"Careful, Rodney! Fruit at 2 o'clock!" And for the sixth time since they'd arrived on the planet, John snickered and traded shit eating grins with Ronon.

"Your arsenal of jokes seems on the low side, Colonel. Perhaps you could invest in a water-squirting flower for your tac vest. Or, I bet you could get miles of fun out of a hunk of plastic doggie doo."

John snorted at the sight of Rodney, pulled up to full height, in high dudgeon, uttering the words, "doggie doo."

Then Ronon raised an eyebrow, Teyla looked puzzled and John found himself in the uncomfortable position of possibly having to explain to the two decidedly NON-Earthers where the humor could be found in fake dog shit.

John quickly composed himself while trying to fight the smile that formed at the thought of leaving a plastic turd somewhere strategic back at the city. Maybe in Elizabeth's In box… Carson's nice sterile infirmary… nope. Kavanagh's desk drawer. The one where he hid his fibre bars and muesli.

Rodney snapped his fingers, bringing John out of his reverie. "You're thinking about the plastic poop, aren't you?" He sighed dramatically, then paused. "Where would you put it?"

"Kavanagh's drawer."

Rodney smiled beatifically. "Brilliant! That man's constipation, both physical and social, is legendary. Good one, Colonel. Quite… poetic, actually."

"Thank you, Rodney," John replied smugly. He then turned about to resume their forward hike through the forest and was immediately thwacked in the face by a bulbous piece of bright red fruit hanging from a nearby tree.

"Damn it!" He raised a hand to push it away, barely avoiding the return swing of the branch.

"I'm sorry. What was I just saying was poetic? Might I amend my statement?"

"Shut up, Rodney," John growled. He looked at Teyla and she averted her eyes quickly. "It left a stain, didn't it?"

"It is not too bad, Colonel. Barely noticeable."

Rodney snorted. "Looks like you got kissed by a bigmouthed bass wearing lipstick."

"And you know this from experience, McKay?" John countered, rounding on the smug physicist.

"Please," Rodney replied coolly. "Carson is the fishophile. I merely crafted an appropriate simile."

John scrubbed his hand on the spot where the fruit had hit, peering forlornly at his clean fingers.

"It dries remarkably fast," Rodney commented. "Best get used to having it there for a week or so."

"I did warn you, Colonel," Teyla said with a cocked eyebrow. "The qirmizi fruit is highly prized on many planets for its color… and its permanence. It can be used for dyes, glazes, artists' paints. Women use it --"

"-- Yes, Teyla. Thanks for the info," John hurriedly cut in. "These people had better have something better to trade than squishy red fruit. I'm talking chocolate, coffee and bubble gum good."

Rodney's eyebrows rose so far they almost disappeared into his hairline. "How about ZedPM good? That would be very good, yes?" He was already shaking his head in exasperation, then paused. "The coffee and chocolate would be a nice bonus, though."

"See? That's what I'm talking about. Maybe they'll have chocolate-covered ZPMs, McKay."

"Now that's just silly," Rodney muttered but appeared cheered by the thought.

"Road."

John glanced over to see Ronon, all but forgotten, had stopped at the edge of what appeared to be an honest to goodness road. Not exactly the blacktopped, painted line Earth type road, but of higher quality than the typical dusty paths they normally encountered.

"Good eye, Big Guy," John said with a grin. "It IS a road."

Ronon just glared and headed off in the direction of the small city visible in the distance.

"No sense of humor that one," John quipped, hooking his thumb at the runner's back.

Teyla just elbowed past him with a put upon look and followed Ronon.

"What?"

"Apparently sarcasm pisses off Satedans," Rodney observed with a shrug, then hustled to catch up to the other two.

"Wow!"

"I had heard of the city's wealth but I had never truly believed it," Teyla breathed, staring as the rest did at the splendor before them.

Buildings like crystalline spires, reminiscent of their own Lantean home, rose up against a lavender sky. From windows and balconies brightly colored pennants flapped in the strong breeze above a thronging marketplace.

As the team entered the city under a broad asymmetrical archway they caught the scents of cooking meat and spices; flowers and perfumes added to the heady brew.

The first kiosk after the entrance was a cart laden down with flowers of every shade of the spectrum. They were braided into long chains, cut into small bundles, and were growing out of earthenware pots.

Standing behind the cart was a mahogany skinned man in a long purple silk tunic. A loosely fitting, bright red vest and red and purple paisley print pants completed the garish ensemble. His dark brown hair had been caught up into a long ponytail that cascaded down his back. He grinned widely at them as they approached, several gold teeth glinting in the sunlight.

"Welcome to Svarga. A'namaste!"

John answered the man's smile with his own and a little head nod. "Thanks! Nice to be here. In beautiful Svarga," he added.

