Spirit Part 3/5
“Son of a bitch!” John spat, his face pressed to the prison cell bars as he watched Ronon stagger, backpedaling from his opponent and holding onto his side.
“He has been injured,” Della’s voice was quiet. “The last blow grazed his ribs.”
“Damn it!” John shook the bars in frustration. So far they’d all been lucky to come out of their spars relatively unscathed. He’d known that sooner or later their luck would run out, but that didn’t make this any easier.
“Ronon!” Teyla shouted.
Ronon’s opponent, an impressively built man pressed his advantage, but Ronon was no easy target. Parrying a blow meant for his head, Ronon twisted, spun and slashed his sword across the man’s abdomen.
The man cried out and fell to his knees. Even from a distance, John could see the depth of the wound as blood immediately flowed down the man’s stomach. While not immediately lethal, the wound was still deadly. Without medical care, he’d bleed out and die.
Ronon stepped back and dropped the sword. He clutched one arm around his side, his chest heaving with exertion. Three Wraith guards pointed stunners at him and drove him from the arena as one of the queen’s males descended on his defeated and dying opponent.
John’s gaze never left Ronon as the big man was marched from the Round. This time, it was John’s turn to catch Ronon as he was shoved hard into the cell. John took a step back and steadied his friend. “Easy.” He looked at the wound, unconsciously clenching his jaw at the flecks of blood he could see above Ronon’s arm. John pulled him towards the back of the cell. “Sit down. Let me see.”
“Well, now isn’t that interesting?”
John spared a moment to look up and follow the voice to Patch who stared back, a smug smile on his face.
“Not quite so tough now, are ya?”
Furious, John opened his mouth to reply, but Ronon beat him to it.
“I can still break your neck with my bare hands.” Ronon pulled himself up straighter. “Come near me or my friends and I’ll prove it.”
Patch grunted. “Few days with an open wound and you won’t be doing much of anything.”
John held tightly to Ronon’s arm and eased him to the ground before straightening and putting on the meanest glare he could find. “Come near any of us, and I’ll kill you myself.” He held onto his dark stare as Patch squinted slightly, seeming to measure him up. Without a word, Patch turned away.
John quickly knelt next to Ronon. He pulled at his friend’s arm but Ronon’s hand shot up, stopping John’s. “It’s fine. Not that deep.”
John paused, looking Ronon over. Sweat beaded on his brow, and despite his warm complexion, he was pale. He stared into Ronon’s dark eyes. “Yeah, right. Come on, let me see.” John wrinkled his brow imploringly.
Ronon stared back for a moment, before he nodded slightly and moved his arm.
John winced at the bleeding slice crossing Ronon’s ribcage. He probed it gently, grimacing at his friend’s involuntary twitch.
Ronon groaned quietly before glaring at him.
“Sorry,” John made brief eye contact and then returned his attention to the wound.
“How bad is it?” Rodney’s voice was quietly concerned, a tone unusual for the acerbic doctor, as he knelt next to John. “Is he okay?”
John nodded. “It’s not deep, but in this damn dust bowl any open wound is gonna be a problem.” He sat back on his heels. The blood around the wound was already starting to clot and he was reluctant to disturb it too much. “I’d cover it… if we had something clean.” John glanced down at his own pant legs; the only cloth he had, but shook his head. They were filthy and he suspected it’d do more harm than good. With a little luck, the shallow wound would clot and scab, hopefully protecting it.
“Perhaps we should leave it alone?” Teyla suggested.
John nodded, “yeah. I don’t like it, but I don’t see where we have much choice. It’s already clotting. Hopefully it’ll take care of itself.” John’s words sounded hollow, even to himself. The only thing worse at this point, then leaving the wound open, would to be to bind it with something as filthy as the clothes they were wearing. Open or covered, it’d be a miracle if Ronon didn’t get an infection from this… and here, that could be deadly. Not just the infection itself, but if he couldn’t fight… John pushed off his dark thoughts and quirked one eyebrow at Ronon. “Close call.”
Ronon’s grunt was non-committal, but there were hints of what John could only call concern, in his expression. Another inch closer and a half second later and it would’ve been Ronon lying dead in the Round.
John settled back against the wall next to his friend and closed his eyes. “Don’t cut it so close next time,” he quipped darkly. He heard Rodney settle to the ground next to him and turned his head towards the doctor. Cracking one eye open, John stared at the guilty look on Rodney’s face and sighed as he opened his other eye. “McKay, we’ve been through this. It’s not your fault.”
“Did I say it was? No!” Rodney snapped before he fell silent again.
“Rodney,” Teyla said quietly. “Do not blame yourself.”
Rodney’s snort was sarcastic. “Don’t huh? Right. Easier said than done. They keep taking you guys out of here to fight god knows who and maybe even get killed. Meanwhile, I just sit here and watch it!” Rodney crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you’ll forgive me if I wallow in my own guilt! I think I’ve earned the right!”
