Written for the Sheppard H/C LJ Flashpic Challenge
Unbreakable Bonds
"He who is a leader must always act alone. And acting alone, accept everything alone."
~Ferdinand E. Marcos
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John circled warily, his eyes narrowing. Adrenaline, fueled by the coming fight, coursed through him, sharpening his senses and reflexes. He took a deep breath and tensed.
"You know I'm going to kick your ass, right?"
John straightened slightly, his expression turning annoyed. "I don't think that's a given."
Bemused, Ronon shrugged. "Whatever."
John pushed away his irritation and twirled the stick in his left hand. "I'm pretty good, you know," he insisted.
Ronon's quiet grunt might have been a chuckle, but it was hard to tell. "Didn't say you weren't. Just said I was going to kick your ass."
"Can we get on with this?" John shot back.
"Colonel Sheppard, please report to Ops immediately."
John lowered his sticks and looked up as the citywide hail ended. "Wonder what's up?" He glanced at Ronon, who only shrugged again. John turned away and set his Bantos Rods on a nearby bench, before grabbing his radio headset. He fit it over his ear and clicked it on. "This is Sheppard. On my way."
As he entered Ops, John, with Ronon right behind him, made a beeline for Rodney, who was typing away on his laptop, with Richard Woolsey looking over his shoulder. "What's up?"
Woolsey turned, making eye contact with him. "Colonel. Routine MALP reconnaissance of M5Y-962 has turned up some interesting results."
John stopped next to him. "M5Y-962…. Why does that sound familiar?"
Rodney looked up at him, his expression slightly cross. "This afternoon's off-world scout. We briefed on it just yesterday." Rodney waved his hands. "Vague references in the database to some sort of research being conducted there? Ring a bell?"
Slightly indignant, John looked at him. "I would've remembered."
Rodney snorted. "Sure." Before John could protest further, Rodney rushed on. "MALP's detected an energy reading. It's slight, but the signature is definitely Ancient. We widened the camera angle and found this." He pointed at the hanging display behind them.
John turned, his eyes narrowing for a moment, before he arched his brows. "Wow. That's a lot of sand."
Rodney's sigh sounded exasperated. "Yes, how original. Sand in a desert. What I mean is this…." He paused and typed a few commands. The view from the MALP obligingly shifted, focusing in on a weathered structure. Rodney got up and walked past John and pointed to the display. "MALP telemetry indicates that's the source of the energy reading. What's left of the architecture is definitely Ancient."
John squinted at the fuzzy image. "Looks in pretty bad shape."
"Yes." Again, Rodney's didn't bother to hide his irritation. "That's what ten thousand years of sandstorms will do to a building. But there's every indication that it's still structurally intact, which is encouraging as far as protecting any technology that might be in there."
John nodded. "So… worth checking out then."
"Would we be discussing it if it wasn't?" Rodney snapped.
John turned his head and just glared at him.
"Colonel Sheppard has a valid point," Woolsey interjected.
"Yes." Rodney sighed and gestured at the display again. "MALP indicates the temperature is already 32 degrees, and it's still morning, which means it's going to get a lot hotter. Trust me, I wouldn't be proposing a walk in that if it wasn't worth it."
John shrugged. "It's not that far…."
"Far enough!" Rodney snapped.
"Isn't 32 kinda cool for a desert?" John answered, deliberately baiting Rodney.
"Celsius! Celsius! Honestly Colonel, why your people insist on clinging to Fahrenheit and the Imperial System is beyond me!"
John glanced sideways at Rodney. "We do it to mess with your perfect world, McKay." Feeling smug, he smiled slightly.
Rodney glowered. "Oh, ha ha ha. Very funny."
"I assume," Woolsey interrupted smoothly, "that other than the energy reading, the planet checks out for the mission?"
Rodney turned his attention to Woolsey. "Yes. The atmosphere is breathable, if hot. No toxins or anything dangerous… that we can detect, anyway."
"What about indigenous people?" John asked, his gaze fixed on the fuzzy image from the MALP.
"Nothing the MALP can detect. If they're there, they're out of range and aren't technological."
"I'd be surprised if they were… technological that is," Woolsey answered.
John nodded absently. The technological races were few and far between in Pegasus, thanks to the Wraith. If anyone did live on that planet, they lived in a pretty harsh environment. "Wouldn't guess anyone lives there."
He glanced at Rodney, who scratched his head.
"Agreed. The Stargate is, obviously, functional. With so many temperate and still uninhabited planets in the galaxy, living there wouldn't make any sense."
"Colonel," Woolsey walked up next to John and stared at the screen for a minute, before turning his look on him. "Mission was set for 13:30 but…"
John picked up his thought. "I'm curious, too. Besides, it's already 90 degrees. It's only going to get hotter as the day goes on." He looked at Woolsey, who nodded.