The man's grin broadened beyond what should have been all physical capability. "It IS a beautiful city. Are you here to trade? My blossoms are the biggest and freshest in the city."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," John said amiably. He tossed a look at his team, biting his lip to keep from chuckling. Ronon had already decided to ignore the flower vendor and had his hand on his blaster at his hip, taking reconnaissance of the marketplace with a suspicious glare. Rodney was staring at the cart like it held explosives and he was holding a lit match. And Teyla…Teyla was seemingly enthralled by the cart's contents.

John bent over slightly and murmured in the Athosian's ear. "You see something you like, Teyla?"

She stammered and her cheeks pinked. "I… I was simply admiring his wares. It is only polite."

"Course it is. You, um, admiring a particular sample of his wares?"

Her fingers reached out and touched a braided chain of large, densely petaled orange blossoms, like giant, souped up cousins of Earth marigolds. "Their scent is… we have something on Athos very similar to this."

"Ahh, the lady has good taste," the vendor said as he picked up the chain. "Genda flowers. They are beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady. For you, only satreh rupaya." And he leaned over the cart to place the wreath over Teyla's head.

Teyla quickly backed up and smiled at him. "Thank you. But we are travelers only." She gave the flowers a wistful look. "We wish to speak with your leaders. To discuss trade," she added hastily as the man's grin faded and his eyes flicked nervously.

"Trade?" he replied, the smile returning. "If you are to be new trade partners with Svarga, you must accept a gift. A… gesture… to express to you our happiness that you are here. Please." And he held the flowers out once more.

Teyla shook her head. "No, I couldn't."

John stepped up next to her. Reached behind into his pack and pulled out several foil-wrapped chocolate bars. "Teyla, would you feel better if we traded for them?"

She hesitated only the briefest of moments, then hurriedly bowed her head to allow the vendor to place the necklace of flowers. "As an opening trade gesture, I think it appropriate," she said with a smile, then buried her nose in the nearest blossom.

"Thank you," she told the vendor with a happy sigh. "And thank you, Colonel," she added.

Rodney snorted and backed away from her as she turned. John just bounced on the balls of his feet and nodded at the vendor with a wink. He mouthed, 'thank you,' to the vendor as he handed over the chocolate bars.

The Svargan held out an arm pointed further into the city. "You will find our city center is where the Mahodayahan meet. Our leaders here in the city. They will be happy to meet new trading partners."

John gave him another nod, caught Ronon's eye to let the runner know they were moving and headed off in the direction given.

Their way through the crowded market was slow going. They passed carts laden down with huge bolts of brightly dyed fabric and others bearing massive chunks of meat on rotisseries that churned out gouts of spicy, greasy smoke. One vendor sold musical instruments; stringed ones that looked like lutes or sitars, flutes, pipes and woodwinds. Drums made of hollowed out gourds with animal skins stretched over them. A boy of five or six had a child-sized xylophone-looking thing that sat on his lap and he beat upon the smooth stones with a small mallet.

Another cart held jewelry. Long strings of rainbow-hued beads shared space with delicate metallic chains, bracelets and bangles, and rings. The metal was primarily a dark silvery-tone but some was of a pinkish tone, like the rose gold of Earth.

The woman at the jewelry cart was wearing a dress made of sky blue shimmery fabric, wrapped in a complicated fashion around her and up over one bare brown shoulder. There were bright glints at her ears and nose and her arms held dozens of the silvery bangles and Rodney had to be pulled away as he began to wander over to her.

Throngs of people collected around a kiosk where a man in cobalt blue silk and a black fur vest displayed pelts of exotic animal skins. Some were the expected brown, a few zebra-like with sharply contrasting black and white stripes. Others were a clear indication that they were in the Pegasus Galaxy. One woman was trying on a wrap made of feathers unlike any seen on Earth- gaudy enough to put the peacock to shame. The man with her was angrily arguing with the vendor but still dug into the pouch at his waist, pulling out a handful of large coins.

Rodney was again temporarily swayed, this time by a cart bearing all manner of pastries. The portly salesman in snow white silks had an orange apron tied around his neck and was busily doling out cookies and tarts to the people lined up. John hooked a hand around Rodney's arm and pulled him out of queue.

Even Ronon found something to interest him. As they neared the fringe of the market the carts thinned and buildings rose from the margins of the wide cobblestone street. At one of the last of the kiosks, a vendor was selling knives. Some had been forged from a dark chalky metal. Some had been carved from what looked like animal bone and others from a green hued mineral. One looked as if it had been cut from a chunk of obsidian and Ronon actually lifted it from its padded case. He hefted it and raised his eyebrows. "It's light."

"Yes, shri, yes it is." The vendor, a snowy haired man of apparently advanced years, leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "It is meant for concealment. The knife does not carry much weight, therefore it does not divulge its presence under a dhoti."

Ronon nodded noncommittally. He ran his thumb on the edge and hissed, pulling this now lightly bleeding thumb to his lips.