John looked past him to Patch, who observed the conversation with interest. John refocused his attention on Rodney. “Keep it down. The neighbors are watching.”
“There has to be something…” Rodney lowered his voice and rubbed his brow. “Some way out of here.”
“Without the transmitters,” John added.
“Yes, well, forgive me for not thinking about that unpleasant inevitability,” Rodney snapped, sounding much more like himself.
John again rested his head against the wall. “McKay?” he asked quietly.
“What?” Rodney’s voice was predictably annoyed.
John turned his head. “It’ll be okay.” He knew a resounding note of doubt found its way into his voice, in spite of his best attempts to hide it with confidence.
Rodney swallowed hard and nodded, is own expression hesitant. “Yeah,” he finally answered.
John closed his eyes and tried to relax, saving what strength he had for survival; not only for himself, but for his team too.
----------------
Lorne knew the unease he felt permeating his body, was no worse in him than in Halling. In fact, he could practically feel the tension radiating from the tall Athosian as they made their way down a small decline away from the Stargate. Short grass surrounded them and in the distance, across the plains, they could see a small village. Lorne stifled the urge to say anything. Four planets and five days ago, on the planet Elena had sent them to, he’d voiced his concern over whether Halling could pull this off or not…
Lorne stepped through the wormhole and squinted at Halling’s stoic gaze. “You gonna be okay?” He ventured quietly.
Halling stopped, taking a moment before he turned and faced Lorne. “Even to act as though I worship the Wraith is almost unbearable. Wraith worshipping is one of the gravest accusations amongst my people and the greatest of insults.” A twitch crossed Halling’s cheek before his stoic mask returned. “My own wife; Jinto’s mother was culled when he was barely old enough to remember her… but he does. I see that pain in his eyes, now and then… a pain I can do nothing to eliminate; a pain caused by the Wraith. That, more than anything, is unforgivable.” His stern look only darkened, and Lorne couldn’t remember having ever seen Halling show even a hint of the anger he displayed now. “Those that would worship them, only aid the Wraith in spreading their evil throughout the galaxy.”
Lorne’s gaze narrowed as an alarm sounded within him. “Halling, this isn’t going to work if…”
“You do not need to tell me, Major,” Halling interrupted. “Next to Jinto, Teyla means more to me than anyone, and I have Colonel Sheppard to thank for my life. I will not fail either of them.”
Lorne stared at him another minute as Halling drew in several deep breaths. In an instant, the tension that seemed to shroud him disappeared, replaced by quiet serenity.
Abruptly, Halling turned away and proceeded down the path towards the village.
Lorne shook off the memory and followed Halling. The normally gentle man carried deep hatred for the Wraith, which definitely wasn’t unwarranted. Lorne couldn’t blame him. Like most humans in this galaxy, Halling had suffered great personal loss at the hands of the Wraith. Lorne had nothing but contempt for the Wraith, something he’d developed in time on Atlantis and he’d come to view them with the cold regard of an enemy. But, he also knew that his hatred, no matter how strong, could never rival that of Halling or Teyla or Ronon… or almost any Pegasus native for that matter.
Lorne trotted a couple steps and drew up even with Halling. “Look, I know we wouldn’t have gotten this far without your help. Even if we never…” his voice trailed off and he drew in a deep breath. I’m sorry for questioning you,” he offered quietly. When Halling looked confused, Lorne pointed over his shoulder. “Couple days ago.”
Halling nodded in recognition and glanced sideways at him. “Do not be. Were I in your place, I would have had the same concerns.” He turned his head to stare Lorne in the eyes. “But do not worry. I will do what is necessary to obtain the information we need.”
Lorne’s small smile was thin. “Yeah, I know.” He turned his gaze back to the village. “Maybe we’ll get lucky this time.” He stifled his frustration and tried to hold onto hope. Elena’s address had led them to a planet of worshippers, true, but none knew anything useful except to refer them to another world, who referred them to another and another… Lorne sighed. Precious time was ticking away for Colonel Sheppard’s team… if they were even still alive. As much as Lorne hated to admit it, they had no proof that all this running around wasn’t a wild goose chase to start with. For all they knew, Sheppard’s team could’ve been culled and were straight out dead by now. Lorne shook off the thought. The Colonel’s team had survived enough near misses that he wasn’t about to write them off yet. Until he had absolute proof they were dead, he damn sure wasn’t going to make that assumption.
Both men were silent as they walked into the small, quiet village. To one side a larger building had the looks of a rustic inn, so, with a mutual nod, they agreed it was as good a place to start as any. Lorne let Halling lead as the big man pushed the door open, and they entered the inn, looking as casual as they could.
The large common room was gloomy; shutters partially closed, in spite of the warm day. Small slits of light came through the narrow openings in the shutters, and enough air circulated to keep a haze of smoke from a low burning fire pit at a bearable level. Wooden tables and chairs lined the room, the candles on each casting an orange glow that clashed with the hints of natural light. A tall, stout bar stood in front of the back wall. From behind it, a man stared at them, obviously cautious of strangers.