"You have a go, Colonel."
John turned to the technician on duty. "Call Teyla, have her meet us in the armory." He headed for the back stairs, Ronon and Rodney right behind him.
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John emerged from the Stargate and winced as a hot wind immediately blasted his face. For a moment, he was reminded of his first encounter with the summers in Afghanistan; the arid climate felt almost the same to him. He squinted, before pulling out his sunglasses. Sliding them into place, he tapped his headset. "Atlantis, this is Sheppard. We're here."
"Acknowledged, Colonel," Woolsey responded. "Check-in scheduled for six hours. Earlier, if necessary. Woolsey out."
"Copy that. Sheppard out." John continued across the sand away from the gate leaving the sound of the disengaging wormhole behind him. The flat desert was broken by several dunes not far from them, forming almost a natural valley in which the ruins and the gate resided.
"Well," Rodney commented from right behind him, "this is just… lovely."
John frowned. "Okay, McKay, we get it. Not a vacation spot. So, let's just figure out if there's anything valuable here and then," he shrugged, "we can leave." He turned slightly to his left and headed straight for the weathered Ancient structure.
"Can't tell anything yet," Rodney answered, "but, I'm still tracking that energy reading." He pulled up next to John and kept pace with him. "Something is definitely drawing power in there."
"That is a good sign, is it not?" Teyla was walking right behind Rodney.
"Unless it's just lights, or something else entirely useless," Rodney answered, his attention glued to his scanner.
"You really should try to work on that pessimistic attitude of yours, Rodney," John replied.
"Oh, well, excuse me for not building up false hopes based on little or no facts!" Rodney snapped, looking up from his scanner long enough to fix John with a thoroughly infuriated look. He reached into his vest pocket and grabbed his own sunglasses. Slipping them into place, he squinted ahead. "Hmm… not encouraging…"
John glanced at Rodney. "What?"
Rodney pointed. "The door's huge and totally open. If all that sand has been blowing in there for ten thousand years…."
John's gaze followed Rodney's gesture and he sighed quietly. The entrance was at least ten feet across and stood wide open. Sand covered the floor as far as he could see into the dark corridor. Reluctantly, he conceded Rodney had a point, but he refrained from voicing that out loud. Instead, he pointed out, "Well, you're still getting energy readings though."
"True," Rodney admitted, "but we could be dealing with massive damage to the systems."
"Let's not make any assumptions until we know for sure," John insisted. He sniffed once as the brisk hot wind ruffled his hair, and reached up to wipe a trickle of sweat off his brow as he stopped in front of the entrance. He could see a few feet into the structure, but darkness shrouded anything beyond that.
"Sheppard."
John turned his attention towards where Ronon stood to one side of the doorway. Next to him, crumpled against what was once a smooth wall, were the remains of the door.
"Looks like it was closed at one point," Ronon observed.
John nodded. "Yeah." He flicked on the light on his P-90 and peered into the darkness for a moment. "Rodney? Anything?"
"Still picking up the energy reading," Rodney answered. "Nothing else."
"Any life signs?" John took a step forward.
Rodney snorted. "You've got to be kidding me. Who could live here?"
"I have known people who have survived in very harsh environments, Rodney," Teyla reasoned.
"With a functional gate that could take them anywhere? Why not just leave?" Rodney argued back.
"Perhaps they did not know where to go," Teyla suggested. "The knowledge of gate addresses may have been lost to them. My people have helped others resettle to better home worlds before."
"Hmm." Rodney's grunt was non-committal.
John glanced at him. "It doesn't have to be people, you know." He raised his eyebrows in question.
Rodney's expression was decidedly cynical as he punched a couple of keys on his detector. "Nope. You're good to go. No sign of some Pegasus man-eating desert predator, or any other life sign for that matter. I can't detect anything dangerous."
John nodded, slipped his sunglasses into his vest pocket, and slowly walked forward into the darkness. Rodney's assessment reassured him, but only to a certain point. He'd been in this galaxy long enough to always expect the unexpected. Scanning his light around, John determined they were in what looked like, a long hallway. As they progressed further in, the layer of sand on the floor continued to get thinner.
"Okay," Rodney's voice echoed slightly, "this is slightly encouraging. If any room housing the technology is far enough inside, then damage from the elements, mainly the sand, might not be so bad."
"See?" John answered as he led his team on down the hallway, "thinking positively is a good thing, Rodney."
"Yes. Thank you for the advice, Colonel Optimism."
"Colonel Sheppard?"
John stopped and turned a questioning look on Teyla. He followed her gun light to the walls. "What…?"
"That's interesting," Rodney muttered.