"Oh, shri, it is very sharp. Please be careful."

Ronon just growled and tossed the knife into the air, catching it skillfully and effortlessly by the hilt. "Balance is good," he noted.

"You are obviously a man who knows his knives, shri. You like it? For you, only nabbe rupaya."

"You're lookin' at that knife like Teyla was lookin' at the flowers, Big Guy. Pretty weapon caught your fancy?" John asked with a smirk.

The runner grunted but didn't put the knife down. "Would probably shatter first time I used it," he muttered but the vendor heard him.

"Oh, NO, shri. It is made of cam'kala. Hardest substance on Svarga."

Ronon drilled a glare through the vendor's forehead then raised the knife and brought it down on the edge of the wooden cart.

John held his breath, waiting for the knife to explode into a million shards and the inevitable angry mob fallout. But the blade sliced a thin, deep cut into the soft wood and remained in Ronon's hand, completely intact. Not even a chip had been knocked from the edge.

Ronon smiled and nodded, dreads bouncing on his shoulders. "This will do. This will definitely do." He dug into his pack and pulled out a small animal skin pouch. After tugging it open he removed a chunk of metal, so shiny it was almost white, the size of a thimble and handed it to the vendor. "That do?"

The salesman stared at the ingot in his hand with saucered eyes for a moment then echoed Ronon's smile. "Yes, shri. Yes, it will do." He quickly put the piece of metal in his own hip pouch and reached below the cart, pulling out a small burlap sack.

"A bag for the kni--"

John looked over and the knife was already gone.

"Got it. Thanks," Ronon grunted, then turned to continue walking towards the city.

Rodney got a small surprised look on his face then turned to smile at John. "Huh. Apparently, Satedans have expensive taste and the ability to pay for it."

The city center was a wide plaza, flanked on three sides by the tall-spired buildings. Though it was almost midday on the planet, the sun's rays were blocked by the towering structures and cast the plaza into cool shadows. A massive fountain on a raised dais took up one end, designed with a golden statue of a many-armed man, each hand holding a goblet that gushed forth clear, sparkling water.

Before it sat a long, low table with a group of men and women seated at it. There was a long scroll unfurled on the tabletop and the seated figures argued over its contents.

At the team's appearance a woman rose and approached them. Her dark hair was now mostly iron grey and ran in a tight braid down her back. The emerald green garment she wore was similar to those seen in the market but crossed over her chest to cover her bosom and both shoulders. She bowed her head and raised her hands at her sides.

"A'namaste."

John returned the foreign greeting as best as possible and dipped his head. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. These are Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, and Rodney McKay," he introduced in turn. "Nice city ya got here."

The woman tipped her head in gracious acknowledgment. "Thank you. The gods have been gracious with their blessings on Svarga. I am Niogi Lakshana. Welcome to our fair city, travelers. How may I be of assistance?"

The rest of the council had stopped their arguing to scope out the team with nakedly appraising eyes. One younger woman had already cast hooded eyes at Ronon but quickly dipped her head abashedly when he grinned at her.

"No assistance. We're just tourists," John said with a smile. "Visitors," he amended at her puzzled look. "And possibly traders?"

She nodded again. "We trade with many worlds through the gota." She mimed a large circle with her hands in the air. "The Eye of the Gods."

John chuckled. "We call it a stargate. But yes, we came through the gota. We, um, don't have much with us but back home, we may have stuff to barter with."

"You wish the qirmizi? Our orchards have been blessed with a bountiful crop this season."

John unconsciously raised a hand to rub at the spot on his cheek. "No, I think we'll pass on them. I understand the flesh isn't very good to eat and we could really use some edible stuff."

"Of course. We have many fruits and vegetables. You may be interested in our kahava bean. It makes a very excellent beverage, very popular. It sharpens the mind and energizes the body."

"That… that sounds suspiciously and wonderfully like coffee," Rodney broke in, stepping forward eagerly.

"Take it easy, McKay. You'll scare the nice lady," John warned.

"I'm just saying. I mean, if you won't let me ask for ZedPMs, the least we could get out of this trip is some coffee. You wouldn't let me get that pastry with the red berries and cream."

"Yes, Rodney. We'll see if we can feed the monkey on your back. Kahava sounds like something we'd be interested in, ma'am," he said, returning to the councilwoman.

"Very good. I will introduce you to the family that owns the largest orchard. They own a great deal of land in the mountains, the best area to grow the kahava."

"See? It's gotta be coffee. Coffee grows in the mountains back home. At least the good stuff. I had this Costa Rican blend I used to have shipped to the lab at university. Bricks of the stuff, and it cost a pretty penny but it was worth it, let me tell you. It was--"

"McKay! Enough. Yes, ma'am. That would be great. Thank you."

