Reconquista (4/5)
Part 4
John woke up to something hard pressing against the inside of his ear. He moaned, attempting to turn away from it but his head was stuck in place. A thrill of panic shot through him. His head was stuck. His arms weren’t moving either. Nor his legs.
“Are you completely daft?” a voice whispered, puffs of breath cool on his cheek.
“It was the only way they were going to let me in,” another voice hissed back.
A beeping sound interrupted their whispered argument and the thing in John’s ear disappeared.
“Damn it,” the first voice said. Carson. The thought floated up through the sludge of his mind and he tried, and failed, to open his eyes. They were glued shut and heavy. Way too heavy.
“What?” the second voice asked. It sounded closer than Carson’s voice, and John became aware of pressure against his left side that shifted as the second voice spoke.
“His fever’s up another degree.”
“Rodney?” John said, or thought he said, finally placing the second voice. The sound was muffled, not quite audible to his own ears and his eyes were still stubbornly closed. The pressure against his side shifted again, and then a hand grabbed his shoulder.
“John?”
Carson’s voice sounded behind him, his breath cool against the back of John’s neck. “Are you awake, son? Try not to move.”
He would have laughed if he’d had the energy. Move? He couldn’t even open his eyes. Fingers grabbed his wrist, pressing into the pulse point, and he heard Carson tsking. There was a drone of voices around him, but they sounded like they were muffled or underwater. Or like he was underwater. He breathed deep at the thought of drowning, feeling a heavy pressure against his chest that countered his attempts to draw air into his lungs.
The pressure increased, a shot of adrenaline lancing through him. He flailed, moaning, and managed to lift his head up enough to shift it forward. The weight was too much, though, and the muscles in his neck screamed as his head slumped forward and his chin landed on his chest.
“Easy, John,” Rodney said, uncharacteristically quiet. Cool hands eased his head back up and set it against the bars behind him.
He managed to open his eyes to slits this time, and saw the blurry image of Rodney McKay in front of him. “Rodney?” he whispered. A mask was pressing against his face, but air brushed against his lip. Oxygen mask. IV. Thermometer. He remembered that now-Carson trying to treat him through the bars of the cage.
Except that Rodney was in the cage with him.
“Can’t you do anything?”
“I’m doing all I can,” Carson hissed back.
John felt the IV in his arm tug as the doctor fiddled with it. Pain thrummed along in the background, not overwhelming but also not like it had been swamped in drugs, at least not Carson’s drugs. More like his body was tired of noticing of it, the nerve endings exhausted from sending their screaming signals to his brain to no avail. He let his eyes drift closed, but an icy weight against his forehead jerked him to full conscious.
“Wha’?” he mumbled.
Rodney appeared in front of him again. “Sorry,” he whispered. He was holding something to John’s forehead with enough pressure to pin his head to the bars behind him. “Your fever’s really high.”
The words triggered a reaction, and in a split second, John went from realizing he was stifling hot to freezing. He groaned as shudders wracked through his body.
“Oh my God, what did I do? I didn’t do that. What’s wrong with him?” Rodney squeaked, then ducked a little when Carson shushed him. “He’s shaking.”
“Chills,” Carson said. “Bloody barbarians. I wish they’d at least let me in there to help.”
“W-why h-h-here…R-Rod’y?”
Rodney’s hand shifted and the cold compress disappeared. John continued to shake, feeling just as chilled as before. He noticed the judges on their dais, Ronon standing in front of them and talking, the prosecutor yelling out from his table on the other side. The trial was still going on around him, moving too fast for him to grasp.
“To help. Why else would I put myself in imminent danger?” he snapped, quietly, but he shot a nervous glance at Carson, who sighed behind them.
“Whazzit?”
Rodney shook his head and John scowled. The words would not form properly in his mouth.
“Wha’ nn-not…tellin’ m-m-me?”
Rodney shrugged, but he was a terrible poker player. Even feverish and weak, John could see he was hiding something. He felt a hand on his shoulder and then Carson leaned close to his ear.
“We might as well tell him. He’ll get himself all worked up otherwise.”
Rodney said nothing, but he sat back on the bench next to John, squishing in on the end. John was still tied to the center of it, leaving his teammate little room to make himself comfortable on the bench.
“It was the only way,” Rodney whispered.
John could just see him out of the corner of his eye. His teammate was red-faced and focused on the judges and Ronon, but he had that stubborn thrust to his jaw. Whatever he’d done, John knew he wasn’t going to like it.