John nodded. He trained his light on the wall and followed the progression of what looked like paintings. The pictures were smooth and detailed, though weathered, and reminded John a little of the cave drawings in Lascaux that he'd seen on on the Discovery Channel. As he panned his light upwards, more paintings were visible higher up the walls. Each of them was a distinct scene, some with people, some with strange camel-like animals, and some with people hunting the animals. "Wow." He walked closer to the wall, fixing his light on one specific painting, set apart from the others and bordered in faded, yellow paint. "That looks like…."
"A Jumper," Rodney finished.
John moved his light across the wall, to drawings of people standing just behind the Jumper. More than just stick figures, the people were fleshed out with some level of detail, and each of them was surrounded with what looked like the artist's interpretation of an aura. Before them, dozens of people were on their knees, bowing. Each of the glowing beings' arms were raised in various poses, as if they were speaking to the masses.
"Somehow, I don't think the Ancients drew these," he quipped dryly.
"No way," Rodney whispered. "It looks like these people worshipped the Ancients."
"Thought the planet wasn't inhabited." Ronon stepped up behind John and looked over his shoulder.
"These are really old," Rodney answered. "The paint and colors are definitely worn. Just because this planet was inhabited at one time doesn't mean it is now."
John's gaze narrowed. "I thought the Ancients discouraged less developed peoples from worshiping them."
"They did," Rodney answered confidently, "but who knows what mythology these people came up with, once the Ancients were gone."
"There are many people who revere the ancestors, Rodney," Teyla commented quietly.
"It does not necessarily mean they worshipped them."
"Yeah, but somehow this," Rodney pointed at the painting, "feels more like worship than just reverence."
John's brows quirked as he silently agreed with Rodney. Backing up a step, he turned. "Come on." He continued down the hallway, his team right behind him.
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Mela had never seen their like, from the clothing to the strange devices each of them carried. He had no doubt that one of them, a man of imposing size, was a warrior: his bearing and mannerisms left no room for doubt. But what of the others? The woman? Not possible. The man that led them, he seemed to walk with the prowess and air of a warrior as well, but his words and casual speech made Mela doubt his eyes. Perhaps if he could cross Haka Staffs with that one, he would know for sure.
His eyes narrowed and his expression turned from curiosity to anger. The temple was sacrosanct: only the Interpreter could enter and then only for guidance, meditation and spiritual healing on the Holy Day. Yet these strangers had crossed the threshold and entered as if it was their right… as if the shrine and its secrets were theirs for the taking. Where were they from?
Mela's tension grew with his anger. They would pay for their sacrilege; the Interpreter would make sure of that. He, and only he, could call warriors into the temple to protect it and deal with violators. That was the only time any other could enter, and only warriors tested and sworn to the protection of the holy shrine were allowed. Mela's fury was blunted slightly by the thought that redemption was possible; he hoped the Interpreter would choose him as one of the defenders.
He edged back down the dune with an ease almost instinctive to one born of this world. The rough sand grated against his skin, but he paid it little attention. It was a way of life that his people embraced and accepted without comment. The discomfort borne by generations of his people would one day be measured. Mela would do his part to ensure they would not be found lacking in their commitment to the Ones Who Came Before, and to the vow his people held sacred above all else, including their lives.
Reaching the bottom of the dune, Mela stood and raced back to the tribe's camp as fast as his legs could carry him.
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Before long, the hallway ended in a large room containing several Ancient control panels. John stopped and looked around, while Rodney sidestepped him and walked to the closest panel.
"Now we're getting somewhere." Rodney stopped, looked down at the panel and then at his detector. "Hmm, not this one…." He stepped back and slowly walked towards the next panel.
"Not that one what?" John asked, as he walked towards the center of the room.
"The power reading. Not coming from that one." Rodney's voice was distracted, as he circled slowly, until he faced a panel on the far side of the room. "Ah ha!" Quickly, he crossed the empty space and headed around behind the console. "Hmm…."
John walked over to Rodney and stared at him for a moment. "Hmm?"
Rodney looked up and fixed him with a wilting glare. "Would you just give me a minute here?"
Unfazed, John just stared back at him for a moment, before shrugging. "Let me know when you have something more than just 'hmm.'" John walked away from Rodney and surveyed the room again. Just like in the hallway, the walls of the room were lined with more paintings. Many contained the same camel-like animal, and several of them depicted hunts and kill scenes. "Looks like this animal was pretty important to these people," he commented as he continued walking along the wall, his flashlight passing over more paintings.
"Yes," Teyla agreed. "In such an environment, it is likely this animal was the main source of food and sustenance to these people. It would make sense that it was a large part of their culture."
"Like the American Plains Indians and buffalo," Rodney remarked absently.
"Buffalo?" Ronon crossed the room to join them.
