Reconquista (2/5)

[coolbreeze1]

Part 2

The drugs wore off at some point. John's sense of time was skewed, so he had no idea if it was minutes or hours after the trial had started. As the seconds crawled by, the incision at the top of his stomach burned, nerve endings smoldering. Were it not for the band across his chest and under his armpits holding him up, he would have been a quivering ball on the floor of the cage.

The pain of his broken arm throbbed, but it was rapidly taking second place to the one in his torso. He wanted nothing more than to curl up around the agony, but he had no strength to even open his eyes, let alone work on loosening the binding tying him down. He heard the rumble of voices around him speaking, the movement of footsteps and chairs creaking, of fists banging on tables.

He kept his eyes closed through it all, breathing in for three counts, holding for three, exhaling for three. Over and over and over again. It was a little like poking fingers into a leaky dam, but if he could keep a handle on his breathing, he could pin the pain back. Eventually it would overwhelm him, possibly kill him but he had only enough strength to plan nine seconds at a time.

In-one, two, three. Hold-one, two, three. Out-one, two, three.

He remembered the market vaguely. Remembered beefy arms grabbing him from behind, shoving a fruity smelling cloth over his mouth and nose. He'd fought, but whatever was on the cloth had subdued him quickly, and he'd seen the backs of his teammates disappearing in the crowded stalls as the arms had dragged him away. He remembered waking up tied down to the table, Shiana's eyes vacant of sanity, the scalpel and the doctor and the dungeon room ER.

The surgery. The bomb. His breathing caught in his throat, and pain flared around the incision. He squeezed his eyes tighter, fighting back the agony. In-one, two, three. Hold-one, two, three. Out-one, two, three.

Do it again, he commanded himself. Breathe, John. Breathe through this.

Shiana was sitting up on the dais, holding the damn detonator in her hand and watching him. The judges had gotten details of his first mission-the one where he'd killed Sumner-and they were now flinging questions at Ronon.

He felt tension in his chest loosen a little at that thought. Ronon was here, standing up for him. Defending him. The man was smart. Maybe not McKay smart or Woolsey smart, but he could handle these people. He'd hold his own against them and get John out of here. All John had to do was let them know about the bomb and the detonator, and the absolute conviction he'd heard from Shiana that one way or another, John would pay.

The muscles in his back twitched, causing a domino effect from his back to his stomach. He whimpered on the next exhale, slamming his jaw shut a second too late. The rest of the moan reverberated in his chest and he pressed the back of his head against the bars.

Breathe! The command was screaming through his head, but the pain was amplifying, spreading up his chest and wrapping long fingers around his throat. Moisture broke out on his face, cooling his skin.

"You may not address the accused!" The voice was screeching, barely controlled. Shiana.

John felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. He sucked in a ragged breath, forcing himself to breathe through the pain.

"He is hurt," Teyla answered, her voice close to John's ear. It must be her hand on his shoulder. He tried to turn his head toward her, but managed only to lift his head a half inch off the bars before it dropped back down. He moaned, reaching for the control he'd had a few seconds before with his breathing.

"There will be no interference with the prisoner until the trial has ended."

A man spoke this time, and John pictured Slick, the light glowing off over-gelled hair. Had he not been so overwhelmed by pain, he might have blushed at the drug-induced hallucinations he'd hummed along to before, the dancing particles glinting off the overhead lights.

"At least allow us to bring a doctor in to care for him," Teyla said, her hand still warm on his shoulder.

"No," Slick answered. "There will be no further discussion on this matter. Please move away from the prisoner."

John managed to open his eyes, and caught a glimpse of Shiana handling the detonator, her thumb hovering over the switch. He twisted his head enough to catch a glimpse of Teyla behind him, reaching through the bars, and then his eyes slid shut again.

"S'okay, Teyla," he mumbled.

"Be strong, John. We will get you through this."

His stomach tightened, ripples of pain washing over him. He nodded, hoping to reassure her. Not that he would stop fighting, but did they know what was in him? What Shiana could do to all of them with a flip of a switch?

A sudden vision of his stomach exploding, a blast turning him inside out, shot through his brain. His chest hitched in response. He'd seen a lot of horrible things after a life in the military-and Pegasus certainly had no monopoly on barbaric acts of violence and inhumanity. The hand on his shoulder disappeared, and John shivered at the sudden sense of being alone.

"Continue, Speaker." Slick again, pressing forward.

The pain was cresting, the cracks in the dam widening. He needed to get back to basics. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Plug the holes, fight the fire. Slowly, the drumbeat of pain fell into a controlled rhythm. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

“The first charge against Sheppard is about him waking up the Wraith.”

Distantly, John heard Ronon start to talk. He kept the count going in his head in nine-second cycles, but he strained to catch whatever it was his friend was saying.

“I can’t argue against the story that that guy-”

“The accuser,” Judge Slick clarified. “Please use his proper title when you speak.”

There was a pause, then John heard a slow intake of air. That's it, buddy, he thought. You got this. Breathe in, breathe out.

“That he told us this morning,” Ronon said, louder, “but you accuse Sheppard of being responsible for the deaths of over two million people in this galaxy, in part because he killed a Wraith Queen and woke up the hibernating hives.”

There was a rustle of movement on the other side, then Sleeves-his accuser, apparently-spoke up. “It sounds like the defense is accepting guilt in this matter-”

“I’m not done,” Ronon snarled.

“Ronon Dex, you will control your temper,” Slick thundered. John flinched at the sudden crack of sound, then whimpered when the pain of his incision flared. In, hold, out. In, hold out.

