Captive Soul
Author: Rieval
Disclaimer: SGA and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story was created for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: GEN/T – some violence, some angst. Season 2, set after Aurora but before The Lost Boys.
Status/Parts: Complete in Six Parts.
A/N 1: The paragraphs in italics indicate flashbacks.
A/N 2: this story was written in French then Fenchurch1 translated it in English for me and LKY betaed it! Merci beaucoup Mesdames, vous êtes des anges!
Description: John's POV during a difficult rescue mission. Mckay Sheppard friendship.
oOo
Il faut vénérer l'Ame qui est faites de la pensée, dont le corps est souffle, la forme lumière, l'être espace.
(We have to venerate the Soul which is made of the thought, whose body is Breath, the form Light, the being Space).
Hymn to âtamn (Shatapatha-Brâhmana: 10.6), Seven Upanishads, Hinduism.
oOo
All of a sudden, I feel as though I'm about to be sick and it isn't just because of the noxious smell that is permeating the huge marquee we're in. It's the combined smells of sweat, animal waste and food.
Oh! And despair.
Three large brutes have just brought a new lot onto the stage. It's a young girl, no more than 13 or 14 years old. The Auctioneer gives his spiel, pointing out her qualities, the initial price is announced, and the bids mount up, then going, going, gone. Lot No 12 is sold.
I take a deep breath to control the feeling of nausea and I feel a hand rest on my shoulder. Teyla smiles at me, I reply with a forced smile.
Down on the stage, the auction continues, No. 13, a young woman and a small boy, a mother and her son, or maybe a brother and her sister, sold, No 14, a young man in his twenties, built like Schwarzenegger, sold, No. 15 … My heart leaps in my chest when I recognise the shape of the man being brought onto the stage. This time, it's Ladon Radim's hand that I feel on my shoulder, a firm hand that prevents me from getting at my P-90, hidden under my tunic, and shooting into the crowd.
"Wait" Ladon said.
And so, I… No, we wait, Teyla, Ronon and me. The Genii goes confidently down the steps and I follow him with my eyes, forcing myself not to look at lot No. 15, because if I do, there will be no hand, gentle or firm, that can stop me from causing a massacre.
Ladon has reached the seller and is talking to him. He looks relaxed, as though he goes to this sort of show all the time, but then, maybe he does?
Flashback
Cowen meets me in his office. There is a table, some files and a lamp, and, of course, no second chair, so I have to stand before him. He's scribbling something down in one of the files spread out before him and he ignores me completely. He's making a show of taking his time, then he finally puts the pen down, rocks a bit in his chair and looks me up and down for a long time, in silence. I say nothing. I allow him to enjoy this moment of victory. The infamous Colonel Sheppard, enemy of the Genii, the assassin responsible for the death of half a squad of the elite of the Genii army and the man who humiliated him is standing before him. This man who represents the people whom the Genii, no doubt, hate as much as the Wraith, the people of Earth, those thieves who think they have more right to live in Atlantis than the people of the Pegasus Galaxy – especially the Genii, of course. He's here in front of him, alone and unarmed, at his mercy.
He's right, of course. I am at his mercy, ready to beg and crawl if necessary. Only one thing is important here: to obtain information. The Genii have a system of informers to rival our best government agencies.
Cowen breaks the silence first.
"Major Sheppard! So, to what do I owe this visit?"
He smiles. Like he doesn't know why I'm here in this bunker that smells of death! A game, that's what all of this is, a game of power with simple rules, the one who has the information is also the one who holds the world in his hands. The Earthling play this game all the time, so why shouldn't the humans of Pegasus? And the Genii would certainly give the CIA a run for their money.
I smile at him and tell him everything, missing out no details, of the failed mission on Galdor. I don't correct his mistake in my rank. I know he knows, it's all part of the game.
Then I do exactly what he has been waiting for since the beginning of the meeting. I beg.
End of the flashback
Ladon listens to the auctioneer, grimaces, shakes his head and turns back. He's on his way back up the steps, when the man shouts to stop him. More pantomiming then Ladon pretends to think for a moment, feigning indecision, he nods his head and starts to move away again.
I swear under my breath, which gets me a frown from Ronon.
"Patience, Sheppard," he growls. "Radim knows what he's doing."
It's my turn to growl then I turn back to observe all that's going on the stage.
The auctioneer is behaving like a real Ford salesman, trying to snag a good sale: if the customer is hesitating, then get him to try out the merchandise.
The guy leads Ladon to Lot No 15.
I'm not watching. I'mnotwatchingI'mnotwatchingI'mnotwatching I-AM-NOT-WATCHING!!
There's a thingy that looks like a flower… a daisy… just above their heads. I stare at it until my eyes water.
"Sheppard," the Satedan growls again. I force my gaze away from the daisy and look at Ladon instead. He's gesturing for me to come and join him.
That's logical. I'm the buyer, not him. He's just an intermediary. It's my right to check to see if the merchandise is to my taste or not, unless it's just another humiliation that the Genii want to inflict on me. Who knows?
And who cares.
I go down the steps.
TBC