Introductions were made with the son of the cousin of the brother of the plantation owner. The young man had eagerly waved them on to a large animal drawn wagon, the likes of which John hadn't seen since a high school hayride. Jenny Stakowski had been a lovely, soft armful in a fuzzy pink sweater and she'd let him get to second base. The memory of her bra-covered breast in his hand gave him a smile that was quickly wiped away by the recollection that he'd gotten a nasty set of chigger bites from the hay.

The beasts of burden, the driver called them ghota, were horse-like, to be kind but horribly ugly and mean to boot, spitting at anyone who go too close as John found out when he tried to pet its neck.

Their way through up into the mountains had taken them up a stone road. As their second hour in the cramped wagon bed passed the forest around them thickened and turned more jungle-like. Branches of the broadleaved trees formed a dark, dense green archway overhead and small, grey-furred animals scattered at their approach, causing leaves and twigs to rain down constantly.

A viscous tan glop landed on the wagon next to Rodney and he yelped and practically scrambled into Ronon's lap.

"That…that… thing tried to SHIT on me!" He fumbled for the 9mm at his hip and almost had the safety off before he could be stopped.

"McKay! Put the gun down!" John shouted, placing his hand over the top of the automatic. "It's just a little… monkey squirrel shit. Relax."

"Monkey squirrel? Is that even a possible taxonomic nomenclature?"

"They have squirrel monkeys back home. Pegasus can have monkey squirrels, Rodney," John said with a final, smug nod.

The wagon lurched and the four of them flung out their arms to secure themselves. John peeked over the top of the backboard and tapped the driver on the shoulder. "We almost there, guy?"

"Oh, yes, shri. I must apologize for the bumpiness. This road is not often traveled by anyone but my brother and me. We take loads of kahava to market at harvest time. But up front here, or on the backs of ghoda, we do not suffer the way you are. But we shall be there very soon. It is just up around that hill."

"Hear that, guys? Maybe we can walk back down," he added, rubbing at his hip where it had banged against the wooden frame.

The wagon master did not lie. They rounded the crest of a hill and got their first look at the kahava plantation in all its glory.

Thick green lawn rose up a smooth incline where the house sat. Goatlike ruminant grazers roamed about, munching contentedly on the grass. A group of children played on the hill; a pigtailed girl of nine or ten chased after a group of like-aged kids who laughed as they squirmed out of reach. A group of older children in their teens, up closer to the house, sat on low cushions, reading and drawing .

The house itself was a many-spired behemoth. It rose several stories and spread out over an area the size of half a city block. Brightly colored pennants like those seen in the city flapped noisily in the breeze.

As the ghodas' hooves clopped on the stone road the sound echoed off the monstrous structure. One of the children, a boy barely older than a toddler, broke free from the group, screaming, "Pita! Pita!" at the top of his lungs. The wagon master brought the team of beasts to an abrupt halt and got down to scoop the giggling boy into his arms. He whirled about with the boy in his arms and grinned at the team as they unloaded off the back of the wagon. "This is my son. Amol, go tell the Premika that we have traders here." And with that he set the boy down and shooed him off with a smack on the butt.

The boy scooted off as quickly as his short little legs would carry him up the hill and into the entrance of the home.

"I don't suppose this place would have a chiropractor on site," Rodney grumbled as he rubbed at the small of his back.

A few minutes later a woman emerged and stood at the entrance, making no effort to greet or meet them halfway.

"I'd guess that's the lady of the house, guys," John said. "And I'm thinking she doesn't like to be kept waiting."

The team climbed the green grass-covered hill and as they neared John heard Rodney whistle under his breath.

The woman was beautiful. Coldly regal in her bearing, she stood ramrod straight, not even acknowledging the still approaching team.

Her rich, dark hair was caught up in an intricate weave, from the top of which emerged a cascade of molten chocolate waves that fell to halfway down her back. Jewels flashed at her throat, her ears, her nose. Silver sparkled along her hairline and dozens of silver bangles covered her slim brown arms from elbow to wrist. Her gown was of magenta and the orange of the blossoms Teyla wore and exposed an expanse of cleavage John thought he could happily fall into.

When they'd finally drawn near enough she nodded shortly. But not in a respectful, subordinate manner. It was more like, yes, you are being graced with my temporary attentions.

John started with his typical friendly smile and made the effort to bow his head at the woman. "Ma'am."

As he lifted his face he saw that she was staring at him. Her eyes widened and remained pinned squarely on him.

"Ma'am?" he tried again, beginning to squirm a bit under her piercing stare.

"Your face," the woman said.

"My…" John sighed and sagged a little. His fingers rose to scrub at the top of his jaw near his ear where the fruit had stained him. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Run in with one of your qirmizi fruits."

Her hand suddenly shot out and stopped him, pulled his fingers away. She replaced them with her own, tracing the outline of the mark with warm, smooth fingertips.

John distinctly heard Rodney mutter, "Oh, brother," and he pulled away from her touch.

"You bear the mark of Yama-Ushas. She has kissed your flesh and left it behind as a sign."