John waved dismissively. "Remind me to show you when we get back to Atlantis." He stopped, focusing in on more paintings set apart from the others. Again, several of the people were surrounded byauras, and many other people were on their knees before them. He reached out, lightly touching one of the figures with an aura. "These have to be Ancients." He panned his light along the wall and froze, the next scene chilling him to the bone. "Damn…." It was a scene of horror, with people lying on the ground and others running; what shocked him most were the unmistakable depictions of Wraith, some pursuing the fleeing people, others feeding upon victims, while Darts flew over head, some with beams culling more people. "Maybe these people were wiped out by culling."
"Maybe not," Ronon answered, from a few feet further down the wall. His light was focused on another painting. "Look."
John and Teyla joined him. Standing at the center of the painting, between the Wraith and the people, were more of what John assumed were Ancients. He looked at the next painting. The Ancients' hands were raised, with streaks of light shooting outward from the center of their palms, and the Wraith either lay dead or were fleeing. One Ancient's hands were aimed towards the sky, the streaks of light aimed at a Dart. John quirked his brows and pointed at the figure. "Interesting."
"Perhaps there is technology here that the Ancestors used to attack the Wraith?" Teyla voiced what John was thinking.
"That would definitely be worth knowing," John answered. He looked around. "Probably need to bring some archeologists and anthropologists back here at some point. They'd love this place."
He glanced at Ronon and did a double take, his eyes narrowing as he saw the big man stiffen, then sniff once, before looking at Teyla. For a moment, the two Pegasus natives shared wary expressions, before they started scanning around them.
John looked back and forth between them. "What is it?"
Ronon shook his head. "Not sure. Just a gut feeling."
"Yes," Teyla agreed.
John panned his light around the room. "Of what?"
Teyla turned towards him and made eye contact. "Being watched."
John's eyes widened and he quickly looked over his shoulder. "McKay? Life signs?"
Rodney's exasperated sigh preceded his words. "Oh for…."
"Now!" John barked, hardening his tone enough to kill the debate on the spot.
"Right." After a tense moment, Rodney responded. "Nothing."
John looked first at Teyla and then at Ronon, who shrugged before shaking his head. Neither of them seemed convinced of Rodney's verdict. John was torn. On one hand, he'd learned long ago to trust both their instincts but on the other….
"Crap."
John turned towards Rodney and shone his light on the console. "What?"
Rodney sighed. "There's massive damage to the database. I'm not sure we can recover any of this, in spite of the Ancients' incredible redundancy."
On edge, and feeling like the other shoe was about to drop square in his lap, John still focused on the mission. He walked over to Rodney. "You sure? Because it looks like there might have been something here that the Ancients used to fight the Wraith. If so, that'd be really nice to have."
"It doesn't look good. From what I can tell the database corruption is…."
"Sheppard!"
On the heels of Ronon's call, John heard the big man's weapon power up. Without thinking, John spun, bringing his P-90 to bear.
"Damn it!" Rodney exclaimed. "We've got life signs. At least a dozen, coming in from all directions!"
John turned slowly, panning his light around the room. "You're just detecting them now? Why?"
"I don't know!" Rodney grabbed the detector and punched a couple keys.
John shone his light upwards and froze. "Oh shit…." Far above them, railed ledges circled the room. On each of them were additional control panels, but that didn't worry John. What did were what seemed like doorways, spaced evenly apart, that appeared to lead further into the structure. He caught a flash of movement from one of them, but it was enough to identify it as human. With him and his team stuck on the low ground, whoever was up there could pick them off like shooting fish in a barrel. That is, if their intentions were hostile. John wasn't in the mood to wait around and find out. The fact that the people above were moving stealthily told him all he needed to know. "Ambush! Out! Now!" Reaching behind him, John grabbed Rodney's sleeve and shoved him towards the door. "Move!"
He backed into Rodney as the scientist stopped in his tracks and shouted,
"Problem!"
John turned and found himself facing a large group of natives, who seemed to have materialized from nowhere and who blocked the doorway, crossbows and crude looking blow pipes pointed at his team. "Whoa!" John froze, but didn't lower his gun. "Wait. We don't want to hurt anyone. If you want us to leave, we'll go."
The man standing in the front of the group took one step forward. His weatherworn face was stoic. "It is too late for that."
John didn't even have a chance to react as, suddenly, something that felt like a bee sting hit him in the back of the neck. He grunted and his vision blurred abruptly. Searing heat spread through his body, and he struggled to hold his weapon upright, but his arms wouldn't obey. His knees buckled, sending him unceremoniously to the ground; for a second, his gaze fixed on Rodney's still form, lying next to him, before darkness took him.