“The final charge against ya is about the Asurans. Rodney was allowed into the trial as an expert witness, but only because he agreed to join you as part of the accused party. Whatever they decide in regards to you will now also apply to him.”
“No,” John moaned. The chills were subsiding, and a wave of heat flushed through him. “Shiana, she’ll make sure… guilty…”
“Granted, Ronon’s done a hell of a better job than anyone expected,” Rodney interrupted, “but the Asuran thing was complicated.” He shook his head. “I answered every question that damn prosecutor threw at me, but I’m not sure I convinced any of the judges of anything.”
“Why…you c-come?” John pressed.
“I get more bang for the buck,” Rodney said, a small smile playing at his lips.
“R-Rodn’y.”
“It was the only way, John. They wouldn’t have let me in here otherwise, and I wasn’t going to sit around outside on my ass and leave you alone in here. Not when I could help.”
John closed his eyes, feeling a whole different kind of pain well up inside of him. Shiana would kill him regardless of the outcome of the trial, and now Rodney would most likely be killed as well. Maybe it was overwhelming exhaustion or the relentless pain pounding at him, but John felt himself losing control as the tight grip on his emotions unraveled. He sucked in a deep rattling breath and felt Carson’s steadying hand on his shoulder. The weight on his chest moved up into a lump in his throat.
He opened his eyes. Rodney was staring straight ahead, carefully not looking at him. John swallowed, working some moisture into his mouth and lifting his head just enough to turn it toward his friend.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
Rodney didn’t move for a long second, but then finally he nodded, his shoulders slumping as he leaned back against the cage.
“Is that your final word, Speaker for the Defense?” Judge Slick’s loud voice cut through the bubble around John, Rodney, and Carson. John blinked, bringing the rest of the room into clearer focus. It sounded louder, like there were more people at the trial despite a handful of empty seats up on the judges’ dais.
“No,” Ronon answered, his voice equally as loud. “These people-the Lanteans,-come from a galaxy untouched by the Wraith. They could run home at any time and avoid all of this, but they don’t. They stay and fight. You people can argue all day on the reasons why and if this is the same as admitting guilt, but they have done more-and are still doing more-than anyone else in this galaxy to fight the Wraith and free us of that scourge. They don’t have to do that, but they do, and I think that says a lot about who they are as a people.”
Ronon paused, and Rodney turned, whispering to both John and Carson. “This is where all of Teyla’s hard work over the past two days comes into play.”
“What?” John asked.
He had yet to see Teyla, or hear from her, today. He’d assumed she was here, but he felt his heart thump against his ribs in sudden panic. Was she here? Was she okay?
“As Speaker for the Defense, I call forward witnesses for Sheppard, who will speak to his character and the character of the people he represents. They are not the kind of people this man-the accuser-has presented.”
“That is beyond the scope of this trial,” Slick growled, and Ronon’s back went tense. John tried to sit up but pain ripped through his middle, and he slumped back against the cage.
Before Ronon could respond, another judge spoke up-an older man, almost frail-looking with shaggy gray hair and a thick white beard. “It is allowed,” he said, “per the rules given to us regarding this trial. I would expect nothing less, in fact, from a Speaker for the Defense.”
Most of the judges froze, waiting for Slick’s response before giving any indication of what they were thinking. A few of them shifted in their seat, glancing between the old man and the lead judge. Slick’s face darkened, reddish purple traveling up his neck and tingeing his cheeks. He said nothing, but a second later, he waved at Ronon to continue.
“I am from Sateda,” Ronon continued. “My world was destroyed, but I was captured by the Wraith, implanted with a tracker, and turned into a runner for seven years. When Sheppard found me, he and his people took me in-removed the tracker, gave me shelter and food. Gave me my life and my freedom back and never asked for anything in return.”
He turned to John, staring him straight in the eye and giving him a short nod before turning to the crowd behind them. There was a shuffling sound, a creak of chairs as someone stood up.
“I am Halling of Athos.”
“We know who you are,” Slick spit out.
“But you do not know my history, or the history of my people with those of Atlantis. We were attacked by the Wraith soon after we met them and a number of our people-including myself-culled. You have heard the story of when John Sheppard killed the keeper and woke the Wraith, but you did not hear why he was on that hive ship to begin with. He was there for his people, yes, but also for mine. He rescued us from the Wraith, an idea that had been until that moment unimaginable in our society. With our home destroyed, he offered our people safe haven-food, shelter, medical care. His people helped us build a new world more than once. When all of my people were taken by the Wraith called Michael and held captive last year, it was Colonel Sheppard who freed us and returned us to our home to rebuild again. These are not the actions of people who do not care about the well-being of the inhabitants of this galaxy. As Ronon said, they have had ample opportunity to leave, but they choose to stay, to fight, and to help.”