Slick was still talking. “The accuser will maintain silence during the defense’s arguments. That is your first warning. Any further outbursts and you risk being removed from these proceedings, same as Ronon Dex.”

The air was heavy with tension, any small spark liable to ignite anger into an uncontrollable fireball. John's pain ramped up at the thought with a life of its own, eager to burn. A minute past, people shuffling uncomfortably in their seats while John counted through a dozen breathing cycles.

“We all know the history of this galaxy,” Ronon said, picking up his defense again. He'd calmed himself in that small pause. John could hear it in his voice. “Sheppard and his people arrived here five years ago. Were there no Wraith before then? How many ancient societies have we all come across, wiped out by the Wraith and lying in ruins for centuries?

"I am from Sateda, and many of you know what happened to my world. Some of you may have even once traded with us, and others may trade and deal with the few last survivors now living on Belkan.”

There was a soft murmur in the room at that, and John wondered how many others remembered the Sateda Ronon had grown up in. The thought had never occurred to him before that there would be others-traders who'd visited Sateda before it had been destroyed.

“We destroyed two Wraith darts when they came through our Ring, and for that, an entire hive ship leveled every city on the planet. Fewer than 300 of my people still live. Is Sheppard responsible for that as well? Did he wake that hive? My world was destroyed over ten years ago.”

He paused, and John imagined him looking around the room, every eye following him. “The same could be said of Teyla’s world-Old Athos. Its continents were filled with the scattered remains of once great cities, destroyed by the Wraith over the centuries. Her people had been reduced to little more than nomadic clans, moving from camp to camp in order to survive.

“The Wraith have been here for thousands of years. If they weren’t awake now, they would have been soon enough, and they will kill and feed just like they always do. Worlds have tried to fight them for as long as they’ve been around, and no one has been successful. Not even the Ancestors. Would you hold Sheppard to a higher standard than the Ring Builders?”

“But you do not deny that in this case, Sheppard killed the Queen who pulled all hive ships out of hibernation," Slick interrupted. "Had he not done that, most hive ships would still be dormant. So many would still be alive."

"Maybe they would be alive, maybe not. How long do the hives usually stay dormant? Thirty years? Forty years? Generations? Do any of us really know? Just because one world has not seen a culling for years doesn’t mean that the Wraith aren’t alive and active elsewhere.”

His voice had risen, resonating in the room, and John heard him step out in front of the table. “How many of you have been on a hive ship and lived to tell of it?” There was a pause as he gave people a moment to consider the question. “Sheppard has. I have. The Wraith don’t stop. They don’t change. They keep coming year after year, generation after generation, century after century. The Wraith arrived on Athos and took Sheppard’s people. Yes, he went after them. Yes, he killed the Queen, who would have killed him had he not acted. How many of you wouldn’t have done the same thing? If you had to choose in that moment, between your own life or the life of a Wraith, wouldn’t you try to save yourself?”

“His actions may have stemmed from self-defense, but they woke every hive in the galaxy," Shiana called out, and John noted the blandness in her voice, a sharp contrast to the high-pitched wail of earlier. Her hold on her emotions was swinging from one extreme to the other, making him wonder if the doctor who'd butchered him was giving her something as well. The thought of him drugging the woman intent on killing him buoyed him for half a second, then a muscle twitched and a burst of pain caused his breathing rhythm to stumble. He bit his lip, stifling a groan.

“A fact you only know because he killed the Queen and woke the Wraith. Sheppard had been in this galaxy for only days before this happened. He’d known of the Wraith for less time than that. We’ve grown up with the Wraith for thousands of years and didn’t know that killing one of them could wake all of them.”

Ronon's emotions bled through, anger giving them a sharp edge. For a moment, he'd sounded almost eloquent and so very un-Ronon-like, but John knew this tone. The judges might have thought they were playing a great joke on him by putting Ronon in charge of his defense, but he had utter faith in his friend's ability to do whatever it took to protect him. He smiled, holding it for a half second before the pain forced his attention back to his breathing.

“What do worlds do when the Wraith arrive?” Ronon asked, lowering his voice and forcing everyone in the room to strain to hear him. “What do most people do when they know the Wraith are coming to cull?”

“We have a series of underground tunnels near most of our towns and villages," someone answered. A woman, sitting on the dais with Slick and Shiana. John didn't know which one she was, but she must be one of the judges. "We hide there until the Wraith have left.”

“We go to the catacombs of our ancient cities,” someone else replied, an old man from the sound of it, sitting close to Shiana.

“You run,” Ronon clarified. “You hide.”

“Yes,” the old man said. “What else are we supposed to do?”

“Would you have us all fight the Wraith?” Slick cut in.

Ronon ignored him. “Most people run from the Wraith, right?”

There was a murmur of consent behind him, and John found himself caught up in what Ronon was saying. Where was he going with this? Of course, they hid from the Wraith. Everyone ran as far away from the Wraith as possible.

“And what happens to those who are not quick enough? What happens to those who get caught?”

“They are culled, fed upon, and killed by the Wraith,” the woman from before answered, spitting the words out in disgust.

“Where is their trial?”

No one responded, and John heard Ronon moving around in front of him again. The people behind were completely still. Not even a chair creaked as they waited for him to continue.

“If someone runs from the Wraith, allowing another to die so that he can escape, is he not responsible for that other man’s death? You talk of Sheppard’s actions leading to the deaths of millions of people. When someone’s world is being culled and they run when they could stay and fight and possibly kill a Wraith, are they not then also responsible for the deaths that the Wraith they could have killed later inflict?”