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Blackness turned to gray as unconsciousness faded. John groaned and moved slightly before peeling open his eyes. His head hurt, his mouth was dry, and he felt like he'd just gone ten rounds with a bottle of tequila… and lost. He unsuccessfully tried to brace his hands under him, but something stopped him. He looked down and found tight bonds crossing his wrists. He pulled at them experimentally, but they held fast. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he took stock of himself and discovered his TAC vest and weapons were gone. The natives had, apparently, been thorough in disarming his team while they were knocked out. Looking around, he saw rough uneven wood bars surrounded him on all sides, above and below.
Caged and bound. Great….
He peered through the bars at three other cages close by, each of them holding one of his team members. In the distance, he could see a large cluster of tents; there were a couple of tents nearer to them, but it seemed their cages were set away from the main encampment. Looking back at the other cages, he met Ronon's gaze. The Satedan sat silently against the side of his cage across from John, his expression dark and dangerous.
"You okay?"
Ronon nodded once, slowly, but said nothing.
To the left of Ronon's cage was the one holding Teyla. John watched for a second, and was reassured when she pushed herself up as well. He turned and looked into the cage right next to him and at Rodney's motionless form. "McKay? Rodney! Wake up."
Rodney stirred, and then rolled over on his back and blinked bleary eyes. "What the hell?" he croaked.
John's brows quirked as he folded his legs and sat. "I'd say we pissed these people off." He took a deep breath and, trying to ignore the hot sun beating down on him, twisted his wrists. The bonds held fast.
"You think?" Rodney snapped, as he pulled his knees under himself. Straightening, he hit his head on the top of his cage. "Nice." He glared at the bars above him. "They could at least give us room to stand."
"The last thing I remember is seeing the natives in the Ancient structure." Teyla's brows furrowed in confusion.
John moved his head side to side, grunting at the stiffness in his neck. "I think we got hit with tranq darts."
"So much for this place being uninhabited," Rodney groused. "Who in their right mind would live here, and what the hell do they want with us?"
John shrugged before glancing over his shoulder and doing a double take as a group of natives walked purposefully towards them. "I think we're about to find out." He fixed his gaze on the leader and was struck with recognition. It was the same man that had spoken to him inside the ruins.
John sat up a little straighter and stared the man directly in the eye as he approached. He quirked a brow as the man stopped in front of his cage and looked down at him. "Hi," John's voice was on the cold side of neutral, and he knew it, but damn it, they'd started this.
The man's gaze passed over each of them, before he again focused on John. "Who are you?"
John stared at him for a minute and considered his response. The man seemed tough; given the harsh environment they lived in, his instincts told him strength was a paramount trait amongst these people… and he listened to them. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, and this is my team. We're friendly explorers. We came through the Stargate, the ring…," he waved his hands, "thing." He paused, before hardening his tone. "Now, my turn. Why the hell did you attack us?"
The man's arched brow was the only thing that broke his stoic expression. "You are hardly in a position to be demanding answers, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard."
"Funny," John shot back. "I was going to say the same thing, because when our people don't hear from us, they're going to come for us…and you might not like that too much."
The man glanced to his left and, abruptly, one of the other natives took two quick steps up to Teyla's cage. Before John could say a word, the man pointed a crossbow at her head, the bolt only a few inches from her face.
Unwavering, Teyla stared silently at it.
John stiffened and looked back at the leader.
"Have care, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard," the man answered, his voice low and dangerous. "Your transgressions could easily mean death for all of you. Your people might kill all of us, but you will already be dead, and we will die knowing we have done our duty to Those That Came Before."
John took a deep breath and nodded once, curtly. "Point taken." His voice slightly less tense, he asked again, "Who are you?"
The man seemed to mull over John's words for a moment before he answered. "I am Rali, Interpreter of the Shun'at, one of the Seven Tribes of Gama. We guard the holy shrine against trespassers and protect it for the return of Those That Came Before."
"Oh great…," Rodney started, but a scathing glare from John silenced him.
John's gaze narrowed as he looked back at Rali. "The holy shrine is…?"
"Where we found you," Rali answered.
John exhaled loudly and dropped his head, his anger lessening. Of all the… damn…. After a minute, he looked up at Rali. "We didn't know," he tried to explain. "Look, we didn't mean to trespass or to violate your beliefs. Like I said, we're explorers. We had no idea it was holy ground to you," he added, to emphasize the point.
Rali sighed quietly, but the intensity of his gaze never wavered. "The shrine is sacred to us. Those That Came Before defended us from the Evil Ones and drove them from our world, and we have never seen them again. Those That Came Before moved on to another existence, but our responsibility as a race is to guard and protect the shrine until the day they return to reclaim it. In the generations since their departure, we have never lacked in this duty, though many times others have come through the Ring to take what they want from the shrine. We have always dealt with them accordingly."