Lorne and Halling exchanged quick looks before they made their way across the room and walked up to the bar.
“Greetings,” Halling said quietly.
The man looked at him for a moment, before taking another minute to regard Lorne.
Lorne returned his measured gaze, his expression cautiously neutral.
“And to you,” the man answered. “Praise to the Wraith.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he gauged their reactions.
Lorne buried his contempt and managed to lift one side of his mouth in a slight smile before he nodded subtly at the bartender. He looked at Halling, who bowed his head.
“Praise indeed,” Halling answered. “Ales for myself and my friend.”
“Ales,” the man answered. He turned towards a rough keg and when he faced them again, he set two metal mugs on the bar. “Those who serve are welcome here.”
Halling set a small knife on the bar, which the man took without word.
“Not many places where devotion to the Wraith is so openly expressed,” Lorne stated casually as he sipped his ale.
“Those who do not share our opinions do not see fit to bother us much,” the bartender replied. “And those that do are dealt with.”
Over the top of his mug, Lorne stared at the hard edges to the man’s expression and knew without doubt he was dangerous. Had their reaction to his praise of the Wraith been any different, Lorne knew he and Halling would be fighting for their lives right now. He swallowed and nodded.
“Our home,” Halling started, “serves a mighty hive. The queen is generous to those of us devoted to her.” He drew in a deep breath. “She once restored my life.”
The bartender’s expression turned respectful. “Then you are blessed indeed. Only the most devout of us are granted that accord. We serve a mighty alliance of four queens,” his voice turned proud, “they are nearly uncontested in this galaxy.”
“We have heard of this Alliance,” Halling answered, his voice neutral.
“There are not many that have not,” the man replied, “even amongst those who do not worship.”
Lorne took another sip of his ale but never took his eyes from the bartender as the man’s expression turned dark.
“The Alliance once numbered five queens, but one was killed by those that inhabited the ancestral city.” His voice turned dangerous. “Their clothing and weapons are well known to us. Should they ever venture to this planet, they will pay for their transgressions.”
Lorne clenched his jaw and fought to keep the resentment from his face but some must’ve gotten through for the bartender stared hard at him.
“You seem angered,” his voice still held an edge of danger to it.
Lorne sucked in a quick breath. “Just thinking of the people who would dare kill a queen,” he answered quietly. Playing it to the fullest, Lorne held tightly to his angered expression. “And what I’d do to them.”
“Indeed,” the bartender replied after a long moment. “You have the look of a fighter.”
“My friend,” Halling interrupted, “has fought many times; not only against those who do not worship, but also for the Wraith. Our queen enjoys such things.”
Lorne quirked his brow slightly at the direction Halling was taking the conversation but said nothing. His expression turned confident and he let a hint of dark danger color it.
The bartender absently wiped a rag across the bar. “Yes, it is not uncommon. The Alliance also enjoys fighting. They have made a sport of it amongst the non-worshippers. Those suited to it are made to fight.” He grunted quietly. “A just ending for those who do not follow the Way.”
“Yes,” Halling agreed. He briefly glanced at Lorne before returning his attention to the bartender. “There must be some Believers that serve this Alliance?”
The bartender’s expression turned leery. “Why do you ask? Surely you serve your queen?”
“We do,” Lorne answered before Halling could, “but it seems she’ll be joining the Alliance soon. We want to serve wherever she is.” Lorne absently swirled his tankard. “If this Alliance enjoys fighting as much as you say, then someone like me could be pretty useful.” He looked up at the bartender. “I’m sure they’d be pleased you sent us their direction.”
Suspicion was replaced by calculated thoughtfulness as the bartender mulled over Lorne’s words. “There is truth to what you say,” he answered finally. “Wait here.” He turned and disappeared into a back room.
“Well played my friend,” Halling smiled slightly at him.
“Thanks,” Lorne muttered. “I’ll be happy when we get the information we need and get the hell out of here.”
“Yes,” Halling nodded. He fell silent as the bartender returned and slid a worn piece of parchment across the bar to him.
“You are right to assume that worshippers serve the Alliance. Such is the way amongst all of us.” He pointed at the parchment. “This is the planet where the non-worshippers fight. Many of us serve there, for it is a large facility that houses many prisoners.”
“What can you tell us about this place?” Lorne asked casually. “How do they fight?”
The bartender, apparently satisfied that Halling and Lorne could be trusted, smiled slightly. “The non-worshippers are made to fight with many different weapons. The winners live, but the losers…” his smile turned gratifying, “they often they sustain the queens.”
Lorne almost couldn’t swallow his anger, so he forced a dark smile, his expression turning slightly maniacal. “Sounds fair,” he managed.
