The Prize

Chapter 1 – Lost and Found

On the planet Tigan…

"Ahhh!" The beam from the energy weapon grazed Sheppard's neck, the pain sharp and unrelieved by the cold rain. Damn, he was a good shot! And why was it that everyone had guns like Ronon's except John? One of these days he'd get one, no, make that a dozen of 'em. In the meantime…the man he was chasing through the scraggly woods was barely visible, well camouflaged by the weather and the rapid approach of night. Only the infrequent red flashes from his gun betrayed his position.

Sheppard was blessed by a brief pause in the veil of rain. He ducked behind a tree and listened hard, hoping his opponent would give himself away. He did – John could hear him crashing carelessly through the thorny undergrowth. Where the heck were Lorne and Ronon? Hopefully taking care of this guy's three friends. John knew he shouldn't have let himself get separated from the others, but he'd been taken by surprise when the man had broken away from the other renegade Genii. Sheppard couldn't risk using his radio again to get help; the noise might give him away. He crept closer, and took careful aim at the figure up ahead. He had him, he knew it…until he felt his ankle twist, caught in a tree root, as the soggy ground suddenly gave way beneath him. He plunged into a deep, dark hole, crying out in surprise and pain as his body thudded against the bedrock wall of the pit. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. John fell hard onto fetid, damp earth, saved from a broken neck only by thick masses of rotting vegetation – and by whatever cosmic good luck he had going for him in situations that would have killed just about anyone else.

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The door to the crumbling stone cottage flew open, and almost off its hinges, propelled as much by the wind and rain as by Ronon's enormous frustration.

"How did they get away from us?!"

"Ronon, letting your anger get the best of you will not help our efforts," said Teyla, pulling off her drenched jacket, "although I also do not understand how they are eluding us so successfully. Oh, no, look at your arm! Were you hit?" Blood oozed from a tear in Ronon's coat. It was trickling down his sleeve and staining the ancient wood floor.

"What, this? Nah, I slipped in the mud and nearly got skewered by a tree branch."

"The terrain is difficult, even in good weather," said Zovel, shaking water off his clothes as he and two of his own men went inside. Commander Ren Zovel was head of security for the Tigan government. "The storm is intensifying; it will soon be too dangerous to be outdoors. We can try again at first light; the rain hopefully will have ended by then. Do not worry; the Ring of the Ancestors is well-guarded by both your men and mine. The Genii cannot possibly escape."

"Yeah, I know, I know, but damn it! We had them! Before it started to rain!" Ronon tore off his long coat, draped it over a chair next to the fire, and started to pace.

"That's not our only problem," said Lorne. "Where's Colonel Sheppard? I haven't been able to reach him for nearly 30 minutes. 'Course, with the radios acting up so much, we might have missed each other. I was hoping he'd be here, though, since we didn't run into him on the way back."

"What was his last position?" asked Zovel.

"He'd split off from us, remember? Over near those weird rocks – the reddish-orange ones. Somehow Sheppard got his radio to work. The message was kinda garbled, but I know he said he had one of them in sight," said Ronon.

"I heard his transmission as well," added Teyla.

"I'll try to raise him again." Lorne turned on his walkie-talkie and called for Sheppard. All he got was static.

Ronon tried his own handset. "Nothing. We gotta go back out there. If they have him…!" He grabbed his coat.

"Ronon, Ronon, hold up!" Lorne intercepted him at the door. "I'm worried, too, but it might be that he just got turned around in the storm. Commander Zovel, can you give us some more men? I can pull one or two of mine from the Gate. Whether Colonel Sheppard's had an accident, or he's been captured, we need a lot more help out there."

"The weather…" began Zovel.

"With all due respect, Sir…the hell with the weather."

"Yes, I appreciate the urgency, Major, but please remember what I told you when your people first arrived. We are at risk the longer we stay outside. My men and I are not cowards, but this part of our world…there is a reason it is virtually uninhabited. You can see for yourself that this cottage has been abandoned for decades, if not centuries. The geology of these lands is harsh, the soil and water are dangerously polluted, and the animal life, oh, you would never want to..."

"All the more reason for us to get back out there and find Sheppard," said Lorne, cutting him off. "And, we have to find out what the hell the Genii are doing here. Atlantis has an alliance with Ladin Radim, a strong one, but Genii rebels are still out there. And when they show up out of the blue on some planet, and a peaceful and, no offense, ordinary one like yours, I want to know why!"