John was nodding, mentally cheering on his friend as he got what he was saying.

“And what about the people who do fight, like Sateda? Three hundred of my people escaped, but the Wraith destroyed the rest of my world because we made the opposite decision. We stood up to them and fought. Should the leaders who made that decision be held accountable for the deaths on my world? Or should it be the fighters? Their actions led the Wraith to cull my world and leave no survivors.”

“That is an internal matter, affecting the people of one world-” Slick started.

“How do you know that?” Ronon roared back. “How do you know when people on one world hide from the Wraith and survive, that that doesn’t cause them to go to another world and cull those people? If you’re going to hold one man responsible for the deaths caused by the Wraith, then hold us all responsible. Punish all of us.”

Ronon’s voice echoed. John felt his heart pounding in his chest in response, and he forced himself to slow his breathing. He could get through this; he could survive, maybe even win the trial. A small wave of guilt surged to the surface but he shoved it back, out of his mind. He had a lot of guilt about a lot of things, but he would not let these people add to it. He would not give into their accusations-one man was not responsible for two million deaths, especially deaths inflicted by the Wraith and the Asurans and any number of other enemies out there.

Fueled by adrenaline, he blinked open his eyes, studying the reactions of the judges. Most of them were watching Ronon as he moved back to his table, their faces pensive. A few others were looking down at their feet. Slick was frowning, and Shiana's face had taken up its expression of vacant insanity again.

Ronon was back at his table, and damn if he didn't sound like a lawyer. John knew he watched a lot of Earth television, but apparently the man had been streamlining legal dramas.

“The Wraith are awake,” his friend said. “Too early-their human herds are too small to sustain them, which means they’re at their weakest point since perhaps the time of the Ancestors. They’re fighting each other over limited resources. If ever there was a time for us to come together as a united front against the Wraith, it is now. We have a chance now to rid future generations of this scourge, in no small part because of Sheppard’s actions.”

The judges were looking between each other and Ronon. A few glanced his way then immediately looked down. John let his eyes slide closed, proud of his teammate.

“Do you have anything else you’d like to add?” Slick asked a moment later.

The lawyerly manner disappeared, and in very Ronon-like fashion, he answered, “I’m done. Yield. Whatever.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The left branch had turned out to be a dead end, forcing them back to the split and down the right branch. It had curved toward the center of the mountain, but then it had straightened out. They'd ended up in a large, bustling cavern, people rushing every which direction. Ramps curled around the edge of the walls, leading up higher into the mountain, openings breaking off into an endless spider web of tunnel streets. They'd moved swiftly through the crowds, blending into the chaos, and slipped into a tunnel on the other side.

Their new tunnel was a lot wider and much more crowded. There were soldiers here, but none of them showed any particular interest in Ronon and his team. Civilians ran back and forth, calling out to friends and murmuring in groups as they tried to figure out what was going on.

"What's wrong with your friend?" a rough voice asked.

Ronon glanced over to see a man as tall as him poke his head out of a curtained doorway. His eyes raked over Sheppard hanging between Beckett and McKay in their two-man carry hold, then narrowed in suspicion. Ronon tightened his grip on his gun, focusing his aggression on the man in front of him. With his other hand, he reached for the knife he'd moved to his pocket, ready to fight. The stranger was beefy and pale, and looked like he'd handled himself more than once in rough, late night bar brawls.

Before Ronon could do anything, the man scowled and looked down at his feet. "I told you to get back into your room. Your mother would whip my hide if she knew you were poking your head out into the street right now."

A small, impish face grinned up at Ronon, unfazed by the irritation she was causing in her father. The large man picked the child up in one hand, tucking her under his arm before turning his attention back to the group. Ronon had loosened his grip on his weapons at the sight of the child, but they couldn't risk leaving the man to raise an alarm. They had to tell him something to keep him from running to the authorities.

"Our friend is sick," Beckett piped up. "Very sick. We were trying to get him to help when… all of this happened." He waved vaguely around him.

The man's face cleared, giving them a quick nod. "You'll never get your doctor to your house in this mess," he said. "I hear Tenvel has set up shop at his place. Two levels up, take the blue arrowed path toward the furnaces."

"Thanks," Ronon said quickly, before any of the others asked for clarification. They had to let this man think they were from Daet-maybe not this exact neighborhood of tunnels, but familiar enough with it that his directions weren't utterly confusing.

The child hanging from his arm squawked and tried to wriggle her way out of her father's grasp, distracting the man's attention again. He disappeared behind the curtained doorway and Ronon took the opportunity to walk fast, putting as much distance between them as he could. The others followed, and Ronon cringed at the strangled yelp from Sheppard.

"Ronon, we need to stop again," Beckett hissed at them. They'd hit a wide intersection, floods of people moving in all directions.

He glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. "We can't stop here. We stand out too much," he muttered back. Sheppard sagged deeper into the doctor's and McKay's hands.

Damn it! Ronon glanced around, looking for somewhere out of the way where they could rest for a moment and not draw attention to themselves.

"Here!" Teyla called out. She was a dozen feet behind them and point to a narrow alley off the main stretch. Beckett and McKay moved automatically, Sheppard sinking deeper into their arms. His legs were limp and swinging as they walked, and Ronon noticed for the first time that his boots and socks were gone.

Teyla weaved down the narrow tunnel, around empty stalls and past still curtains. A couple of people jogged out, heading in the other direction and shooting the group confused glances, but they didn't stop to question what Ronon and his team were doing. A hundred feet in, she drew up, raising her weapon and peering carefully into a door. She stepped back a moment later and signaled everyone inside.