"No, nope, sorry, ma'am. Just a fruit stain," John said with a chuckle.

The woman finally broke her gaze free but remained distracted. "I am Premika here. What brings you to my home?"

He quickly made introductions of the team. "This is Teyla Emmagan of Athos, Ronon Dex of Sateda, Dr. Rodney McKay and I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. We heard you traded kahava beans. Not sure what we might offer in exchange, but even if we don't trade, it's sometimes nice just to meet folks."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "If you have nothing to offer then you may take your leave." She began to turn on one sandaled foot and John reached out a hand to stop her, recoiling quickly at the death glare she pinned him with.

"Sorry. Sorry. Just. Well, no need to be rude now. I'm sure we can arrange a trade of something. Why so quick to dismiss us?"

She narrowed her painted eyes at him. "I have had men killed for lesser offenses," she hissed.

A shadow moved within the house, behind the woman, and Ronon growled, dropping his hand to his blaster.

Teyla stepped forward and bowed her head deeply. "What the colonel is trying to say, Premika, is that we are honored to have been greeted so warmly in your home. And while we do wish to enter trade negotiations with you, as you can understand, we had a very long journey just to come here. We were not sure if you would even be willing to grace us with the opportunity to trade. We did not wish to come laden down with trade goods if we were unsuccessful in our attempt."

The Premika's eyes remained tight but her posture relaxed slightly. "You are of Athos. We traded with your world many, many moons ago. Last I heard, your planet had fallen to the Marityu. To the Lifetakers."

Teyla nodded. "The Wraith came and Colonel Sheppard and his people took us in, found us a new home."

"And you, Dex? Sateda as well. Were you also taken in by the…" She fumbled over the strange title. "Colonel?"

Ronon shrugged his shoulders, his eyes flicking to hers and right back to the form in the background. "You could say that."

She appeared to mull the information over, playing idly with the bangles on one wrist.

"I notice, Colonel, that you neglected to say what planet you and the doctor were from."

"It's pretty small, ma'am. You've probably never heard of it." At the dagger eyes this earned John quickly added, "We don't trade. Often. We are a pretty poor planet. We would not have anything worthy of you. We've managed to find… things… in our travels… that WOULD be worthy of trade. Now." He was sweating bullets, trying to find a way to hide Earth and the Milky Way galaxy AND Atlantis.

"They did not often use their gate, their gota, Premika," Teyla once again hastened to add. "These two men are unusual. They are explorers. Brave enough to enter the gota though there are superstitions that forbid it on their planet."

"Brave? You are warriors?" She seemed extremely intrigued by this prospect and the x-ray vision-like scan of John's face and body began anew.

"Well, I'm a warrior. Sorta. Soldier is a better word but, yeah, I guess," John replied. "Doctor McKay is more a man of science. Not so much in the warrior business."

"What? I can… I have… I can… just because I prefer to think my way out of situations instead of SHOOTING does not mean I'm not a warrior!"

Rodney quickly swallowed back any further words as the Premika turned her eyes on him. She swept a look over him, head to feet and back again. Took a step closer, grabbed his face and peered into his eyes. "Your eyes are blue."

"Yes, yes, they are," he mumbled through pinched cheeks and a jaw held fast. Remarkably, he lasted almost five seconds further in her grasp before pulling free. "What's with the touching?"

She turned her head and glared at John. "Your eyes are not blue."

"Nooooo. Sorry?" John said doubtfully.

She flicked back to Rodney, then to John and back again. Wrinkling her nose in apparent disgust she whirled about and headed for the entrance to the house.

"Jahni will take you to see the orchards," she tossed over shoulder before she was swallowed up by the monstrous house.

"Wow. That was… wow." John just shook his head at the woman's odd behavior.

"You know, when she first did the whole face touching thing, I figured, you know. Here we go again. The hot alien babe wants Captain Kirk. But you know what, Sheppard? I don't think she cares for you."

"Yeah, I got that, Rodney."

"I think she might actually like ME, for a change. Hm. Mom always said my eyes were my nicest feature."

Jahni, the wagon driver, loaded them back up and took them further up into the hills, his son joining them for the ride, sitting up next to his dad on the buckboard. The way was even rougher than the ride from the city, the road being little more than ruts worn into the hard-packed ground.

"This is just…. What are we possibly going to get out of looking at a bunch of trees? There isn't a botanist among us, and I for one couldn't tell the difference between an elm and an oak if my life depended on it."

"You wanted-- the--- coffee, Rodney," John bit out as they jostled over a bump.

"Yes, well, we don't even know this is going to BE coffee, do we? Or even coffee-LIKE."

"Look, Mr. Costa Rican blend, you were the one all gaga for the java. We're almost there. Just settle back and make the best of it. Or I can ask Jahni to put you out and you can walk back."