Somewhere out in the wilderness…

Their breath hung in hot, rancid clouds as the ape-like animals returned to their den, prey securely in tow, crude loops of sinew binding its feet and wrists. The one dragging Sheppard's body yanked hard on the rope whenever his clothes – or skin – caught on protruding rocks or tree roots. Droplets of John's blood left a trail behind him in the dirt as he was hauled, still unconscious, deeper and deeper into the caves. The creatures carried off their prize quickly and easily before others of their kind could detect his scent and challenge their claim. It had not taken them long to find the human, crumpled and senseless at the bottom of the pit. Their biology was finely attuned to any sound, any odor, any change in the norm of their subterranean environment. Millennia of evolution had left them perfectly adapted for life so far below the Tigan wastelands.

The tunnel terminated in a large, open space. On one side were five nests, easily big enough for a man, formed out of small branches and held together by a wattle and daub of pebbles, twigs and mud. Each nest was partially sheltered by skins draped over a latticework made of branches and the rib and long bones of past meals. The embers of a small fire smoldered in the center of the chamber, the smoke wafting gently upwards and beyond imposing stalactites. Across the way were four mounds, each about half a foot tall and several feet across. With powerful clawed hands the animals dug out a shallow hole, rolled John into it, then partially covered him up with a thin layer of soil, forming a fifth mound. One of the creatures began making rapid, multi-pitched grunts. At that, four of them turned and headed back down the tunnel. One stayed behind. He picked up a large rock and a long, sharpened branch, moved a few yards away from Sheppard, and then squatted down. His eyes never left the human's still form.

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Commander Zovel was right; conditions outside were becoming impossible. They had enough men to form three search parties, but with radio communication so spotty, they had a hard time coordinating their efforts. And, it was now completely dark. Night-vision equipment was pretty much useless. It was raining at least 1/2 inch per hour, and the air was full of wind-blown leaves and twigs.

The three teams had agreed to meet at the strange outcrop of rocks every thirty minutes. After two hours, there was still no sign of Sheppard – or the four Genii they had been chasing.

"Are you certain your space craft cannot help in the search?" asked Zovel.

"I'd love to use it, Sir," said Lorne, "but you saw what happened earlier today – the Jumper began to malfunction as soon as we neared the wastelands. It can fly, but none of its scanning technology works. We have virtually no air-to-ground communications. We have onboard weaponry, but the targeting system is inoperable. It seems like nothing involving complex wavelengths – including our radios – works in this specific region. You heard Dr. McKay: he thinks the mineral composition of the area's soil and bedrock, maybe even anomalies in the planet's magnetic field, are disrupting our equipment. He's been back at the Jumper all this time, trying to find a way around these problems, but so far, no luck."

"Which means we do everything on foot. Enough with the talking. Let's get out there again!" said Ronon impatiently.

Lorne gave Ronon a stern look, paused, then said, "Ronon's right. We need to expand our search radius and see what we find. If you locate Colonel Sheppard, or anything of interest, send up a flare so we can pinpoint your location." As each group moved out, Lorne smiled to himself. He could have reprimanded Ronan just then, but he probably would have ignored him. The young man was motivated by a sense of loyalty and responsibility that, for him, sometimes took priority over observing proper protocol. Lorne knew Ronan had been in the Satedan military. He must have been quite a challenge for those commanding officers, too.

Deep below…

Sheppard woke with a gasp, flat on his face, sucking in dirt through his nose and mouth. He started to choke, and in a spasm of coughing hacked up thick, muddy phlegm.

Which he couldn't see in the near pitch-black darkness of…wherever he was.

"Jesus Christ, now what? Oh shit…talking's not a good idea, John!" he wheezed, spitting out grit.

He lay still for a minute, groggy and confused, and tried to sort things out. He slowly remembered what had happened. Rain. Bad guy up ahead. Then, panic when he felt nothing beneath him but air.

He was buried in a pile of dirt. He was freezing. Bone-chilling cold seeped through his wet clothes. And he hurt – everywhere. In his plummet down into the pit John had caromed off of granite. His left arm felt broken. He'd been fortunate not to crack his spine.