They moved fast, Beckett and McKay gently setting Sheppard on the floor in the back. This room was smaller than the storage room they'd held up in, little more than a large closet. It was just wide enough for Sheppard to lie down in. McKay and Teyla pulled out flashlights, while Ronon tugged on the curtain door and closed them in. The alley outside was quiet, and he allowed himself a moment to take a deep breath and wrangle his frustration at their situation under control.

"Ah, hell," Beckett cursed under his breath. The flashlights bobbed then steadied on Sheppard’s chest, where the doctor had pulled up the shirt. Ronon grimaced at the bright red splotches bleeding through the white bandage.

A second later, he'd peeled back the bandage and was frowning. Two of the sutures had ripped, and the incision was beginning to split.

"I'm going to be sick," McKay said, turning away and slapping a hand over his mouth.

"I was afraid of this," Beckett said.

"Can we remove the device, if the wound is opening anyway?" Teyla looked between Sheppard and Beckett, the set of her jaw rigid. There were not very many things that drove her to this level of fury, and Ronon was glad she was on their side for this fight.

Beckett was shaking his head. "I'd rather not-not without knowing exactly how deep it is and how much longer we're going to be running around down here."

The comment was not directed at Ronon in any way, but he flinched nonetheless. They were depending on him to lead them out; Sheppard was depending on him to save his life.

"It could be attached to one or more of his internal organs, and this room is far from sanitary, not to mention dark. I will not do anything that's not absolutely necessary."

Necessities. Basics. That's what they needed. A map, a direction, an exit. Non-native Pegasus people-or in other words, anyone from Atlantis-had initially been forbidden from entering the fortress. McKay and Beckett had gotten in on technicalities, but just because there were no Marines inside the mountain didn't mean Woolsey had left them out to dry. Ronon knew that three jumpers at least were hovering outside, waiting for a signal to swoop in and get them out of there.

Beckett was bending over Sheppard now, doing something Ronon couldn't see. He ducked his head out into the hallway, letting the others worry about Sheppard's medical condition. He scanned each direction and saw no threats heading their way. If they reached an exit, the jumpers would be in emergency mode, especially after the explosions McKay had set. The rulers of Daet had tried to prevent an overwhelming force from coming in and rescuing Sheppard, but they couldn’t stop the jumpers from hovering outside, waiting to swoop in at the first opportunity to get their people off the planet.

The hope had been that the trial would be fair, that they could argue Sheppard's innocence persuasively, but it had been a ruse from the beginning. Ronon saw that now. He punched the wall just hard enough to make his knuckles pop, then ground his fist into the stone. Some of the judges had seemed fair, and much of the Pegasus natives had acted genuinely interested in hearing both sides. He was sure he'd convinced many of them in the end, but the ones who held sway in that court had made their decision from the beginning and weren't interested in right or wrong, innocent or guilty. They'd wanted power-power over the Coalition Council, and thus power over much of the human civilizations of Pegasus. If only they'd known that from the beginning.

"Shine your flashlight over here, Rodney," Beckett instructed. McKay complied, lighting up Beckett's bag as the doctor dug through it. "I need more supplies than I have. This isn't going to be enough for much longer."

Ronon took a deep breath, reaching a decision. "You guys stay here, give Sheppard a chance to rest a few minutes."

Teyla was up on her feet immediately. "What are you planning?"

"Recon. We need to know more than we do. We can't just run around this entire city hoping to hit an exit. Sheppard won't survive that."

"What about the guards?" McKay asked, flipping his light up and shining it on Ronon's chest.

"Most of them are heading to the blast sites. We can't get out that way anyway. We need another exit, and hopefully one that's far enough away from the courtroom that it won't be heavily guarded."

"And then what?"

Teyla was nodding. "The jumpers are outside. They will have picked up on the explosions and be actively scanning for us."

"The sooner we get outside, the faster they find us and get us to the gate," McKay finished.

A cry pierced the air, and Sheppard flailed, kicking his legs and pounding his left fist into the ground.

"Easy, John," Beckett soothed. "Hold on, lad." He glanced up. "Teyla, there's a clean cloth and a water bottle in my bag. Let's see if we can clean him up a bit. It won't do much, but it might help him feel a little better."

"D-doc…"

"We're here, John." Beckett grabbed onto his thrashing hand, clasping in both of his.

"H'rtsss… god, it hurts…please…"

Teyla moved fast, soaking the cloth then scooting in around McKay to kneel by Sheppard's head. Ronon watched mesmerized for a moment as the three of them worked to comfort their team leader. There was little they could do. Sheppard turned his face into Teyla's cloth, panting, while McKay took over for Beckett, grabbing onto Sheppard's hand and giving him something to anchor to. Beckett returned to caring for the wound, his gentle hands still causing Sheppard to jerk and moan as he worked on closing up the incision.

Without another word, Ronon slipped out into alley. The best thing he could do-the only thing, really-was to find their exit, and to do that he needed to talk to people, stake out some of the tunnels and get a handle on the unintelligible signs. He jogged down the empty alleyway and merged back into the crowds of the larger street tunnel.

Most people were heading in one direction, but Ronon had to believe it led deeper into the mountain. After a couple of explosions and no information, the instinct would be to head to safety, and safety was as far from the outside world as possible in this place. He crossed a busy intersection, pushing through the crowds of people, then hugged the walls on the other side when he found himself fighting against the flow. A few people shot him dirty looks, but most kept rigid stares on the intersection and the flood of people all heading in the same direction.