Rali stared hard at John for a moment before he continued. "Only the Interpreter may enter the shrine, unless its safety or sanctity is threatened. Then those warriors sworn to its protection, whose souls have been purified by the Trials, may enter, but only to defend it. Your transgression is nothing short of sacrilegious. For that, you must pay with your lives. That is the law of our people."
John sat forward. "Now hang on," he tried to reason. "I told you, we had no idea it was sacred, or we would've respected your wishes and left it alone. This was an innocent mistake. You can't just kill us for it."
Conflict crept into Rali's expression. "This has not happened before. Always the offenders have known the consequences, or had nefarious intent."
"We didn't know," John urged quietly, "and our intent was only exploration and knowledge." Rali turned away and looked out over the desert, but John's eyes never left him. "Rali," John sat forward and grabbed onto a bar of his cage with one hand, "we would've never entered your shrine had we known."
Rali didn't look back, but his voice still carried. "The spirits of Those That Came Before watch over us, and guard the Shezta herds we hunt to survive. To anger them is to risk the lives of all of our people. As their Interpreter, it falls to me to protect them, to be sure Those That Came Before keep us in their good graces. Transgressions against them must be dealt with. The survival of my people, and the oath we hold above everything else, demands it. You must all be purified and put to death. Immediately."
"Oh god…." Rodney's voice trailed off.
John's mind raced. There had to be a compromise; a way out of this that didn't mean death for his team. They were probably still hours from their scheduled check-in and possible rescue. From the look on Rali's face, he knew they didn't have hours to stall. He clenched his teeth. They hadn't survived more close calls than he could count only to die for supposedly desecrating some native's holy ground! He thought back over their conversation, looking for something… anything he could use to come to an understanding with the man.
"Rali." Teyla spoke gently but insistently. "Surely Those That Came Before would show compassion and understanding in a situation such as this?"
"The law is absolute," Rali responded. He turned and gave her a cold stare. "As a woman, you should remain silent in this."
Anger sparked briefly in Teyla's eyes, but her wisdom won out and she remained quiet.
John's gaze narrowed slightly at Rali's words. Combined with what else he'd said, John was positive these people had a deep, if rigid, code of honor. As their 'Interpreter', Rali led them, and was responsible for understanding their beliefs. The title he held, apparently, was literal. He interpreted what his people perceived as the will of The Ones That Came Before and, as their Interpreter and leader, he did what he could to ensure their survival.
John took a deep breath as he found that connection he was looking for… and only one solution presented itself. Strangely, he felt calm, as if the decision he was about to make didn't carry the weight that it did. "I lead this team," he stated quietly. "Anything that they do is my responsibility. As their leader, the blame falls on me. If you have to punish someone for this, punish me, but leave them alone."
"Wait… what?"
"Sheppard."
"John."
"Quiet!" John silenced his team's simultaneous protests sharply. He rarely spoke that way to any of them but, at this moment, the topic wasn't open for discussion. The last thing he needed when trying to convince Rali to believe him was for his team to cast doubt on his words. If this was going to work, he had to portray the same, rigid code of honor as Rali clearly held to: he led, and his leadership was absolute. "That's an order," he added for good measure. He looked back at Rali. "Well?"
Rali was silent for a long moment before he spoke. "The crime must be atoned for, but as unknowing strangers, this situation is unique. Leader to leader, your words have merit to me." He nodded. "Very well. The purification of your soul and your death will suffice. Once that is complete, your team will be released, but they must leave this world and never return."
John agreed with a curt nod of his own. "Deal."
Unfazed, Rali stared back at him for a moment. "Then prepare yourself, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. We will begin shortly." With that, he turned and led his people away.
"John, you cannot do this," Teyla's words immediately followed Rali's departure.
"I'm not going to sit by and let this happen, Sheppard," Ronon added, as he pulled on the bonds around his wrists.
Any other time, John would've been touched by his team's reactions, but right now he needed their cooperation and needed it fast, because he had the distinct impression this process was going to take place pretty quickly. He raised his bound hands, silencing Rodney before he could speak. "Stop. Just… stop." He sighed, stared and pointed at Ronon. "You won't lift a finger against these people. That's an order." He lowered his hands and his gaze passed over each of them. "I'm ordering all of you to go along with this. When I'm… when it's over and they let you go, you will go quietly and return to Atlantis." He took a deep breath. "There's no way out of this now. They're…," he paused before rushing on, "they're going to kill me, but I'm doing this so you can get out of here. If you can't take it as an order, then take it as…" He swallowed hard. "…a last request." He looked each one of them in the eye for a second, his gaze falling on Ronon last. "Please."
Anger burned in Ronon's eyes as he returned John's look with an intense, frustrated one of his own.