Sheppard realized he was tied up, hands in front, with what felt like…what was it…leather? His ankles were bound, too. Alright, what the hell was going on, and where was he? As he awkwardly tried to push himself to his knees, he yelped and collapsed in pain. Oh, yeah, arm broken. His right ankle wasn't so great, either, and felt swollen tight inside his boot. He tried to shake some of the dirt off his head and face so he could see, but nearly threw up as his skull pounded in protest at the movement. Taking a deep but trembling breath, John turned carefully onto his bleeding back. He fumbled at his belt and found the sheath which…wasn't holding his knife. He didn't feel his other weapons on or near him. Had he lost them in the fall? Damn it! OK, Plan B, see if he still had his mini-flashlight or a glow stick in his vest, or Plan C, find a sharp rock – in the dark…

But now he realized it wasn't so dark. Patches of natural phosphorescence, scattered throughout what John now saw was a cave, gave off a faint, greenish glow. Alright, things were looking better. But as Sheppard tried again to get up, a huge, looming shape blotted out the light. He was struck hard on the shoulder by a piece of wood and fell back into the shallow hole. Incredibly strong hands pulled him up and pinned him high against the wall, leaving his bound feet dangling in mid-air. He kicked out in desperation, but the towering bulk just moved in closer, pushing him harder. John was completely immobilized by someone – or something – that he couldn't quite see beyond its black, bright eyes. He could smell it, though, and feel it. The creature was encrusted with dirt and stank of dung. Its coarse fur reeked of sour, rotting vegetation, and its breath was as vile as decomposing flesh. When John tried to talk the animal gave a loud shriek. Answering cries called back from down the tunnel. Sheppard was then slammed against the rocks. As his head and arm exploded in pain, he slid to the ground and into unconsciousness, dimly comprehending that a few broken bones were the least of his troubles right now.

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Slowly and painfully, John regained his senses. Glints of light hurt his half-closed eyes. It was bright, much too bright.

And the sound…it pierced his ears, drilling right into his throbbing head.

"Please, stop, I can't…" moaned a disoriented Sheppard.

The high-pitched chattering of the creatures ceased, replaced by low, sinister growls. All eyes turned to the human.

John froze, muscles tense. More of the things were with him now, huddled next to a large, crackling fire. He had no way to escape if they attacked; he was half on his back in the shallow pit, with a lame ankle and a useless left arm.

But, as quickly as they had noticed him, the creatures lost interest. They were too busy eating, tearing great chunks of bloody meat from a large carcass. Having no idea how long he might be ignored, John frantically evaluated what he was up against. There were five, well, for lack of a better term, cave-men. Each was about 5' 8", stocky, broad-shouldered, and had fur over most of their body. They had deadly-looking claws, and massive talons instead of toes. Sheppard flinched as two of them suddenly barked at each other and jumped up, grappling for the same piece of meat. And that was when he first noticed their mutations. One had fangs which protruded frighteningly from a severe cleft palate. Strange fleshy growths covered its chest, and it seemed to have only one ear. The other creature had one eye opaque with cataracts, and what looked like a grotesquely malformed penis and scrotum. A third animal had a withered stump instead of an arm, and was bald.

John decided to just lay still and be as invisible as possible. That meal looked substantial and hopefully it would take them a long time to polish it off.

But he had to find a way out of there, and preferably not in someone's stomach. Ever so carefully he dug his hands, now loosely tied given how much they'd thrown him around, through the dirt. There had to be something nearby he could use to escape. If he only had a gun! A rock, or even one of those big bones would…

Oh, god. He was so stupid. "Please, please still be there," he prayed. As quietly as he could, cringing when some dirt and rocks shifted in the pit, John slowly patted his vest…

…and gingerly wrapped his fingers around the grenade.

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The bright orange flare led everyone to Lorne's position – and to what he had found.

"Take a look." Squatting down, from under a bush he pulled out a severed arm, bloody and shredded where it had been ripped from the shoulder, and still wearing part of a shirt.

"Oh, dear god, it's not…!" cried McKay.

"No, no, relax, it's not him." Peeling back the sleeve, Lorne indicated a small mark on the inner arm. "Tattoo. It means he's a Genii insurgent. Now we know what happened to one of the four we've been chasing."

"Where's the rest of him?"

"That's all I found, Ronon."

The group stood silent for a moment.

"Well, now what?" griped McKay. "We've covered every square inch of this miserable piece of real estate. Where on earth is Sheppard?"

Zovel answered him. He looked sick. "The Colonel…I don't think he's on Tigan anymore…"

To Be Continued…Will Lorne's team find John? Or, will John 'dig' himself out of trouble? Stay tuned.