Teyla and Ronon looked at Rodney like they'd gladly use the room in the bed of the cramped wagon.

Rodney started what looked to be a tirade in the making when they hit another bump and his jaws clacked together. All he muttered was an, "Ow," and settled sullenly back down into the corner.

A mercifully short time later Jahni pulled the wagon to a stop. "We are here, friends," He announced cheerily. Amol jumped off the seat, landing in that sloppy, rubbery-legged manner little kids had, then scampered off, disappearing into the trees surrounding them.

The word the Premika had used was orchard but that was a rather generous description. It looked pretty much like the dense jungle they'd been traveling through since they'd entered the hills. Until you noticed the clusters of squat banyan-like trees almost hidden by their taller cousins.

John eased himself down off the back of the wagon, wincing and rubbing at the same spot on his hip he'd bruised the first trip. Ronon hopped down gracefully as if disembarking from first class, took in a wide scan of their perimeter, then turned to lean his back against the wagon, hand on his blaster as he kept a watch on the jungle surrounding them.

John lifted a hand that Teyla took with a grateful smile and helped her jump down from the back. Rodney stuck out his hand for the same help and John rolled his eyes at him but wrapped a hand around his friend's forearm and steadied him as he half fell, half sagged out of the back.

"Why do we never find worlds with like, hovercraft or luxury automobiles?"

John cocked his head. Tossed a glance at the waiting native and lowered his voice. "The Wraith, Rodney. When a world gets culled every --"

"--Yes, yes. Rhetorical question. Thanks for the history lesson in something I'm already aware of." He brushed his hands down his uniform slacks, wrinkling a nose at the dust kicked up. Turned to the wagon driver and pasted on a so fake why did he even bother smile. "So. Coffee. Lead on Juan Valdez."

"My name is Jahni, shri," the amiable driver replied.

"Yes. Quite. The beans?"

"Right above you, shri. All around us. They are not quite ready for harvest yet, but you can tell by their chala… their skins, that they are very near the picking time."

"They are a lovely shade right now, Jahni," Teyla said, staring up at a hanging group of lime green beans. John gave her a puzzled look and her shrug quite clearly said she was trying.

"Oh, yes, shrimati," Jahni agreed earnestly, moving up to her side. He reached up and pulled free a small cluster of the marble-sized beans. "They are turning yellow, as you can see here. When they are the gold of the noontime sun, they are ready to pick."

"What would you call that, Rodney? Is that celadon?" John asked, gesturing with a smirk at the seeds.

"I think it's more of a chartr- what am I? A Gap catalog? They're coffee beans. Or at least that's what I've been promised. And they aren't even ready. What exactly was the purpose of this trip again?"

John's patient retort was interrupted by a high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream from off in the trees. Seconds later was a deep growl that had Ronon whirling about and John pulling his 9mm free from its holster.

"Bagha! Bagha!" Jahni went racing off towards the sound of a second wail from his son. The little boy burst out into the roadway from the line of trees, whipping his head around, looking desperately for his dad. His short little legs pumped as hard as they could and he cut a sharp turn, headed for his father's arms.

But it was too late.

From the trees behind the boy came a monstrous beast. Like a tiger with a narrower head and leaner body, the cat was a mottled dark green and black, blending in perfectly with the dense jungle it hunted in. It was easily ten feet long, pure muscle packed under its fur. There was another coughing roar and yellow eyes flashed as it caught sight of its young prey.

There was a whine and a flash of red light as Ronon unleashed his blaster, twice in rapid succession, but the cat had already sprung on its massive haunches and the beam struck a tree, sending sparks and smoke into the air.

Amol was mere feet from his father when the beast landed on him, wrapping massive paws around the boy's form and bearing him to the ground.

"Amol!" Jahni cried out despairingly. He made a desperate, brave but ultimately foolish attempt to pull the boy free. The cat reached out a single paw and batted the man away like a piñata. Jahni was knocked away several feet and did not get up.

John was the next closest. There was no time to try his 9mm, and there was too much risk of hitting the boy, so he shoved it back into place on his hip and did the only thing left to him. He pulled his Gerber from its sheath on his leg and launched himself onto the Bagha.

The cat snarled and bucked, and John caught a split-second glimpse of the boy. He'd curled up like a pillbug, knees to his chest, hands knitted over his head. Still alive.

His attention was soon taken by staying alive himself. He buried one hand into the greasy thick fur at the back of the cat's neck, closing his fist as tightly as he could around the skin that bunched there. He drew back the Gerber and was about to sink it into the beast's back when it decided that John would make a better, bigger meal, and rose up from off the boy. It stood on its hind legs, waving its front paws in the air, carrying John with it like a bucking bronco.

John had to let go of the Gerber. He watched it fall to the thick grass below as he frantically grappled for another fistful of fur to hang on to.