"There has to be something," Rodney whispered emphatically. "I mean, we can't just sit here and watch!"
"You can," John stared hard at Rodney, "and you will. Understood?"
Rodney's brows furrowed, his expression desperate. He looked away, before nodding once, sharply.
"Sheppard…." Ronon's voice trailed off as he stared hard at John.
John returned the look with a reassuring one of his own. "Kill a bunch of Wraith for me, okay?" He looked over his shoulder as Rali walked back towards him, a group of men behind him. John exhaled hard, pushing down the knots in his stomach and burying them under steeled resolve.
"Go safely, John," Teyla's voice was choked and her face full of emotion, "and may the Ancestors watch over you."
John drew in a deep and strengthening breath. "Go safely, Teyla." He looked up as several natives pointed crossbows at each of his team members, before another opened the top of his cage. Two men grabbed John by the arms, hauled him to his feet and pulled him out of the cage.
John staggered, but their grip on his arms kept him from falling. His legs were stiff, but he managed to walk between the men as they led him towards a lone tent, set apart from the community, that other natives were quickly stripping the cover off. By the time he arrived, all that was standing were four bare tent poles. They were solid and buried deep in the ground, each stretching up to cross with the others at the apex. The men marched John into the center between the poles and held him tightly as Rali walked up to him.
"Let me be clear, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. If you try to escape or resist this ceremony in any way, not only will you die, but your team will also be killed without hesitation."
John looked past Rali towards his team, and the three men standing with crossbows aimed at their cages. He looked back at the Interpreter. "Wouldn't dream of it," he quipped darkly.
"Your transgressions must be atoned for and your spirit purified by the desert." Rali explained. "Only then will your sacrifice be deemed worthy and you will be allowed to pass to the next life in payment for your sins in this one."
"Great. Sounds like a party," John answered.
A native walked up from behind Rali, drew a knife and quickly cut the bonds around John's wrists, apparently trusting that he'd give them no trouble.
John clenched his hands into fists and beat back the urge to spring into action, to fight for his life and his team's. He was surrounded by at least a dozen armed men, and each of his team were helplessly caged and facing the business end of more crossbows. Any resistance by him would end swiftly… and badly. Begrudgingly, he knew it. His jaw clenched as tight as his fists, but he remained still.
His gaze stayed locked on Rail's as the man with the knife grabbed the front of his BDU tunic and ripped it open, sending buttons flying, before roughly pulling it off. Two more men tied ropes around each of his wrists, and then wrapped the ropes around opposite poles, pulling his arms up parallel to the ground. The man with the knife then quickly cut away John's t-shirt.
Bound and helpless, John's gaze never left Rali's as the hot sun beat down on his bare back. "This is wrong, you know," he said quietly. "I'm doing this for my team, but it's still wrong."
Rali looked him square in the eye. "I have no choice, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. I will not risk the wrath of Those That Came Before. Without their good graces and their gift of the Shezta herds, my people would surely die."
John's lips pressed together in a tight line. Misguided or not, Rali's only wish was to protect his people and, ironically enough, a small part of John respected that. Movement caught his attention as a young man, barely more than a boy, walked towards him. John's gaze settled on the coiled whip in the young man's hands and he grimaced.
"This is Mela. He was the one that discovered your transgression. He very recently passed the Trials and is counted a true warrior of the tribe. The right of purification falls to him."
John returned his hard gaze to Rali as he made the connection between the whip in Mela's hands and Rali's words. "You're going to whip me?" He couldn't quite keep the disbelief from his voice. Dying was one thing, but this….
"Pain is the truest form of purification, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. Pain knows no master, nor is it hidden by any intent, either noble or evil. Pain is a reflection of the true spirit."
John drew in a deep breath. "So is compassion," he muttered, but Rali ignored him. John watched as Mela—he decided the kid couldn't be more than sixteen—walked around behind him, letting the coils of the whip fall from his grasp and drag through the sand.
Arms bound tight, John clenched his fists, flexed his arms and braced his feet, mentally and physically preparing for the inevitable. His eyes slid shut and he took a deep breath, tensing, but all of his efforts didn't prepare him for the first slice across his back.
Grunting, John rocked forward against his bonds, and staggered as he stifled a cry of pain. After that, one lash blended into the next, and then the next, and the next, until it was all a blur of agony, relentless in its assault on him. His knees buckled as he tried to stay on his feet, but the abuse was unforgiving, unyielding, merciless and continual. Each lash, each spike of pain, stole his breath and strangled his voice into muted grunts that choked in his dry throat, until finally it stopped, leaving him clinging to a last shred of consciousness. His rubber legs were useless, and his own weight stretched his bound arms, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the fire of pain from his back. His head hung down and his breaths were labored and fast as sweat dripped off his face. Somehow, he registered footsteps approaching him, and he managed to lift his head. His vision was blurred, but he was able to make out the form of Rali, who stood before him.