A hand grabbed his arm as he crossed a narrow alley, and he stepped into it, spinning and bringing a fist up in self-defense. The hand drew back immediately and he heard footsteps backing up.

"Don't hurt me, please," a man begged. An older man, from the sound of it.

Ronon kept his weapon leveled at the shadows. "Who's there?"

"Ronon," another voice called out from deeper in the alley.

He knew that person. "Halling?"

The tall Athosian was striding toward him, and he stepped out of the shadows enough for Ronon to get a good look at him. He had a bruise purpling on his cheek, but otherwise looked healthy, despite his grim expression. He beckoned Ronon into the alley, glancing up and down the busy tunnel street as he pulled him in.

"What are you doing here?" Ronon was relieved to see a friend, but his heart was pounding with adrenaline still and he blinked rapidly, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There were three or four other people in the alley with them, including the old man who'd grabbed him.

"We were not sure we would find you again after the battle in the courtroom. The explosions set everyone into a running panic."

"Sorry about that," he muttered.

Halling shook his head. "It worked well enough as a distraction." He glanced behind Ronon, worry turning the corners of his mouth down. "Are you not with the others?"

"I was. We had to stop so Beckett could treat Sheppard."

"How is the colonel?" the old man asked.

Ronon's eyes finally adjusted and he recognized him. Orin, he remembered. Teyla had worked tirelessly as soon as they’d heard of the trial, recruiting allies to stand as witness for Sheppard. Orin had been a friend from early on, but it had been before Ronon had joined Atlantis and he didn't know the details of the man's history with the Lanteans. He nodded in greeting at the man. "Not good. We need an exit. We've got jumpers outside waiting to pick us up, but Sheppard's in bad shape. He's…"

He paused, biting his lip, but held back from telling them about the bomb. The wide-eyed stares he was already getting from everyone other than Halling told him these people were scared enough. They were civilians, not fighters, drawn into this battle because of their willingness to stand up for Sheppard and Atlantis.

"We need to get him back to Atlantis as soon as possible," he said instead.

Halling gripped Ronon's arm. "We will do what we can."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

John dreamed of a roller coaster, the old wood ones he used to ride at fairs as a kid. The thrill of cresting each hill became lost in the drop as he flew through a thousand tiny stars, the pinpoints of light peppering his skin like gravel. At the top of one hill, he glanced back to see Shiana climbing toward him, holding a machete knife in one hand and a small thumb-drive-shaped device in the other. The detonator to a bomb. John knew the bomb was somewhere along the twisting tracks of the roller coaster in a way that was only possible in dreams, and knew that if he didn't stop Shiana or defuse the bomb, he was a dead man. As the coaster whipped out into a wide curve, he pushed against the bar pinning him to the cart and digging into his gut. In the distance, a cloud of dust behind him, Ronon rode toward the carnival ride on a horse, a long sword swinging at his side. He was wearing the heavy coat and pants of a fireman about to charge into a burning inferno, his face set in furious determination.

The coaster dipped, throwing John backward, then twisted and shot forward. Ronon disappeared from sight but he could feel Shiana creeping closer. He jammed his hands under the bar, struggling to free himself. His skin split just below his breastbone, spilling warm blood all down his stomach and into his lap. As the cart climbed another hill, the entire ride swayed and creaked, sending a jolt of fear through him.

"You will pay for the death of my people, Sheppard!" Shiana screamed behind him, her words loud and clear despite the wind whistling around them.

The coaster dropped again, plunging almost vertically into pitch black. He opened his mouth to scream, choking on the air gusting past him instead. Abruptly, the cart changed direction, popping out of the shadows and back into sunlight just as John managed to push the restraint bar away from him. The tracks veered suddenly to the right, and John shot free of the ride, hitting hard, dusty ground and rolling too fast to get his bearings.

"Sheppard!" Shiana screamed behind him.

He rolled to a stop, flat on his back, a thousand knives stabbing into him. He was coated in blood, his chest hitching with every breath. He squinted up into blue skies when a shadow fell across him, and he saw Ronon on his horse, holding a broadsword and scratching at the collar of his fireman's coat.

"Sheppard," his friend said. The horse snorted and shook its mane. A beautiful, sleek-looking Palomino.

He opened his mouth to reply, and coughed instead on dry dust.

"Sheppard?"

John gasped, waking up quickly. He had a moment to notice he was in the cage in the courtroom, arms tied to the bench and a band around his chest holding him up. An invisible blade was sawing though his chest and stomach, back and forth over the incision, and he imagined raw nerve endings curdling as they were exposed to fresh air. He sucked in a deep breath, but that only amplified the pain.

"Sheppard," a voice called out, low and rough.

Sweat was pouring from his face. He knew that voice; it was the same one he'd heard in his dream.

"R'nn?" His voice was garbled, barely audible. He swallowed, closing his eyes and taking another slow breath, pushing back the assault on his body.

"Right here, buddy," Ronon said. A hand patted John on the shoulder, strong and confident. "Hang on."

He vaguely recalled the trial ending the day before and being dragged from the cage by indifferent guards, thrown into a cell where he could finally curl up around the agony in his gut. They'd given him food and water, but he'd had no strength to drink and no appetite to eat. The rest was a haze. He must have fallen asleep, been dragged back to court and stuffed into the cage again. His right arm was numb-a relief on the one hand, a niggling worry on the other. It was broken; it should hurt. He tried to squeeze his hand into a fist but his fingers sat limp next to his leg, unresponsive.