“Go Halling,” Rodney whispered.
“Rodney, I need you to check on John’s stomach,” Carson whispered.
There was more shuffling of people behind John, and he wished he could turn around to see who else was there. There had been a few faces he’d recognized in the crowd earlier, but he wasn’t sure how long ago that was or if they were still here. Rodney was moving, trying to turn and face him a little more.
“What am I supposed to be checking for?” he hissed back at the doctor.
“Place your hand on the center of his stomach, lightly. I need to know what it feels like.”
“Oh, God, I hate medicine.”
A man cleared his throat and the room quieted down. “I am Orin. My family has long been friends of the Athosians. Colonel Sheppard came to us to warn that the Wraith were coming. He saved my family and many of my neighbors, and only barely escaped the culling beam of the Wraith in the process.”
A flash of old guilt cut through John as he remembered the argument he’d had with Teyla that day, long ago, about trying to rescue everyone in the galaxy. Or maybe it was just Rodney’s hand on his stomach causing the pain. He tensed as the agony began to build, biting back a moan.
“It feels… I don’t know… maybe a little rigid? Does that mean he’s bleeding internally?”
“They cut him open and shoved a bomb in his stomach,” Carson responded. “Of course he’s bleeding internally.”
Rodney swallowed, his eyes widening as he stared at John. John tried to lift his arms to push Rodney away or cover the incision, but they were still tied down. A throb erupted in his right arm and he whimpered.
“Lift his shirt up,” Carson whispered.
John managed to lift his head out of the bars enough that he could turn it to the side. He could see Ronon and the first few rows of people in the seats behind him. He focused on them, ignoring Rodney and Carson’s whispering as they checked him over in front of everyone.
A young man stood up. Keras, John thought before the man had even said a word, recognizing the distinguishing face paint he and his young people continued to use. Keras had grown in the last few years, but he still bounced and moved with the excitement of a much younger person. As Keras spoke of his village and the suicide ritual that had kept his population small, then John’s actions in showing his people an alternative and letting his people live longer, he was struck by the thought that this man would have been dead for four years at least had they not crashed near his village that day.
“I was injured, worse than any of my people could have dealt with, but Colonel Sheppard took me to his home where my life was saved. I am alive today because of him.”
He sat down, next to a beautiful woman who immediately stood up. “I am Willa,” she said. “John Sheppard visited my world while we were all captured and living under the influence of a dangerous man.”
“Ha,” John huffed. Lucius was despicable certainly, but he wouldn’t go so far as to call him dangerous. The memory of returning to Atlantis and finding everyone under Lucius’s thumb flashed through his mind. Okay, maybe dangerous was a good word. Cool air brushed against his stomach as his shirt was lifted, and he hissed.
“Deep breaths, John,” Carson whispered.
Willa sat down, but other people were standing up, shuffling forward to stand in line for an opportunity to speak.
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Rodney said.
John closed his eyes, trying to tune them out. He spotted Teyla sitting near the front row, guiding people in the line. She looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and a weariness in her movements that he wasn’t used to seeing. An older man stepped forward and recounted the story of a creature in the woods hunting down the villagers until John Sheppard and his team arrived and eliminated the problem, how no one feared being outside or losing a loved one to sudden unexpected violence anymore. It wasn’t until he sat down that John placed him: the father of the man who’d taken in the Wraith child, Elia, and attempted to raise her as his own.
Rodney pushed too hard on his gut, and he choked on a cry. The world whited out for a moment, and a buzz grew in his head. He felt the overwhelming urge to throw up and he swallowed desperately while simultaneously trying to breathe as fast as possible. He slumped back against the bars, his head falling into the gap between them and forcing him to look straight ahead. Rodney hovered, though his face blurred in and out of focus, and he mumbled a stream of apologies. Carson was whispering something too, but John couldn’t make out any of it. The courtroom had gone quiet, he thought, but when he finally got the pain under control again, someone else was speaking.
A woman spoke of life under the rule of the people of the tower until John and his team had arrived. More people spoke of Wraith cullings they managed to hide from and survive after John or one of the Atlantis teams warned them of the danger. Still more spoke of medical help and food supplies, of Atlantis brokering peaces between fighting groups and introducing new allies to each other. The world blurred again at the number of people willing to come here and stand up for him despite the risks, and John curled his left hand into a fist, wrestling back his emotions.
