draven muttered as he stared up. The
boys' discipline wavered and broke as O'Neil finally reached them. They
gathered around their hero, and Skaara forgot himself sufficiently to
give the thoroughly embarrassed colonel a welcome hug and kiss. "Seems
like a very demonstrative culture," Preston remarked dryly. The young
men were jabbering away, eager to demonstrate their soldiering skills,
but the handsome young fellow with the curly hair and earrings quickly
restored order with a few sharp if incomprehensible commands. "That's
one to keep an eye on," Draven said in a low voice. "A leader." The
pair of earthlings painfully essayed the climb, to be met by a dozen
helping hands to make their way over the crest. O'Neil made
introductions. "This is Skaara, and the group of young men who helped
us put an end to RaThe boy commandos couldn't understand what he was
saying, but they caught the reference to Ra. Almost to a man, they spat
at the mention of his name. Again, it was up to Skaara to restore order.
Draven was not much impressed with the young men. They had no uniforms,
all of them clad in dull, ill-fitting homespun. Their equipment was
laughable-the handful of rifles not enough to outfit even half their
company. The only other sign of martial equipment was the plastic
compound helmet on Nabeh's head. But Skaara-there, Draven had to admit,
there were possibilities. People followed the young man. He had looks.
He had leadership potential. He could either be dangerous, or, as Draven
automatically classified him, Skaara could be used to destabilize the
present regime-whatever that turned out to be.

CHAPTER 4

ALARMS AND INTRUSIONS