Warning: Rated M for sexual and violent content in future chapters. Don't read it if it's not your cup of tea.
Disclaimer: SGA characters, tv episodes and books are not mine. I wrote this story for fun not profit.
Note: The story is set post-season five in a sort of AU between book two (The Lost) and book three (Allegiance) of the Legacy Series of SGA novels written by J. Graham, A. Griswold and M. Scott.
This Never Happened to Captain Kirk—Chapter 1
The market square looked harmless enough. Because Teyla had been sucked in the conversation between the Chancellor and Mr. Woosley, John decided to cover their six, with Ronon in the front and sergeant Comsky flanking Teyla. Everything seemed fine until he developed a nagging feeling that they were being tracked.
They were walking down an aisle of the bustling open-air market. The stalls in this section contained bolts of cloth, intricate carpets, thick blankets and all kinds of clothing made from multi-colored fabrics imported from all over the Pegasus galaxy. The Chancellor, a pompous ass dressed like an extra in Romeo and Juliet, loudly pontificated about the benefits of a new trade agreement with this or that member of the coalition.
John wasn't paying attention to the droning monologue, that was Woosley's job and now also Teyla's. Instead, he continually scanned the area for possible threats, not an easy task with all the commotion. His attention flicked from the merchants broadcasting their wares, to the haggling customers and the doors and windows of the two and three story buildings surrounding the market square. Security risks were everywhere. Despite his advice, the Chancellor had insisted that this little outing for the negotiators would be perfectly safe and that it was somehow absolutely necessary for the success of the process. John had to put his foot down as military commander of Atlantis and say that he would not allow Mr. Woosley to participate in this walk unless he, Teyla, Ronon and Marine Sergeant Comisky were allowed to tag along with their weapons.
"Ronon, see anything unusual up front?" John said in his com unit.
"Everything seems fine here," replied Ronon. "Is something going on there, Sheppard?"
John took another careful look around, "Something doesn't feel right. I feel like someone is watching m…."
The lone high-velocity crossbow arrow that struck him in the upper right arm came from one of the buildings across the square that stood in the unforgiving glare of the late morning twin suns. He yelped more in surprise than in pain as he staggered backwards. He would have fallen to the ground but someone unexpectedly grabbed him from behind and held him steady, while at the same time uncomfortably pinning his arms tight against his torso. The P-90 slipped from his grip and hung off his tactical vest.
"Sheppard, what's going on?" said Ronon on the com. "Where the hell are you?"
"I'm …," He started to say and then his com ear piece got yanked off. Everything began to look fuzzy as he tracked the unit's trajectory to the ground. A heavy booted-foot smashed it.
John's efforts to break loose were not very effective because a strange numbness quickly radiated from the wound site to the rest of his body. Feeling himself starting to lose consciousness, his eyes searched for a visual of the rest of his team. The crowd had suddenly become thicker and several people carrying goods were blocking his line of sight.
"Let me help you," said a man in a definitely non-reassuring voice. He manhandled the quickly-fading John to the back of one of the stalls.
"Not helpful, damn it." John changed his balance and managed to loosen the man's grip on him. But before he could make his next move, he fell to the ground behind the stall, unconscious.
"That tranquilizer took almost too long to take effect," grumbled the man to his companion. "Give me a hand, he's heavier than he looks."
John woke up bound and gagged. A rope tightly restrained his hands and arms behind his back. His wounded bicep stung ferociously. Pretending to still be unconscious before making his move, he caught the two super-sized men dragging him by surprise. He almost made it to the edge of the thick forest adjacent to the Stargate before his now very angry escorts and three more of their associates caught up with him. Needless to say, they weren't very gentle.
"Remember, she ordered us not to injure him in the face or below the belt." he overheard one of the goons yell to the others.
This puzzling piece of dialogue worried him as they punched and kicked him back into oblivion. Why would anyone obviously intending him harm care about preserving those parts of him?
The next time John regained consciousness, several hands tightly immobilized him while others efficiently and rather brutally stripped him of boots, socks, tac-vest and jacket. His vision was so blurry that he couldn't tell if they were men or women, or if there were four or eight. Automatically, he resisted being handled like a doll by short-tempered giant toddlers. Someone grabbed his wounded arm and squeezed it hard, the pain explosion knocked him out before they removed his shirt and pants.