Rodney had tugged his shirt back down and Carson was mumbling something about more antibiotics. John jerked as a cold compress was pressed against his feverish skin. The courtroom had quieted down, and the judges whispered to each other up on the dais. More than a few of them glanced his way, giving him small nods and looking embarrassed. The bolder judges shot disgruntled looks at Slick and the prosecution table.
My God, Ronon did it, he thought. He looked at Slick, but the man’s head was down, his forehead resting in his hands. He spoke to no one and radiated anger, and the judges on either side of him seemed to shift as far away from him as they could without standing and sliding their chairs over. He glanced next to the end of the bench, where Shiana sat.
Their gazes locked, but instead of looking angry, she smiled at him, the grin wide and insane. She looked out across the courtroom and all the people who’d come here in support of John, then pulled out the detonator box. She glanced at him again, holding the detonator up. She had told him from the start that she was not going to let him escape, regardless of the outcome of the trial.
“Bomb,” John hissed. “Rodney, get away. All of you. She’s…”
“Here goes nothing,” Rodney interrupted, closing his eyes.
The blast erupted over the main doors into the courtroom, spewing flames and echoing bangs. The floor shook, dousing the room into a moment of stunned silence, and then screams and the clatter of dozens of chairs falling over exploded as people stampeded toward the doors. Guards yelled, firing their weapons in the air and causing more panic.
John sucked in a breath, his eyes flying open. It took him a second to realize he was still alive, another to see his stomach was still intact and his insides still inside him. Not his bomb-that had not been his bomb. Dust rained down from the ceiling and shouts filled the room as people trying to get out clashed with the guards trying to keep them in. The judges looked equally stunned, cowering in their seats. A chunk of the ceiling fell and landed on their table.
Rodney was already on the bench and leaping over the top of the cage. Carson appeared in front of him, breaking the cage door and bustling in, a knife in his hand.
“We’ll get you out of here, lad,” he said, his voice tense as he worked to cut the binding off from around John’s arms and chest.
The band around his chest snapped free, then the ones on his wrists, and then the doctor was suddenly easing him forward. Nausea swirled in John’s gut, and then he felt another set of arms wrapping around him and easing him to his feet. His legs buckled at the new position, and black dots floated across his vision.
“We have you, John,” Teyla said, her grip around him tightening as she took on more of his weight.
“Careful of the IV,” Carson said from his other side. “I need to unhook it to get out from around this damned cage.”
“Bah…bb-bohh…”
Bomb, John tried to say, but the word would not form in his mouth. As Carson moved around him, Teyla shifted her weight, turning John toward Shiana. He looked up just in time to see Rodney jump with a high-pitched scream, all flailing arms and legs, and catch the woman by her hair. He pulled her forward, wrestling the detonator out of her hand.
He held it up in triumph, but the courtroom had devolved into utter chaos and a look of panic replaced his smile. The guards had stopped shooting, but they continued to wave their pistols in the air as they fought their way through the panicked throng. The judges had also leapt to their feet in alarm and were joining the crowd in an attempt to escape the relatively small confines of the courtroom.
A roar erupted in the center of the room. Ronon’s defense table slid across the room and smashed into a dais. A second later, he leapt up onto its surface, his hair flying behind him like a wild animal suddenly unleashed. Slick screamed, and John jerked in surprise to see the dark-haired judge pointing a gun at him and Teyla, his finger tightening on the trigger. Ronon grabbed his arm, pushing it up toward the ceiling just as he fired, and the bullet sailed harmlessly into the plaster, its sound drowned out by the screams around them.
Rodney ran back, shoving the detonator to John’s bomb into his vest and pointing to the other wall. “Side door!” he yelled over the din. Teyla and Carson responded immediately, dragging John forward. Next to them, Slick shoved Ronon and twisted, breaking the Satedan’s grip and running for the back door the judges had used. Ronon slipped and crashed to the floor, but he popped up a second later with a growl, jumping back up on the table to pursue him.
“Ronon!” Rodney yelled. “Side door, now!”
Teyla and Carson jumped forward, dragging John along, and throbbing agony erupted all over his chest and stomach. His eyes closed of their own accord, and he felt himself teetering toward darkness. He was vaguely aware of sliding against the wall to the floor, supported on either side by his friends. He blinked his eyes open, forcing himself to stay conscious for a little longer.
Within seconds, they exited the courtroom through the side door, crossed a wide corridor and hunkered down into smaller adjoining tunnel. Rodney squatted in front of them, holding a metal bar in his hand that looked like it had fallen off John’s cage. He set it down, glancing around before pulling out a small gray box. While it looked little like Shiana’s toy, John knew it was nothing other than the detonator to a bomb.