The bartender stepped back and bowed his head. “May the blessings of the Wraith go with you.”
Halling nodded back. “And with you.”
Lorne gave the man the briefest of nods before he followed Halling from the inn.
As they walked back across the plains and towards the Stargate, Lorne let his carefully constructed mask fall. “Son of a bitch,” he spat. He shook his head, part of him bewildered that one human could be so callous about another. He certainly didn’t look at the world through rose colored glasses. Being a career soldier he’d seen, more than once, how cruel humans could be to each other, but it still never ceased to shock him… and he was glad. As long as he was shocked and outraged, he still had his own humanity and could still make a difference.
“Yes,” Halling agreed. “Those that would serve the Wraith and so casually condemn their fellow humans, are beneath contempt.”
Standing next to the DHD, Lorne looked back at the distant village as Halling dialed the gate. “Have to update the database,” he muttered. “Lock this place out and make sure not one of our teams ever sets foot here.” He turned away from the dark thoughts of what would’ve happened, had they unknowingly visited this planet on routine recon. Lorne shook his head slightly as he punched up his personal IDC. When it came to Stargates and travelling to different planets, nothing was ever routine; especially in this galaxy.
With one, last look at the village, he turned and followed Halling through the gate.
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Muffled sounds from a nearby cell woke John. Even holding perfectly still, he could feel the soreness that permeated his body and was reluctant to move. The cold, stone wall he was leaning against definitely didn’t help matters. Still, he turned his head slightly towards the noise. Across the hallway, in an adjacent cell, he could barely make out movement in the gloom, but as stifled grunts again drifted across the space between them he didn’t need to see anything more to know what was happening. Several of the men in that cell had fought well in the last couple days and only a few hours before, three downtrodden women had been thrown into the cell with them. Obviously, the boys were taking full advantage of the situation.
Powerless to do anything, John turned his head away and tried to tune out what was happening. Next to him, he heard Ronon stir slightly and he looked up, meeting the big man’s seething gaze.
“I’ll kill them if I ever get the chance,” Ronon growled.
Every fiber of John’s being wanted to agree with Ronon, but he pushed his own feelings aside. “Not if it’s in the Round you won’t.” He stared hard at Ronon for a moment, before the Satedan nodded. John watched him as he leaned back against the cave wall and sighed. John’s gaze fell to the wound on Ronon’s side; angry and red. In spite of their hopes, infection was starting to settle into the wound. Not surprising, but not welcomed either. Still functional, Ronon said nothing about it, but John suspected his friend was starting to feel the effects. In another day, two at the most, Ronon would be in serious trouble if something didn’t change.
“God!” Rodney hissed, “they behave like animals, I mean no privacy for… well… you know…” he stammered.
"We do not give privacy to animals," Teyla's whispered voice was clearly troubled but still held a note of reason. "The Wraith view us as the same. If you treat people as animals, after a while they begin to behave like them," she concluded quietly.
“Not me,” Rodney muttered. “I don’t care how anyone treats me, I’d never do… that!”
“You can only watch out for yourself,” a quiet voice spoke from the next cell. “Everyone’s fate is their own and no one else’s.”
John turned his head towards the source of the voice. Even in the gloom, he could make out Della lying on the ground, just on the other side of the prison bars. The faint light caught a gleam of sweat on her face. John furrowed his brows. “Della? You okay?” He heard her suck in a loud breath before she responded.
“I do not think so.”
Wincing against his protesting body, John pushed himself away from the wall and, facing her, he knelt as close to the bars as he could. He reached through them and paused. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know,” Della rasped before coughing weakly.
John gently settled his hand on her brow and frowned at the heat, before he shifted his hand to her throat and felt for a pulse. “She’s got a pretty high fever,” he commented to no one in particular. “Pulse is rapid too.”
“I’m surprised more of us aren’t sick,” Rodney hissed. “This place is filthy with no sanitation to speak of.”
John let his hand rest on her shoulder as he pursed his lips and looked around helplessly. He knew what she needed, but he had nothing. Of all the people they’d encountered in this god forsaken place, she’d been the only one to talk to them and try to help them. Now, she needed help, and he had none to offer. He didn’t even have any water to give her. The frustration must’ve shown on his face because he felt Della’s hand find his.
“It is all right, John,” she whispered. “You wish to help me and care enough to do so if you could. That is enough.”
John turned his hand to grip hers. “Our people have the means, but…” He shook his head as his voice trailed off. He held tightly to her hand as a violent coughing bout wracked her body. John shook his head at how rapidly she’d become so gravely ill. McKay was right, with no sanitation, it was a miracle they weren’t all sick at this point.
“Stay strong, Della,” Ronon scooted up next to the bars and stared at her.
John looked up at his friend, suddenly realizing the kinship Ronon must’ve been feeling for Della. It was likely that Ronon would be in the same condition before long, and John knew that Ronon realized it himself.