"The rules were clear on this matter!" Slick yelled from the dais, drawing John's attention to him. He'd been given no drugs today that he remembered, or if he had, they'd worn off before the trial could start.

"The rules state that this court is open to all native peoples of this galaxy," a thick-accented voice answered. Carson? "There are a number of people in the audience as we speak from at least a dozen different worlds."

"You are the Atlantis healer," Slick said, his dark hair combed straight back and clinging to his head. "You may travel widely among this galaxy, but you were not born here. You are from… Earth, is it? Not Pegasus."

"I beg to differ," Carson answered. John lifted his head to look to his left, where Ronon had defended him the day before. Carson stood in front of the table, his hands out in front of him as he spoke. "A man known as Carson Beckett was born on Earth, yes. He came to this galaxy and lived for a number of years on Atlantis. And then he was killed. I am not that man. I look like him, I have his memories and abilities, but I was 'born' a little over a year ago, here in this galaxy-the result of a cloning experiment carried out by the Wraith we call Michael."

"Is this true?" a woman whispered on the dais, the judges ducking their heads to confer. There was a rustle of people behind him, and John sensed rather than saw that the crowd today was much bigger than it had been.

"We have only your word on this matter," Slick said, scowling. "And we know from past experience that Atlanteans will say anything to manipulate a situation and get their way."

The effort of holding up his head was overwhelming, and John let it slide back against the bars. He closed his eyes, willing the nightmare to end. He'd spent most of the day before in a pain-free, drug-induced stupor-a state he wouldn't mind returning to at the moment.

A scraping chair signaled that someone was standing up in the audience behind John, and the murmur of the crowd grew quiet. "May I address the judges?"

"Who are you?" Slick asked.

"I am Halling, leader of the Athosian people. My people have long been traders in this galaxy and are known to many."

"I've heard of Athos," Slick said with a jerk of his head.

"Fair traders, Athosians," someone in the audience whispered, loud enough for many people to hear and to gain a rumble of consent.

"What have you to say to this court? If it does not relate to the current matter-"

"It does," Halling called out, his voice sharp and serious. John had always known him as a gentle giant, but he had changed in the last year-harder, rougher, withdrawn. Polite to John, but rarely smiling or relaxing, always scanning around him for unseen dangers.

That edge was showing now. John could hear the steel in his voice. He scanned the judges, seeing their attention focused on the tall Athosian and noticed for the first time that Shiana wasn't there. Her chair was empty, but the detonator box sat on the table unattended.

"As some of you may know, my people were also held prisoner by Michael and experimented upon just like Doctor Beckett."

"You were a prisoner with him?"

"Not at the same place, no. But I remember when the original Doctor Beckett was killed. I have no doubt of that fact, and during my time as a prisoner, I heard of the clone that was created with the doctor's memories and skills and appearance. His existence came to be in Pegasus, and I will testify-as will any of my people-that he is now a native of this galaxy."

A growing hum of many voices broke out, both from the judges and the audience. Shouts for and against allowing Carson into the trial rang out, causing the judges to shoot alarmed looks at each other and the guards that John could see to straighten and tighten their grips on their handguns. At the sound of scraping chairs, John pictured the people behind him standing up and growing more adamant regarding their position.

He watched the judges, focusing on the one near the end who sat next to Shiana's empty chair. The man seemed oblivious to the detonator. If ever there was a time to grab it, it was now. Ronon's hand was still on his shoulder, and John sat up, twisting toward him and intending to tell him to grab the switchbox that could end his life.

Pain flashed through his gut, hot and sharp. He collapsed back to the bars with a cry, but now that the nerves had been jumpstarted, little flames danced along his torso with sadistic glee. He gasped in surprise, and the little flames merged into an inferno, drilling into his chest and stomach. He cried out, feeling Ronon's hand tighten on his shoulder. He was talking to him, his breath cool against his cheek, but any coherent sounds were drowned out by the roar of the fire inside him.

Oxygen cut out, and John threw his head back painfully against the bars, trying to breathe but unable to unlock his jaw. He felt moisture trickle down his face-either tears or sweat, he had no idea which. Distantly, he saw the judges standing, the guards surging forward, Carson moving toward his cage and reaching out a hand. His struggle for air kindled the flames slicing through him. As black dots flooded his vision, he saw Shiana return to her seat and snatch up the detonator box.

"John?"

The voice was a soft echo in his head. He groaned, wincing when dormant nerves began to burn.

"John, lad? Try not to move."

"Carson?"

"Aye."

"There will be no conversing with the prisoner!" Slick screamed out, jarring John out of his fugue.

It took a monumental effort for him to open his eyes, but he eventually managed it. He was in the cage, still tied up. Some of the judges were glaring at him, others avoiding looking at him completely. He had a mask over his mouth and nose and cool, stale hair brushed against his lips.

"Wha'?" he mumbled. He twisted his head a couple of inches, then froze when the movement pulled at the wound in his gut. A hand patted his shoulder, another held his left forearm. The pinching sensation of an IV in his left arm finally wormed its way up to his brain.

"Wish I could do more for you," Carson whispered, squeezing John's arm and shoulder through the bars.

"We wish to call forward a witness against Colonel Sheppard in the charge of creating the Hoffan Plague that has decimated worlds the galaxy over," a voice rang out. It was vaguely familiar, and John turned his head to the right enough to see the man with the grayish-blond ponytail. The prosecutor, if this was a normal court at home.