“Yippee ki-yay,” the scientist breathed out, half to himself, then he closed his eyes and flicked the switch.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Ronon crept forward, hearing the soft scrape of footsteps behind him. Kaia’s report on the guard situation had been correct-the tunnel opened up into a large room holding six soldiers standing in front of a very solid-looking door. The only other entrance besides their corridor along the waterway was a narrow tunnel off to the side, close to the metal door. He’d led McKay and the judge back to the others where they’d discussed a plan of attack, and minutes later, he was leading them toward the guards, tentative plan in place.
It curved slightly, following the natural path of the water through the mountain. Ronon kept close to the wall, using the intermittent shadows as much as possible to keep himself hidden. Up ahead, he saw the tunnel curve sharply. On the other side of that was the room with the guards and their door to freedom. He heard mumbling voices under the rushing roar of the dirty water, and he slid another few feet forward then peered around the corner.
The six guards stood in a loose half-circle, talking and laughing as they passed around a couple of small flasks. Rifles hung from straps over their shoulders, but the men were relaxed and unconcerned, far enough away from the main gate that they expected no trouble here. The heavy metal door behind them looked impenetrable, but Ronon pushed that thought aside. One thing at a time. First, they had to deal with the guards. Then they’d figure out the door.
One of the guards stamped his foot and a burst of laughter bubbled up from the others in response. They were young, barely out of their teenage years by the look of them. Guilt washed through Ronon and he ducked back into the shadows, biting his lip. The guards reminded him too much of himself at that age, and of his friends in his guard unit on Sateda. These were not the soldiers who’d kidnapped Sheppard, or kept him locked up in a cage in agonizing pain. These were boys, assigned to guard a distant door far from the action.
He crawled back a few feet to where the others were waiting for him. Teyla, Kaia, and Orin slid past him and headed toward the guards. Ronon stared at their backs, giving them a good head start before signaling Halling to follow him. The plan was simple-Teyla and Kaia would approach the guards, posing as the daughters of a sick and frail old man trying to return home. Assuming the guards didn’t shoot them on sight, they’d get close to them and provide as much of a distraction as they could for Ronon and Halling.
He paused as the three people ahead of him reached the guardroom and the chatter of the guards suddenly cut off. Kaia had her hands out to her sides in as non-threatening a way as possible, though Ronon could see the bulge of the handgun he’d given back to her tucked into the waistband at her back. Orin was hunched forward, walking slowly and exaggerating the stiffness of his movements.
He scooted forward another few feet, drawing his own weapon and glancing at Halling. The Athosian had their third gun and he held it ready, waiting for Ronon’s signal. Kaia’s voice rang out, demanding the guards let them through with their father, followed by Teyla’s softer begging. With a deep breath, Ronon tensed then flew around the corner.
The moment they burst into the room, the guards spun around, but Teyla and Kaia were already moving. Ronon covered the ground in three long steps, overtaking the guard bringing his rifle around to shoot him. He smacked him across the jaw and the kid went boneless. Two gunshots went off, and another of the guards cried out in pain. Teyla spun next to him, wielding the metal bar Rodney had picked up in the courtroom so many hours earlier. He moved instinctively in the other direction, slamming the butt of his weapon into another guard.
The fight was over in seconds. Ronon stood in the middle of them, sweating and breathing hard. Three of the guards were unconscious, while another was conscious but groaning incoherently on the floor. Teyla was pinning the fifth one to the ground with her knee in the man’s back, and Kaia held a gun on the last guard, who was sitting against the door and pressing a hand against a bloody gunshot wound in his leg. Orin had ducked down and out of the way the second the fighting had started, and he looked around in shock as McKay-pushing Sheppard-Beckett, Keras, and Willa surged into the room.
“Good,” Ronon breathed out, relief flooding through him. No injuries to his group and minimal ones to the young guards “Good,” he repeated. The others all looked as relieved as he felt. He waved McKay over. “We need to get this door open.”
“Right,” his teammate answered. He pushed Sheppard to the center of the room then moved to study the lock on the door. Ronon studied his team leader for a moment, his stomach clenching in fear. His face was haggard, the skin taking on the grayish tones of a corpse. Beckett had pulled out the oxygen mask again, and every few seconds a fog of condensation filled the inside of it-the only indication Sheppard was still alive, still breathing.