“God,” Rodney hissed, “I just realized… I mean, as soon as the Wraith see her…” His voice trailed off as Teyla poked him hard in the arm.
John sent a seething glare in Rodney’s direction.
“I know my fate,” Della answered, her voice strangely calm. “I welcome it, if only to escape this place.”
“Don’t write yourself off yet,” John answered, more out of reflex then anything. “When we get out of here, we can help you.” He felt the intensity of her stare as she locked eyes with him, her gaze knowing, but she said nothing.
John could do nothing but sit with her as his mind turned over her words and their situation. Even if they escaped now, how would they get her free? Could they even fight their way to the gate caring for her in the process? Still, He knew they’d try because while he barely knew her, he didn’t think his conscience would let him leave her behind. But, that was if they escaped now, which was impossible. He’d thought of little else besides finding a way to escape, ever since they’d arrived here, but no matter how he looked at things, he couldn’t find a way that had even a remote chance at success. Darkly, he began to see why everyone here seemed to live in various stages of hopelessness; he couldn’t have been the first one to contemplate freedom and not find the answer and even though Ronon was apparently headed down the same path as Della, it didn’t change their situation, nor open any doors to freedom.
But, John held tightly to his inner strength, his team had an ace in the hole. He knew, without doubt, that Atlantis was looking for them. There was no way Weir, or Lorne or any of them would write his team off as dead without solid proof. He knew eventually they’d find his team, he just had to keep his people alive long enough to be found.
But then, there was Della. His thoughts came full circle as he looked down at her unconscious form. Unless Lorne burst through those doors now, they’d be too late to save her. First thing in the morning when the Wraith and human servants came around with water, they’d find her and that would be the end of it. In a few days, Ronon might be next. Della’s words to him, when they’d first arrived, echoed in his head.
“Look around you, John. There are no injured fighters.”
Or sick for that matter… John exchanged a knowing look with Teyla, who nodded once. Sitting back, John withdrew his hand from the sick woman’s shoulder and leaned against the bars, but as tired as he was, sleep eluded him.
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“Unscheduled off-world activation!”
Elizabeth jumped up from her desk and hurried into Ops. “Do we have an IDC?”
Chuck, her resident gate technician, turned to a nearby laptop, paused, then nodded. “It’s Major Lorne.”
Smiling slightly, Elizabeth nodded. “Lower the shield.” She walked through Ops and skipped down the stairs into the Gate room, crossing its length, as Lorne and Halling stepped through the wormhole. She squinted slightly at both their tired faces. Ever since Colonel Sheppard’s team had disappeared, she doubted either one of them had any decent sleep.
“Ma’am,” Lorne pulled a weathered piece of parchment from his coat. “We know where this Alliance holds these fights. If our people are alive, it’s a good bet they’re here.”
She stared down at the scrawled gate address. “Do we have any idea how many Wraith we’d be facing?” Elizabeth looked up and arched an eyebrow at the hesitant look on Lorne’s face.
“No, ma’am, we don’t. Given it’s an alliance of four queens and a good number of human prisoners who are most likely dangerous fighters, I’d guess it’s pretty heavily fortified.” Lorne pursed his lips. “No matter how we do this, we’re going to have a fight on our hands.” He straightened slightly. “But I don’t see where we have much of a choice.”
“If they are there,” Halling added quietly, “then we must help them.”
“The key word here is ‘if’, gentlemen.” Elizabeth pushed aside her own feelings and forced herself to be objective. “You’re walking into a heavy combat situation without even knowing for sure if they’re there.” Part of her… the part that had gotten so used to John at her side, supporting her, helping her to lead Atlantis; lending her his strength, that part wanted to push aside all rationale and send a team in, guns blazing, to find her people. But that same voice that had drawn strength from John, had also learned from him. He’d never risk an assault like this, on a potential wild goose chase. Maybe, in that first year he’d been in Pegasus, he might have. But, the Pegasus Galaxy had taught them all some pretty harsh lessons since then; him included.
Elizabeth dropped her head and sighed. “I can’t send a strike force into that kind of danger without some solid evidence.” She quickly turned away and headed for the stairs, refusing to look back at either of their faces. As she re-entered Ops, she heard both Lorne and Halling trot up the stairs behind her.
“Dr. Weir…” Halling started.
“Ma’am.” Lorne cut across Halling. “We could send a cloaked Jumper to detect their sub-q transmitters. Then we’d know for sure.”
“I hate to... what is the saying? Rain on your parade?” Zelenka interjected, “but if Colonel Sheppard’s team was captured and brought to this planet, it is likely their transmitters were detected and removed or deactivated.” Zelenka’s gaze dropped. “That is not a reliable indication of whether or not they are there.”
“Then I’ll take a recon team,” Lorne immediately answered.
Elizabeth stared evenly at his determined look as he moved a few steps closer to her.
“Ma’am, we have to know.” Lorne insisted. “If they’re there…”
Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment and she could see John’s face.
