A/N: Okay, so...this is my first ever Mummyfan fiction, and I don't know how well it will go over. It's not very original - just The Mummy, a little before and some time after, completely from Rick's point of view. This kind of thing is what I'm best at. If you hate it, if you think I should just leave well enough alone, please do me the favor of telling me. However, if you like it, tell me that too.
Because I have no knowledge of Arabic, Egyptian, or French, this is how the languages will be differentiated: French will be in italics, Egyptian will be underlined, and Arabic in bold print. Also understand that when it comes to the bits that were not captioned in the movie, I'm making up my translations.
Sabha, Libya, 1923
The scorching sun of the desert had set an hour ago, the moon rising to take its place, full and beautiful, illuminating the white sands with an eerie silvery glow and defining the engrossed faces of the members of the garrison as they sat around a campfire, listening to desert legends.
Beni Gabor had their undivided attention, his eyes wide and his hands gesturing wildly as he described the treasure buried deep under the sands of Egypt. Rick O'Connell, second in command of the garrison, approached stealthily, wondering what scam Beni was pulling this time.
"I thought Hamunaptra was only a myth," said a younger soldier, his voice breathless.
"It is no myth, my friends," Beni insisted, reaching into one of his pockets and pulling out an old, wrinkled piece of parchment. As O'Connell moved closer, he could see that it was, unlike most of Beni's artifacts, the real thing. Intrigued, he stopped short of telling them to clear out and listened. "This," Beni said, pointing at a hieratic, "is Hamunaptra. The map shows the way. All the riches of Seti I, the wealthiest pharaoh in the history of Egypt, untouched for centuries."
O'Connell had to hand it to him – he knew how to sell a good story. He had the men eating out of his hand. "Sounds incredible, doesn't it?" he asked, joining the circle around the fire.
The young soldier who had spoken up before turned to him eagerly. "Imagine going home with all the wealth you could desire! I would be a hero!"
"I think you're leaving some things out, Beni," O'Connell said conversationally, picking up a stick and stirring the fire. "Hamunaptra is supposed to be cursed – protected by the curse of a mummy, in fact."
Beni looked a little put-out. "Yes, there is a curse, but only against those who do not respect the dead and the gods of the ancient world."
"And you think storming the City of the Dead doesn't seem like disrespect?"
"What good does that gold do anyone underneath all that sand?" argued another soldier heatedly.
"What good does gold do anyone, period?" O'Connell muttered. In a louder voice, he added, "Hundreds of men and dozens of armies have gone looking for Hamunaptra. Few people have ever come back, and the ones who did come back were in no shape to tell anyone what they found."
"Wounded?" asked a voice.
"Wounded. Dead. Or insane."
A new voice chimed in. "The quest for Hamunaptra is too often attempted and too often failed."
O'Connell looked up to see his commanding officer and nearly grinned in relief.
The first young soldier jumped to his feet. "I wish to see this city," he insisted. The others got up and agreed.
"I will not permit it," the officer said, though he looked a little wary of the ardor of his men.
Beni rose and walked over to the commanding officer, reaching into his own pocket as he did so. "Captain, consider," he said softly, persuasively. He brought out his hand and showed the map again. "We have what no one has found before. The map to Hamunaptra, sealed by Seti I himself. We will find it. We cannot fail."
To O'Connell's horror, the officer studied the map intensely, noting the decaying edges of the parchment, the fading colors of the paint, the royal cartouche and the prominent hieratic. His lips curled in a small smile, and his eyes glowed with the greed of ages.
"Hamunaptra," he said quietly, caressingly.
Worried, O'Connell stepped forward. "Captain…"
The captain turned to him, smiling. "The men have spoken, O'Connell. Tomorrow we leave for Egypt. You will lead the way." He thrust the map into O'Connell's hands and walked away.
O'Connell stared at the parchment in his hands, then looked up to watch his commanding officer's retreating back. Hamunaptra. Even as he recoiled at the thought of willingly engaging in this wild goose chase, part of him – the treasure-seeking rapscallion that knew every legend surrounding every mythical treasure in the world – thrilled in excitement. Hamunaptra. The ultimate jackpot. But when he turned to see Beni's calculating gaze, he shook his head to rid it of such thoughts.
"If this map doesn't deliver," he said quietly, menacingly, "you're gonna get yours."
Beni grinned. "I have heard that before, my friend."
Rick O'Connell downed his glass of bourbon in a single gulp and slapped it back down on the bar, motioning for a refill. The bartender knew better than to suggest that the tall American had had enough, and filled the glass to the brim again.
Egypt.
It had been years since he'd been in Egypt. After sixteen years of living in a Cairo orphanage, he had been turned out with nowhere to go – the orphanage was simply too full to keep a boy who was nearly a man, the warden had insisted. After nearly six months of living a life in alleys, foraging food from dumpsters, and lifting wallets from unsuspecting pedestrians, he had found himself at the mercy of Asim, an older Egyptian man who had caught him picking his pocket. The punishment for such thievery was death, or at the very least having one's hand cut off. Asim had reminded him sternly. Rick had not begged forgiveness or mercy, or tried to plead excuses. Instead, he had replied hotly, in Egyptian, "Having to steal is the punishment for having nothing at all." Taken aback, Asim had stared and then laughed, then taken him back to his own house. He and his wife, Dalila, were childless, and though at first Dalila was wary of the dirty young man with the wild eyes and nervous hands, her maternal instincts took over, and soon she doted on him.
Two years later Rick had joined the French Foreign Legion to fight in the Great War, and when it was over had obtained a leave of absence. He'd used that leave of absence to go to America, the place of his birth, and see if he couldn't make it there.
The so-called land of opportunity certainly granted him plenty of opportunities – to hone his marksmanship and his disgust for humankind, anyway. The war had hardened him, America soured him. The rich flaunted their wealth, spending every spare minute at jazz clubs, bars, and casinos – and O'Connell, though not rich himself, found himself courted by these people. They saw him as something exotic – he was American, had been raised in Egypt, and fought with the French. He spoke English, French, Egyptian, and Arabic and walked with the gait of a tiger – lazy, controlled, powerful. He never wanted for anything, be it booze, women, or money. But eventually he had tired of the entertainments America had to offer and found himself hungering for Africa again. He returned to his garrison, which was stationed in Libya, and had thought his life might now be relatively peaceful.
Damn Beni Gabor and his treasure hunts.