Teyla and Keras bound the guards’ hands with strips of cloth and dragged them to the far side of the room, and Ronon moved to the door to help McKay. The metal bar lying across it and keeping it closed would not budge. He wrestled it, but even when Halling stepped in to help, they could not move it. McKay was fiddling with the lock, and Ronon saw that he’d removed the outer casing and was pulling wires out, muttering about alien locks and convoluted designs.
Ronon turned back to the guards. Beckett had tied a rough bandage around the injured guard’s leg, and Keras and Teyla held the guards’ weapons. Willa had grabbed another rifle and moved to the mouth of the tunnel they’d traveled, standing watch, while Orin had one of the handguns and stood guard at the entrance of the other tunnel.
“Find any keys on them?” he asked.
He hadn’t, and another search revealed nothing. The conscious guards swore the door locks were controlled at a central location, deep in the city, and that it would take a high-level order delivered in person to the control room to get them to open it in such emergency conditions. Ronon kicked at the metal in vain.
“Oh, that will help,” McKay snapped. “Break your foot in the process.”
Ronon fought the urge to kick at the door again, and instead thumped his fists against it. Pain radiated down his arms as they hit solid metal. “Tell me you’ve got something.”
“The weakest point is here,” he said, pointing to the side of the large lock, “but it’s still a thick metal bar attached to a thick metal door with an electronic lock encased in metal.”
Ronon bounced, drumming his fingers against his leg with impatience. McKay pulled a wire then yelped as it sparked. He jumped back, waving his hand in pain.
“Not good,” he squeaked.
“What?”
“Given enough time, maybe I could override the lock, but that last wire… Part of this door is connected to send signals to the main control center, and I may have just alerted them that we’re messing with the door.”
“McKay!” Ronon growled.
“I don’t know for sure,” he snapped back. “Look, I can get the door open, but this lock is… impressive. It could take me an hour or two to do it.”
Beckett cleared his throat from behind them. “I don’t think we have that kind of time.”
“I can help,” Sheppard whispered.
Ronon snapped his head up and looked at his friend. He’d almost forgotten about him sitting in the middle of the room. Sheppard still looked haggard and half-dead slumped in his cart, but there was something in the way he’d said those words that sent dread washing through Ronon. He frowned at the expression on his friend’s face. Sheppard moved his arm until his hand flopped onto his stomach, and Ronon felt his insides turn cold.
“Sheppard, no,” he said.
“What?” McKay asked, spinning around, and the others stopped moving, their attention drawn to the sudden shift of tension in the air.
“John,” Ronon started.
“Only option,” Sheppard said, speaking a little louder. He blinked and drew in a rough breath, and Ronon could see the effort it was taking to focus.
“What option?” Beckett asked. He moved away from the injured guard and glanced down at Sheppard’s hand lying over his stomach. His eyes widened. “No, that is not an option. I won’t do that.”
“What is it?” Orin, asked.
“Bomb,” Ronon answered. He pointed toward Sheppard. “We use the bomb they stuck in Sheppard to blow the door.”
Teyla had moved around the guards and was now kneeling at Sheppard’s head, one hand on his forehead. “That will kill him.”
“Aye, it will. I’m not doing that.”
Ronon heard a choking sound, and he glanced up to see Kaia, her face white as she stared down at Sheppard. “They said he was sick,” she whispered.
“Yeah, sick because they cut him open and stuck a bomb in his stomach,” McKay snapped. “That way, regardless of what the trial judges decided, all Shiana had to do was flick the switch on her detonator and she got the justice she came for.”
Kaia stumbled back, bringing a hand to her mouth. Halling grabbed her arm, steadying her and slipping the rifle out of her loose grip. Ronon turned back to Sheppard. He ran through their supplies again in his head, feeling his stomach twist at the conclusion he was reaching.
“What about the guards? What do they have?” McKay asked.
Teyla swallowed, paling a little. “The rifles, knives, some food, water, and alcohol. Two of them had what I believe are radios, but there is nothing that will help us.”
“I don’t want to do anything that’s going to hurt Sheppard more,” Ronon growled, “but we have to get through this door. What other options do we have? McKay?”
He glanced at McKay, who opened his mouth then snapped it shut and shook his head. He looked terrified and guilt-stricken, and Ronon’s chest tightened. He hadn’t meant to put it on McKay like that, but the scientist had come up with so many last-minute plans in the past, it had been a reflex to turn to him for ideas.
No one else said anything. Sheppard’s eyes had slid closed, but he forced them open again with a groan. Ronon watched him struggle to stay awake, puffs of breath fogging up the mask. How much longer was he going to last?
“Do it,” Sheppard whispered. He grabbed onto Beckett’s sleeve and tugged, drawing the other man’s attention. “Do it.”