“You don’t leave people in the hands of the enemy!”
John’s words echoed in her head as opened her eyes, turned and walked across Ops to the balcony overlooking the Stargate. Her hands gripped tightly to the guard rail, she leaned heavily on them as she tried to decide what to do.
“Elizabeth,” John planted both fists on her desk and fixed her with a fierce look. “I’ll take a small strike team. In and out, the Genii won’t be expecting it and won’t know what hit ‘em. I won’t risk a full assault, but at the same time, if they’re holding Miller’s team, I’m damn sure not going to sit back and do nothing.”
Elizabeth dropped her head. That time, John’s plan had worked. But, while the Genii were fierce soldiers, this time they were talking about a base full of Wraith. Still, the heart and soul of his words rang true with her and whether it was Genii or Wraith or Wraith worshippers, the principle was the same.
You don’t leave people behind.
She turned and nodded once at Lorne. “Do it. Take a small team of volunteers.” In the back of her mind, she knew Lorne wouldn’t have any trouble finding men that would offer to go. Colonel Sheppard’s command was close knit… something that had a lot to do with their CO. “If you can get them out, do it. But, if you’re not sure, then I’m ordering you to come back for reinforcements. I’m relying on you to make a sound judgment call, Major; personal feelings aside. The last thing we need are more people getting captured.” She walked back into Ops and stopped close to Lorne. “Is that clear?”
One side of Lorne’s mouth turned up and creased his dimples ever so slightly. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, his voice slightly smug. He turned and trotted down the back stairs leading away from Ops.
Elizabeth turned her attention to Halling and she smiled. “Thank you, Halling, for everything.”
Halling bowed his head slightly. “We have not brought them home safely yet, Dr. Weir.”
Elizabeth nodded. “True. But, we wouldn’t even have a chance if it wasn’t for your help. Whatever happens, I’m grateful for your assistance.”
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Movement in the hallways roused John from a fitful doze. He looked up, squinting as a group of humans made their way between cells with the morning’s ration of water. Four Wraith guards accompanied them. John’s eyes widened as he looked into the next cell. “Della, sit up. If they see you lying like that, they’ll know you’re sick.” John reached through the cell and shook her shoulder insistently. “Della!” he hissed. “Wake up!”
Lying on her side, Della moaned quietly, but that was the only response John could get from her. His mind raced, looking for some way to fool the Wraith; to make it look like she was fine, but, as he glanced at Ronon first and then Teyla, and finally Rodney, he saw only knowing and solemn looks on their faces. In a dark moment, he realized there was nothing he could do. “Shit!” John shook her shoulder again. “Della, get up, damn it!”
He looked up as the Wraith and the humans stopped outside Della’s cell. The four Wraith stared at her for a moment, before one of them walked away. The prisoners were given water, all except Della who remained prone and semi-conscious. John took one last look at her and stood, moving with his team to the front of the line behind Patch as the water bearers moved to his cell. Receiving his ration, John walked back to Della. But, as he tried to reach through the bars to give his water to her, Teyla’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“You must have water too, John,” she said quietly.
John pressed his lips together as he fought with himself. She was right. He knew it… but that didn’t mean he liked it one damned bit.
“We can all leave a quarter of our ration for her,” Teyla reasoned.
“Do not waste your time, human.”
John looked past Teyla as Harry, flanked by the guard who had left only a few minutes ago, stared back at him. Silent, he motioned his head at two guards who quickly entered the cell and grabbed Della by the arms, roughly pulling her along between them as they headed for the door.
“No!” Ronon shoved his arm through the cell, just missing Della’s wrist. He grasped helplessly at empty air.
John’s cheek twitched in rage. “You son of a bitch,” he managed through clenched teeth, but Harry only stared back, his expression leering.
Without another word, Harry turned and left, the two guards dragging Della between them, following behind.
John stared at the ripples in his cup of water and realized that his hand was shaking in rage. He drew in one ragged breath, then another, before he felt in control enough to slowly drink his water.
“God,” Rodney whispered, his voice cracking.
“Use the anger.”
John looked up, finding Ronon’s dark gaze.
Ronon’s eyes narrowed. “Use it to strengthen you, don’t let it eat at you.”
After a moment, John nodded roughly. Ronon was right. Blind rage would only lead to reckless mistakes, but controlled hatred; a cold and calculated clarity, was far more dangerous. One thing John knew for sure; when he left this planet, Harry would be dead, if he had anything to say about it.
A clatter in the hallway forced him from his dark brooding. John looked up, squinting as a large, wheeled, cage was pushed between cells, heading for the Round. Within, he could hear deep growls, punctuated by almost rabid sounding barks. As the cage was pushed closer, he got his first look at the occupants. “What the hell?” he whispered. Easily three almost four feet tall at the shoulder, the beasts inside roughly resembled wolves, but with longer, more pronounced teeth and sharp claws on their feet. It was impossible to tell how many were there, but from the commotion, there had to be several.