He huffed out a laugh, part disgust and part desperation. If this was a court back home, his insides wouldn't be burning alive and one of the judges wouldn't be tapping playfully against the detonator to a bomb she'd planted in the defendant's body. He looked over at her, and saw that she was watching him closely. A noise at the back drew everyone else's attention as someone made their way to the prosecutor's table.

Shiana and Slick exchanged a glance, Slick narrowing his eyes and jerking his chin down. Shiana scowled back at him, but she set the detonator down and folded her arms. John's heart began to thump wildly in his chest. They knew each other-they were in on it together. His admittedly drugged impression of the other judges made him think they were here honestly, that they wanted an actual accounting of what had happened, but with Slick leading the court and Shiana holding the detonator, John had little chance of coming out of the trial alive.

The prosecutor's witness stepped in front of the judges, and John flinched at the sight. Brown pants, brown vest, Amish beard. The doctor who'd stuck the bomb in him in the first place. Carson was pressing his hand against John's forehead through the bars, the cage hampering his abilities to treat him.

"State your name," Slick said.

"I am Jobin Cresha, medical professional, and formally of the planet Hoff."

Carson's grip on John's arm tightened reflexively, and John heard his soft, sharp inhale. Beads of sweat dripped down the side of John's face, irritating the skin. He turned his head slowly toward Carson, biting back grunts of pain. He had to tell them who this doctor was, what he had done, what Shiana held in her hand. It wasn't just a threat to him. It was a threat to anyone close to him.

"Be still, John," Carson hissed.

John squirmed, trying to turn more toward Carson to talk to him. He saw Ronon sitting at the defense table, looking at him in concern. In the first row behind him, Teyla, Halling, and a few other recognizable faces were leaning forward, heads snapping between the new witness, the judges, and John's cage.

"B-buh…" he started, but an explosion of agony ripped through his gut and took his breath away. He closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe through it. Carson's hand tightened its grip and Slick was yelling again, waving an arm toward John.

"Bomb," he ground out. He could just see Carson's face out of the corner of his eye. "Bomb," he said again, more clearly, and the doctor's eyebrow shot up in surprise.

Then a sharp jab in his shoulder from the other side halted anything else he was planning on saying. He jerked his head up, feeling the instant sweep of lethargy. His shoulder, then his chest tingled, and the pain rolling through him faded. He heard more yelling, but his head dropped down of its own accord, and the last thing he saw as his vision faded was a spot of red soaking through his shirt.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ronon led the others back to their alleyway hideout, establishing a meeting point before they split off again in search of an exit. Sheppard was sleeping fitfully, but his pained grunts and twitching were reassuring in a way that made Ronon feel guilty. They hurt Sheppard, but they let everyone else know he was still alive. Beckett had another IV going, using the last of the saline solutions in his bag, and he sat against the wall, holding his patient's left wrist at the pulse point in fatigue.

McKay and Teyla disappeared soon after he returned, but they came back with a few blankets and a small cart. Sheppard's legs would hang off the back and his head would be propped up on the front, but at least it would be more comfortable. And easier on Beckett and McKay. The doctor breathed out a relieved 'thank you' before fussing with Sheppard again, checking the bandage and scowling at the fever raging through the man's body.

Ronon was getting ready to go out and hunt for an exit himself when two of Halling's group returned. He recognized one of them-Willa, one of Lucius' ex-wives. The other was a young man with a painted face, and the two stayed close to each other, brushing each other’s arms and hands as they reported what they'd found.

"We've found a possible exit," Willa stated. "Keras spoke to the tavern keeper not far from here, and many of the patrons were concerned with the waterways."

"Waterways?" Ronon asked.

"Streams and rivers under the main levels of this city," the young man-Keras-replied. "They lead out into the woods around the mountains, some carrying the cities refuse and waste out and some carrying fresh water in. There are paths along these waterways, and gates to the outside that are minimally guarded most of the time."

"That's good," McKay said. "Right? That's good news?"

Ronon nodded, his hope growing. "Where are the waterways?"

Willa gestured outside. "We were given vague directions, but we did not want to press too much and arouse suspicion. We told them we were here for the trial and had taken the afternoon to wander through the city when the first explosions went off."

"They had no knowledge of a trial," Keras added, "but they pressed us for any information on the explosions. Half of them were convinced it was a Wraith attack."

"Sorry," McKay muttered, more to himself than anything.

Ronon shot him a small smile then rubbed his face. The waterways sounded promising, but Halling and a couple of the others still hadn't returned. He squatted down, drawing out a crude map on the stone floor of their current location and the directions Keras and Willa had received. By the time the rest of Halling's group had returned, he had a rough idea of where they needed to go.

Orin, Halling, and the others were less successful, with most people telling them to wait out the emergency for a couple of days. Once the panic settled, all offworlders would be allowed to exit the main gates-assuming they were still standing after McKay's handiwork-to return to the Ring and home.

"Waterways it is," he announced. "Good work," he said, giving the two young people a nod of approval. They beamed with pride, and had the situation been a little less grave, he might have laughed at the reaction. He didn't know Keras at all, and he had only briefly met Willa. Why they wanted his approval, he did not know.

"That's it for the saline," Beckett said. He pulled out a syringe and injected its contents into the IV, waited a moment, then removed the IV needle and tossed everything into a red plastic bag. "And that's the last of the antibiotics I have on me."

Sheppard was awake but staring listlessly at the wall, barely reacting to Teyla's attempts to cool his forehead with a damp cloth.

"He ready to move?" Ronon asked.

"Aye, as ready as ever."