“John, I am not-”
“Doc,” Ronon interrupted. His chest felt suddenly heavy but he forced his lungs to expand and take in a deep breath. “We have to get him home.”
Beckett looked like he was going to protest again. He stared hard at Sheppard for a moment, pressing his lips together, then finally relented with a nod. They spread the blankets in the cart out on the floor, and Ronon and Halling lifted Sheppard out. They eased him to the ground, and Ronon grit his teeth at the cries of pain coming from his friend. Teyla had folded someone’s jacket and laid it on the ground for a pillow while Beckett spread out his remaining medical supplies on the floor next to him.
“Ronon, I need you to hold the flashlight. The lights in here aren’t terrible, but the better I can see, the better chance he has.” Ronon nodded, and the doctor knelt down. “John, I’m not going to lie to you. This is beyond dangerous. I can’t even begin to guess what your odds of survival are.”
“B-better than…staying here,” Sheppard answered.
“I know, and that’s the only reason I’m even considering this.” He pulled out a syringe and injected it quickly into the IV. “That’s all I can give you-I have no idea what kind of drugs these people have pumped into your system, so I still don’t dare give you anything stronger.”
“S’okay.”
“No, John, it’s not. The pain alone from doing this could kill you, and what I’ve given you will barely put a dent in that. Not to mention the amount of blood you’ll lose in the process, and the risk of further infection, or any number of complications. On top of all that, we’re talking about a bomb.”
Sheppard sucked in a deep breath but said nothing. He stared at the doctor until Beckett sighed. Using a knife, he slit through Sheppard’s shirt and peeled back the bandage. Ronon cringed at the incision mark but held the flashlight steady.
“Everyone needs to move back,” Beckett said. “Teyla, love, I need you to keep him calm, and watch his breathing and heart rate. What I wouldn’t give for another bag of saline right now. ”
The others shuffled away, and Beckett pulled on a pair of gloves, and then leaned forward. “Ready?”
Sheppard nodded, and it was one of the rare instances where Ronon saw open fear on his friend’s face. Beckett cleaned off his chest around the sutures, then laid out what he needed next to him. If Ronon had had the choice, he would have turned away, but he shoved the handgun into the waistband of his pants and held the light up, feeling obligated to watch and see this thing in its entirety.
Sheppard hissed as Beckett slid a small pair of scissors under the first black thread. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he flinched when the doctor snipped the thread, jerking the light in his hand. Beckett paused, snipping the next loop of thread when Ronon had steadied the flashlight’s beam. Sheppard was breathing fast, his eyes squeezed tightly closed, and the doctor’s steadying hand on his chest rose and fell quickly.
The incision was enflamed and oozing, obviously infected. As Beckett snipped the last of the sutures, Sheppard cried out, flailing his left arm and kicking his feet. Teyla grabbed the errant arm, pulling it above his head out of the way and squeezing his hand. With her other hand, she smoothed back his hair, bending close to whisper soft encouragement into his ear.
“I need someone to hold his legs,” Beckett called out without looking up from his work. Halling stepped forward instantly, pulling Sheppard’s legs straight and pinning his ankles to the ground. Sheppard’s splinted right arm jerked in response, causing him to cry out, then lay still.
When Beckett grabbed the scalpel, Ronon sucked in a deep breath and glanced around the room. Three of the guards were staring wide-eyed at the surgery taking place a few feet in front of them. Orin had turned his back and continued to stand guard at the side tunnel. Kaia had a rifle again and was helping Keras keep watch over the young soldiers, and Willa was watching the waterway corridor, but they shot glances toward Sheppard with every pained cry he uttered. McKay had backed into the door and looked like he was about to pass out.
“Ronon, light,” Beckett called out.
“Sorry,” he said, turning his attention back to Sheppard’s surgery. Beckett was slicing through the scar tissue that had already started to form, but the incision was new and the wound broke apart easily. Sheppard threw his head back, his body going rigid at the pain, and blood welled up from the wound and ran down the sides of his ribs, the red a sharp contrast to his pale skin.
Beckett paused, and Sheppard’s body suddenly went lax. Ronon saw his team leader’s eyes roll and then flutter closed as he passed out, and Teyla and Halling both eased their grips on his body.
“Teyla?”
“His pulse is still rapid, as is his breathing.”
“Thank God,” Beckett breathed out. He pushed his finger slowly into the wound and Ronon cringed. He’d seen a lot in his life, but the sight of a man shoving his hand into another man’s stomach was almost too much. He swallowed, forcing himself to watch and keep the light steady.