“They’re Malneks,” Ronon answered quietly. “Cousins to Satedan Warags, but they’re not pets.”
John watched the snarling wolf-like creatures and grimaced. “Yeah, I figured that.”
“I have heard of the ferociousness of these animals,” Teyla added as she walked up next to John, “but this is the first time I’ve ever seen them.”
“Ran into a pack of them one time when I was Running,” Ronon continued quietly, “have the scars to prove it.”
“Why do I think you’re going to be at the top of the queens’ list of likely entrees for those things?” Rodney whispered.
“Because we’re so likable?” John quipped back darkly.
“This is NOT the time to be a smart ass!” Rodney glowered at him.
“We’ll be okay,” John muttered, trying to reassure himself more than anything.
“Are you nuts?” Rodney hissed. “Look at those things! They’re like Pit Bulls on steroids!”
As he watched the cage slowly move towards the Round, John was inclined to agree. “This is not good,” he muttered.
“That’s the understatement of the century,” Rodney backed away from the cell bars. “Uh…hi?”
The uncomfortable tone to Rodney’s voice caught John’s attention. He turned, his gaze narrowing as Patch, his expression cocky, stared Rodney in the eye. Before John could move, Ronon was at Rodney’s side.
Stiffly, the big Satedan straightened. “Want something?”
Patch looked up at Ronon for a minute, before he pushed his way past Rodney and stared hard at John. “Sorry about your friend,” his smile widened as if he found the whole situation amusing.
The anger John felt was too close to the surface… too raw to contain. Without hesitation, he took a giant step and arched a roundhouse punch at him, but the fighter was ready and blocked it before jabbing John hard in the jaw, sending him staggering.
Instantly, Patch’s boys joined the fight and as John recovered, he quickly found himself in the middle of a brawl. He focused his attention on Patch and swung again, this time stepping inside the man’s guard and connecting with his gut.
Patch stumbled backwards but he recovered quicker then John would’ve guessed and he had no chance to defend himself as Patch spun and backhanded him across the face.
John hit the ground hard and saw stars, but before he could get up, Patch threw himself on top of him. John grunted, shifted a knee up and rolled backwards, propelling Patch over his head.
John jumped to his feet and looked around, quickly taking stock of his team. Ronon and Teyla seemed to be holding their own, though in Ronon’s weakened state, he was clearly struggling. But, John had to let him handle it, because two of Patch’s boys had Rodney backed into a corner and were beating on him. John launched himself at one of the assailants and all but threw him against the wall, not bothering to watch as the man slumped to the ground. He spun, leveling the other one with a vicious right cross. His chest heaving with exertion, John looked back at his friend. “McKay?”
Rodney lowered his arms from around his head and looked up before nodding once.
John whirled around, bent on helping his friends, but as he started towards them a bolt of pure pain took him square in the chest. A strangled cry escaped his lips as his knees buckled. Nearby, he could make out Teyla, Ronon, Patch and his boys all on their knees, their faces contorted in pain. A second blast knocked him on his back and this time his cry was noiseless. Pain pinched off his breath, suffocating him, but just as he felt he would black out, his breath came back to him in ragged gasps. He looked up, blinking hard at the sight of several Wraith crowding the cell, all bearing stun rifles.
John pushed himself to one elbow as Harry stepped around a guard and looked down at him. “This is not allowed,” he stated plainly.
“Yeah,” John glared at him as he pushed himself onto his knees. “I get that.”
“If you must expend your energy,” Harry’s eyes widened in anticipation, “then you will do so in the Round.”
John’s lips curled back in anger. “We didn’t start this!” He tore his enraged look from Harry and focused it on Patch who knelt nearby.
“That matters little to me,” Harry turned his attention to Patch. “He will fight the beasts.” Harry looked back at John. “As will you, and your friends.” Harry stepped around John and fixed a leering gaze on Rodney. “You as well.”
“Oh God,” Rodney whispered.
John launched himself at Harry, but was stopped cold by a Wraith guard who threw him against the wall for his trouble. Two more restrained Ronon and yet another stopped Teyla.
John’s hands encircled the guard’s wrist, firmly gripping his neck. “That wasn’t part of the deal!” he choked.
Harry cocked his head and gave John a leering smile. “The deal… has changed.” He turned and left the cell. The guards released John, Teyla and Ronon before leaving as well.
John staggered a minute before crossing the cell, his glare never leaving Harry.
Harry turned and stared coldly at John through the bars of the cell. “If you choose not to fight, the beasts will certainly kill all of you.”
John pressed his face against the bars, feeling the vibration as Ronon threw himself into them with an angry shout. “You double crossing bastard!”
Harry just smiled and walked away.
“They are Wraith,” Teyla commented quietly. “They do not care about fairness.”