The cat dropped heavily back down to all fours and John oofed as he was jarred loose. Fur made for a slippery mount and he felt himself sliding off. He landed on his right side, his 9mm pinned between him and the ground. And the beast was upon him.

Fetid, rancid breath filled his nose and the Bagha let loose a coughing growl that made his eardrums thrum.

He quickly folded in as tightly as he could, his knees and arms protecting his neck and belly. As darkness descended he caught sight of Rodney scooping the boy up into his arms, his pale face drawn in horror as they briefly met eyes.

The cat's fangs attacked his shoulders, trying to get at his neck and head. John screamed, yelled, swore with the fervor of Sam Kinison. He jabbed an elbow into the cat's belly but the creature only sunk its teeth in further. He thought the pain was the worst he'd ever felt. Until the cat took its back paws and dug them into his back.

He'd seen cats at play. Jenny Stakowski, his pink-sweatered love, had a cat. When it had attacked the little knit ball thrown for it the cat immediately tried to disembowel the toy with its back claws.

This cat wasn't playing. And John was not a little knit toy.

His tac vest offered little protection against the razor sharp claws. By the second or third go the vest failed and a dozen stripes opened in his back simultaneously. His instinct was to immediately protect his back against the continued onslaught but he couldn't afford to expose his stomach and head so he curled tighter.

Desperation lent him strength and he coiled like a spring, digging his heels into the ground. Making a Hail Mary attempt to free himself, he squirted out from under the cat's bulk. The element of surprise gained him momentary freedom and he scrambled to put more distance between him and the Bagha.

"Sheppard!" John looked up to see Ronon with his blaster in one hand, the obsidian knife he'd purchased in the market in the other. John nodded, hoping Ronon would let loose a fiery rain of red on the cat's ass. But the Satedan pulled back the arm holding the knife and lobbed it in John's direction. It landed hilt up, point buried in the soft ground mere inches from John's hand. He grabbed it up and readied it just as the cat sunk its teeth in the back of his thigh.

Screaming in agony and anger, John twisted free and the cat tried to clamp onto his arm. He felt a tooth catch on his flesh, opening a foot long strip down his arm but he clambered to his knees and sprang. The first thrust of the knife sliced a gaping wound into the cat's head but the blade bounced off the massive bony skull. The second sunk into one yellow eye.

The Bagha shrieked, pawed at the raw, bloody hole where its eye had been. Three strikes and it was out. John buried the knife to the hilt in the beast's ear. It barely had time to howl before tipping over and landing with a bone-shaking thud to the ground, dead.

John crabbed back a few feet, gasping for air, staring wide-eyed at the cat as if it might spring to life.

Teyla rushed over and dropped to the ground next to him. She laid a tentative hand on his arm, but she had to search first for an unbloodied spot. "John?" Her voice was soft and as tentative as her touch.

"'s everyone okay? The boy?" he asked, his chest still heaving as he stared at the Bagha.

"The boy is not badly injured," she replied in a soothing voice. "He is with his father."

John looked over to see that Jahni had come to and was cradling his son in his arms.

"Jahni will be okay as well, John," Teyla added when she saw the object of his concern. She dug into the pockets in her uniform, pulling out rolled up field bandages and unfurling them with brisk flicks of her hand. She began wrapping the long wound on his arm as Ronon came over and dropped into a squat next to them.

"That was pretty impressive, Sheppard," Ronon said with a grin.

"Why… why…" John shook his head a little to clear it and hissed as it pulled at the wound in his shoulder. "Why the hell didn't you shoot the damn thing?"

"I was afraid of hitting you. And if I'd had it on stun, it would've come crashing down on top of you. Thing has to go 900 pounds if not more."

Rodney fell to his knees next to the group. "That's 409.1 kilograms," he said stonily.

"Thanks, Rodney. American, remember? But thanks," John replied with a shaky but game smile that mutated into a grimace as Teyla finished the knot on the arm bandage.

"We must get you back to the house," Teyla said as she prodded at his leg. He looked at her and furrowed his brow in confusion. "Your leg, John," she said, gesturing with her head. He looked down and saw his BDUs soaked through at the thigh. "Oh," he said stupidly, lifting the leaden limb from the ground high enough for her to scoot a length of bandage around it several times.

He realized the adrenaline high that had been the only reason he was upright had started to wear off when he began to slump sideways, too tired to even try catching himself.

"Whoa, hey now," Rodney muttered as he braced John's uninjured shoulder with his hands. "Teyla's right. That thing's buddies might be out there still. We need to get back to the house. No. Scratch that. Sorry, bad pun. We need to get back to Atlantis. Carson's gonna need all the thread in his sewing basket for this. This is… this is just…"

"Rodney," John grunted, "just…" His eyes fluttered, then slammed open as he gasped. Teyla had lifted the vest to see how bad the damage was on his back.