"Halling, everyone-thank you for your help," Teyla said, standing up to face them. "I asked you to stand in Colonel Sheppard's defense, but you have had to do much more than that today."

"I am alive today because of Colonel Sheppard, as are many of my people," Keras said.

"As am I and my family," Orin added.

"The people of Atlantis have done much to help all of us," Willa said. "There has been much pain and suffering in this galaxy, and the fault does not lie on one man's shoulders. When Teyla came asking for our support, it was not a difficult decision for me to make."

At a signal from Beckett, McKay pushed the cart forward. Together, the group of them lifted Sheppard up into it. It was just wide enough to hold Sheppard comfortably-or as comfortably as was possible. McKay had padded the bottom with stolen blankets, and Ronon bit back the cry of frustration that rose up in his chest with Sheppard's pained whimpers. As soon as Sheppard was in the cart, he settled down, his eyes fluttering closed.

Beckett grabbed his wrist, then pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. "He's holding on still. I suggest we get moving soon, however." He continued to fuss, pulling a blanket over Sheppard's overhanging legs as well as his chest, then pushing the covers on his chest down to his waist.

Ronon watched as McKay messed with the locking mechanism on the cart's wheel. Beckett was hovering, his face pinched in worry, as Sheppard's supporters mumbled encouragement and prepared to head back out into the tunnel streets. If Sheppard had been awake, he would have been pissed and embarrassed at all the attention.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Halling pull Teyla toward the door. They stepped out into the alleyway, and Ronon caught a glimpse through a part in the curtain doorway of Halling leaning forward, holding Teyla's arms and pressing his forehead against hers. He looked away, embarrassed to have intruded on a private moment between the two Athosians. His hearing was too sharp, however, and his curiosity too high to stop him from listening in on their whispered conversation.

"I need to apologize to you, Teyla, and perhaps to Colonel Sheppard as well."

"Why? You have done noth-"

"When you asked for my help in this trial, there was a part of me that did not want to get involved. I understand too well the need to see someone pay for suffering; I have spent many nights wishing that what happened to our people had not, that the one who caused such pain would pay for his actions."

"I understand that as well, but surely you did not blame John for it. He should not pay for all the pain the peoples of this galaxy have suffered, for the deaths and misery caused by the Wraith, or the Asurans, or Michael." There was a bite to her tone, and Ronon imagined her stepping back to glare up at Halling. The anger, he knew, had more to do with what had been done to John than it did with Halling.

The tall Athosian's voice was low and gravelly, and Ronon bit his lip, feeling a surge of sympathy for what he and his people had gone through. "Of course not, but I was slow in coming to that conclusion. Our people have suffered much in the last five years. We have lost three homes. We have been culled, kidnapped, tortured, experimented upon. We have always lived under the shadow of the Wraith, but the suffering our people have undergone in the last several years…"

His voice trailed off, and he sighed deeply.

"My first thought when you came to me was if Atlantis had not come to our world that night, would our villages have been destroyed by the Wraith? Would we have been forced from our ancestral home to live in the shadow of the great city, only to be cast out and forced to start anew on a different world? Would we have been kidnapped and tortured and experimented upon by Michael after that if we had not been so closely associated with Colonel Sheppard and his people? Would my son be living in darkness, plagued by nightmares, barely able to function after what was done to him?"

Ronon's hands had curled into fists, and his emotions swirled inside him. He understood where Halling was coming from, but to sympathize with that position felt like a betrayal to Sheppard and the people who had saved Ronon from a probably very short life running from the Wraith. He focused his attention on his team leader, taking in the ashen face, fading bruises, and limp body in the cart. Atlantis had made mistakes, but they'd tried to rectify them where they could.

"Halling, I do not know what to say." Teyla sounded shocked and hurt, and as conflicted as Ronon felt.

"Say nothing, dear friend. Our people are barely recovering, and I was loathe to thrust us into the middle of this political fight, while we are still vulnerable and regaining our strength."

"But-"

Halling laughed suddenly. "I am trying to apologize, Teyla. Let me finish. You were right-one man does not bear responsibility for all the suffering of this galaxy. While I understand the need to blame someone or something, I regret that I considered not standing up for John Sheppard at all. My feelings on this matter are complicated, but I should have given you my support immediately. No matter what has happened to us, and what role Atlantis may have played in that, I cannot hold a single man responsible for the suffering of this galaxy. It would be in poor character for me to do nothing while yet another suffers. I cannot speak for the Athosian people as a whole, and I am not sure I can defend every action Atlantis has taken, but I can and will always speak to Colonel Sheppard’s character, his good heart, and the care he has taken to help us-help me-whenever possible. I don’t know if this will always be enough, but please do not hesitate to ask me to stand by the colonel as a friend.”

Through the curtain, Ronon saw Teyla's face twist with emotion. She grabbed Halling's arms again and pulled him down so their foreheads could meet again in the traditional Athosian gesture.

"We ready?" McKay asked, drawing Ronon's attention back to the people in the room.

He palmed his weapon, making sure his knife was loose in his pocket in case he needed quick access.

"Let's go," he announced, raising his voice enough to let Teyla and Halling outside know that they would soon be filing out into the alleyway. Keras and McKay grabbed the handles of the cart and wheeled it toward the exit, while the others followed silently behind.

Ronon let them past, scanned the room to make sure they'd grabbed everything they needed, then ducked out into the alley. Teyla and Halling nodded at him, taking positions behind the group. Ronon slipped up to the front and led them back out into the tunnel streets, heading toward the nearest waterway and their best hope for an exit.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Part 3