“I can feel the bloody thing,” the doctor said. “It’s not deep.”
“Careful,” Ronon urged.
“Aye.” Very slowly, he began pulling his fingers out, bringing with it a flat pack about the size of a small deck of Earth playing cards. “It’s wrapped in something, almost looks like Saran wrap,” Beckett said. When it cleared the wound, he set it gently to the side and focused his attention on Sheppard’s wound.
Ronon wanted to run to the bomb and throw it as far away from all of them as he could, but he gripped the flashlight tighter and focused his attention on giving Beckett as much light as possible. McKay pushed himself away from the door and stumbled to the guards, grabbing one of the flasks on the floor nearby. While Beckett packed Sheppard’s wound, McKay rinsed off the blood, then peeled back the plastic wrap.
“Um, okay,” he said, holding the small bomb up. “This is pretty straightforward and should pack enough punch to blow the lock on the door.”
“Set it up,” Ronon said. “We need to move fast.” With a nod, McKay returned to the door and began setting up the bomb.
“How’s his breathing?” Beckett asked.
“Fast,” Teyla answered. “His pulse is still very rapid as well.”
He laid a final thick bandage over the top of the wound, then had Teyla lift Sheppard’s shoulders up while he wrapped a bandage tightly around his entire torso. “This should keep the packing in place until I can get him into the infirmary. How soon can we get out of here?”
He looked up at Ronon as he asked, but McKay answered. “Ready when you are,” he said. “We need to move back, though-out of the way.”
“Once that door blows open, we have to run,” Ronon announced to everyone. The others nodded and prodded the young guards down the waterway tunnel, out of the way.
“We can’t jar him,” Beckett said. “That cart will be too rough if we have to run with him in it.”
“I got it,” Ronon answered. He tossed the flashlight aside and slid his arms under Sheppard’s body. With Teyla and Beckett’s help, he eased his friend into his arms, holding him as steadily as he could. It was an awkward position, and Ronon’s arms began to burn almost as soon as he stood up, but a fireman’s carry was out of the question.
“Can you carry him like that?” McKay asked as the entire group filed down the waterway tunnel and away from the bomb.
“I got it,” he hissed back. “Blow the damn door.”
McKay fumbled for the detonator he’d ripped out of Shiana’s hands, and then for the third time that day, flipped the switch and detonated a bomb. The sound blasted through the room and up the tunnel and the ground shook. Ronon felt a rush of air, and then nothing.
“Shiana doesn’t go halfway on anything, does she?” McKay muttered, and in the dim light of the hallway, his face looked a little green.
Teyla peered around the corner and then darted forward. “The door is open,” she called out. “There is a flashing light above it, though-an alarm of some kind. Hurry!”
They peeled out after her at a run. The bomb had twisted the metal bar out of the lock and the door was swinging open. Halling and Beckett matched Ronon’s stride and the three of them burst out of the door at the same time into fresh air. It was evening, the clouds in the sky turning yellow as the sun began to set behind the mountains. A path led away from the door and ran alongside the stream of dirty water.
Teyla ran ahead, leading the way, followed by Kaia and McKay. Willa and Keras each had a supporting hand on Orin as they urged the old man to run faster. Ronon forced his legs to move faster, intent on putting as much distance behind them and the mountain as possible. Sheppard groaned in his arms but he didn’t dare look down at his friend.
Too soon, he heard shouts behind him, and then the pounding feet of soldiers in pursuit. He screamed against the burning muscles in his arms and legs and forced himself to keep running. The jumpers were supposed to be in the sky, monitoring the situation, and he could only hope they would swoop down and pick them up before the guards of Daet caught up to them and started firing.
Sheppard cried out again, and then Ronon felt the handgun at his belt loosen. A second later, the gun fired in three quick bursts. He stumbled to a halt and spun around. Sheppard went limp again in his arms and the gun fell from his hand. Thirty feet back along the path, he saw Shiana stumble and fall to her knees, then grab at her leg. Two guards rolled back onto the path, away from the trees where they’d taken cover. With a scream, Shiana pushed herself to her feet, took two limping steps and raised her rifle.
A burst of P-90 fire erupted around Ronon, scattering the guards. Shiana stumbled backward, then took aim again, but before she should shoot, Major Lorne stepped forward and fired again. She dropped the rifle, the murderous rage in her face visible even from so far way, then collapsed on the ground and did not move again.
“Jumper’s fifteen feet back,” Lorne said. “We’ll cover.”
Ronon spun on his heel, holding his burden tighter and sprinting the last few feet to safety.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Part 5