John caught the look Teyla exchanged with Ronon. "Yeah, I can tell it's bad, guys. I'd like nothing better than some of Carson's good stuff right now, but Rodney's right. No telling if that thing had a mate or hunting party. Just… help me up," he sighed, looking at Ronon.

The Satedan grabbed John by the elbows and pulled up as John dug his heels into the ground and rose. The movement set off each individual wound and John was unable to stopper the groaned curse that left his mouth. He swayed and his knees buckled and he felt himself falling as Ronon lifted him at the waist in a fireman's carry and brought him over to the wagon. The creatures pulling the wagon had spooked at the cat's attack and had taken off in a panic, getting themselves caught up in some trees off the road.

Jahni had been standing to the side, his still softly sobbing boy in his arms, watching. He quickly scrambled up into the driver's seat, placing the boy down next to him. Amol's arms remained locked in place as he clung to his father, his head buried in the man's side.

Ronon laid John down on his least injured side and climbed up into the wagon bed next to him. Teyla and Rodney scrambled in as well and Jahni tugged at the ghodas' reins. The animals extricated themselves quickly, setting back out on to the road they knew led to home and feed eagerly.

The ride back down was much more sober than the trip up. The sky was darkening and the monkey squirrels were gone. Instead, overhead flitted batlike creatures with long thin heads and even longer tails and an eerie call, like a crying baby, that set the team's teeth on edge.

John settled into a mostly quiet stupor, his head cushioned in Teyla's lap. When the wagon hit one of the numerous potholes he would groan and bite his lip but not a word of complaint was uttered. And he tried to ignore the worried looks his teammates exchanged over his prone body.

When they finally arrived back at the house, it was almost dark. Candlelight flickered in several windows and the smell of meat cooking drifted on the evening breeze. Family that had been enjoying the warm afternoon had all gone inside and the house was a darker shadow against a purpling sky.

Amol had stopped crying over the course of their ride and when the wagon pulled to a stop, Jahni gave the boy a quick kiss, then jumped down and ran for the house.

Moments later he came back with a group of servants who helped carry John off the back of the wagon. He groaned and roused, but didn't protest as they linked arms and settled him into the support they made. He was taken into the house and down a maze of corridors; he lost track of the turns they made until they arrived at a large bedroom. The Premika was there, conferring with a small, bald man in saffron robes covered by a short white jacket. At the servant's arrival with John the man walked over to the side of the bed and gestured for them to sit him down.

Practically chewing through his lip to keep from shouting out, John allowed them to remove his tac vest and shirt. At first they tried pulling the clothing off normally, but John's strangled cries were enough to have them slicing off the fabric with a knife.

A woman brought a tray over to the bald man, and he lifted a primitive syringe from off of it. A needle that looked better suited for knitting protruded from the end and dripped a milky substance.

"This is for to treat your pain, shri," the bald man said. His eyes were placid behind small gold-rimmed spectacles.

John flinched back, eyeing the syringe with horror. "Yeah, I'll p-pass," he stuttered.

"As you wish," the doctor said calmly, placing the syringe back on the tray. He next picked up a curved needle and a loosely rolled ball of dark thread. "Dhaga," the doctor said, gesturing at the ball.

John looked more closely at it through bleary eyes. It was faintly oily and did not appear to be made of cotton or any other recognizable fiber. "Wha's that?" he slurred.

"Is made from finest antadi. From ghoda." John continued to stare uncomprehendingly at him. "From here," the doctor said, pointing at his stomach.

"It's catgut, Sheppard," he heard Rodney say. He looked up to see his team had arrived without him noticing and they were now gathered around the bed. "Only it's not really catgut. Back home they get it from sheep and horses. This is apparently from those horse-looking things out there."

"Horse gut?" John replied dazedly.

Rodney sighed. "Look, I have more disdain for medical voodoo than you do, but please." His voice cracked a little and became desperate sounding. "Just let them sew you up, okay? Please?"

John nodded tiredly and the doctor quickly threaded the curved needle with a long length of the catgut. After a quick inspection the doctor evidently decided that the shoulder was the worst of the wounds. The woman with him wiped the area down with a cloth pad soaked in something that burned horribly and smelled foul.

When it came the insertion of the needle was only a ping against the din of pain in his shoulder. But when the doctor drew the thread taut, pulling the raw, ragged edges of the wound together, John was barely able to muffle his scream. His clamped shut lips finally parted and let out a harsh, coughing sob.

"Take the shot, Sheppard," Ronon said from somewhere close. John's eyes were squinched shut as he tried to breathe through the lingering agony. He was tired. And tired of hurting. He nodded, eyes closed, not trusting himself to speak.

The injection really did hurt like a mother but the edges of his vision softened and all the voices and sounds blended into an incomprehensible murmur. He felt himself being pushed onto his stomach which he usually hated for how defenseless it left him but the medication made his limbs jellylike and after a few pathetic attempts to push himself up he allowed his head to bury in the pillow and the darkness to overtake him.