John’s gaze narrowed as he stared daggers at Harry’s retreating back. “All bets are off.” He glared for a moment at the two guards that remained behind, stunners held ready to deter any further brawling. Reminded of the fight, John turned, watching as Patch slowly got to his feet. Cautiously, John stepped around Ronon and stared coolly at the man. “If we’re going to survive those Malneks, we’ll need to work together.”
Patch’s gaze held no warmth as he stared back for a moment before nodding once, curtly, and walking to the other side of the cell.
“I don’t trust him,” Ronon muttered quietly.
“Me either,” John agreed. “But we can’t fight against him and those damned Malneks at the same time.” He turned his head, glancing at Rodney before he did a double take and narrowed his eyes at the doctor.
Rodney stood with his back against the cave wall, his face pale and sweaty and his breathing rapid.
John quickly walked over to him, Teyla and Ronon following. “McKay? You all right?”
Rodney looked up at him, his eyes wide with fear. “Not really, no.”
John pursed his lips as he quickly concluded what had the doctor so rattled… and it had nothing to do with supposed hypoglycemia; something that hadn’t plagued Rodney once since this whole ordeal started. Deep down, John wasn’t surprised. Rodney dealt with stress and near death in odd but intense ways. Sometimes, he was his own worst enemy. Hypochondria, intentional or not, was one way Rodney dealt, or rather didn’t deal, with what he called imminent doom. It just didn’t happen to be the way he was dealing with this imminent doom.
John refocused on the situation at hand. Rodney was near panic and for a reason. He was a civilian scientist. Fighting was something he’d never had to learn and John knew for a fact he had no fighting skills whatsoever. He sighed quietly. “It’ll be okay.”
“Like hell it will!” Rodney snapped back. “Did you see those things? I can’t…” his voice trailed off.
“We will help you, Rodney,” Teyla said quietly.
John mustered all the reassurance he could and pushed it into his voice. “McKay.” He waited until Rodney looked up at him. John could see the helpless frustration in Rodney’s expression. “The next time I need the DHD fixed, some weird-assed Ancient device explained, or some hare-brained scheme to save Atlantis, I’m counting on you to deliver. So for now…” he smiled slightly. “Ronon, Teyla and I will handle this.”
“Malneks plus our buddy Patch?” Rodney’s gaze was slightly disbelieving.
Johns shrugged. “He seemed agreeable to a truce.”
“Right,” Rodney quipped darkly, “That’s so reassuring.”
John saw a glimpse of the normal Rodney McKay showing through, so he decided to poke it into full awareness. “Well, if it gets bad enough, we’ll just throw you to the Malneks and use the distraction to escape.” His expression turned bemused.
“Oh, funny. The colonel is now a comedian. Hilarious.” Rodney glared at him.
John’s smile faded as he looked first at Teyla then Ronon. “You two okay?”
Teyla smiled reassuringly. “As well as to be expected.”
John fixed his gaze on Ronon’s pale and slightly drawn face. “You gonna be okay, big guy?”
Dark humor creased Ronon’s eyes. “Do I have a choice?”
John quirked his brows but couldn’t think of anything to say.
“He’s got a point,” Rodney sighed.
“I’ll be fine.”
All humor had fled Ronon’s face by the time John looked back at him. John sighed. “I don’t buy that for a second but…” his voice trailed off before he pursed his lips and nodded once. He looked past Ronon as Harry and six armed guards approached the cell.
As the bars parted, Harry locked gazes with John. “Now.” He turned and walked away.
John looked at Rodney. “Stay close to one of us.” Intensity crept into his dark eyes. “Always.”
Uncharacteristically silent, Rodney nodded once.
Flashing a wary look at Patch, who walked out of the cell ahead of them, John led his team to the Round.
---------------------
Elizabeth stopped in the doorway to the Jumper Bay and took a deep breath as she stared at the team looking back at her.
Six heavily armed Marines stood next to Lorne’s equally armed team. Ten men, all volunteers. In spite of the grim situation, Elizabeth smiled slightly. She knew, without a doubt, there had been far more than ten men volunteer. Crossing the bay, she stopped in front of Lorne.
Lorne nodded once to her. “Ma’am.”
Elizabeth drew in a deep breath. “Be careful, Major.”
Lorne patted the P-90 that hung from his vest. “Yes, ma’am.” He stared back at her. “We’ll bring them home.”
Elizabeth squinted slightly at him. “Not at the expense of your team, Major.” She felt strange saying something that sounded like she was chastising a twelve year old, but at the same time, she knew how deeply Lorne’s loyalty to Sheppard ran. “That’s an order,” she added quietly.
Lorne was motionless for a moment as he stared back at her before nodding once. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Stay safe,” she smiled slightly.
Lorne returned the expression before he turned and looked at his men. “Move out.”
Elizabeth headed for the door as she heard the hatch of the Jumper lock shut. As she exited the bay, she silently hoped she hadn’t let them talk her into a suicide mission.
Part 4