"You bore it well," Rali said quietly, his voice holding no compassion. He raised his hand over John's head. "When the time is right, the desert will take you, and Those That Came Before will claim your spirit. In exchange, your transgressions are atoned for. Such is the way of our people." Without another word, Rali turned and left, leaving him hanging there. John swallowed hard, reflexively coughing weakly against his dry, scratchy throat as his tenuous hold on consciousness slipped. As if he was listening through a long tunnel, he barely heard Rodney's echoing voice.
"You can't just leave him there!"
John wanted to say something… anything to reassure his team, but he couldn't form the words, before the darkness took him.
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Pain burned through Ronon's wrists, but still he fought his bonds, refusing to let them win, to let himself be bound and helpless for one second longer.
He growled and ceased struggling as the guard walked by once more, his pattern of movement predictable. It was something Ronon had noted and stored away in his head against the moment where he'd escape… when he'd need to know exactly where that guard was, so he could kill him.
Yet, even as Ronon made eye contact with the guard and shot him a look of death as he passed by the cages, he was conflicted. Whether he knew it or not, Sheppard had touched on a deep-rooted Satedan tradition, one that warriors embraced. Though he hadn't been mortally wounded at the time, Sheppard had still made his request a 'last' one. In Satedan culture, a dying warrior's last request was almost sacred, something his friends and comrades would always honor, even if it meant giving their lives to do so. Part of Ronon, pulled by that tradition, resisted his urge to fight; the rest of him, the Satedan warrior who regarded the bonds shared between comrades at arms to be that of brothers, looked for a loophole and found it and clung to it. Sheppard wasn't dead yet, so it wasn't really a dying request… and Ronon would be damned if he'd let it become one.
His gaze fixed again on Sheppard, slumped and hanging by his arms, limp and motionless. From this angle, Ronon could see flecks of red on his shoulders, arms and around his waist, but he knew the injuries were much worse. He'd sat there and watched stoically as his friend had been whipped repeatedly and mercilessly. Under the hot sun, injured, bleeding and without water, Sheppard wouldn't last long.
Ronon twisted his wrists, the glimmer of a dark smile barely turning up one side of his mouth as the bonds loosened, if only slightly. The natives had been thorough in their search for weapons while he'd been unconscious and, for the first time in a long time, he found himself completely unarmed. Not that it mattered: knives or no knives, he still was lethal if he had to be… and this was one of those days.
"God," McKay whispered. "How can they just… leave him there? It's inhumane!"
"He… he will not live long in such a condition," Teyla answered quietly.
Ronon focused his attention on Teyla, just in time to watch her turn her head away from Sheppard. "Then we escape," he said quietly but confidently, "grab Sheppard, get out of here, and wait for backup."
"How do you propose we do that, Conan?" Rodney snapped quietly, before he lifted his hands. "Sort of bound, caged and disarmed here!"
Ronon silently stared back at him for a moment, and then smiled slightly. He twisted his wrists again. "Don't plan on stayin' that way."
"John ordered us to do nothing. To return to Atlantis," Teyla interjected softly.
Ronon slowly turned his head and looked at her. "Is that what you want? To wait and watch while Sheppard hangs there and dies, before returning to Atlantis safely?"
Teyla's gaze hardened with resolve. "No," she answered flatly. "It is not. I would rather die trying to escape as a team than to live knowing that I left my friend and team mate behind to suffer and die to protect my… safety." She spat the last word out almost with contempt. "I will not face my mate, or my son, having done such a thing."
Ronon smiled slightly and nodded to her.
"Yes, well, can we have this conversation without discussing dying in every sentence?" Rodney interrupted in an emphatic whisper.
Teyla looked at him. "It is a very real possibility, Rodney. Once we commit ourselves to this course of action, we must escape, or die trying."
"Again, with the death thing," Rodney groused.
"Rodney…," Teyla started.
Rodney raised his bound hands. "I get it." He sighed. "Well, are we going to do this or not?"
"As soon as I get free," Ronon answered, as he continued working against his bonds.
"As much as I do not want to leave John in such a condition a second longer than necessary, our chances for success would be better under the cover of darkness." Teyla sighed and looked back towards Sheppard, her brows furrowing in concern.
Ronon clenched his teeth in frustration, but he knew she was right. They couldn't do anything in daylight: they were too exposed to have any chance at success… and they'd only get one chance at this. He nodded sharply. "Dark," he muttered.
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The hot sun burned him, but John struggled on, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other. He had to get out of this desert, back to base… back to safety. He fell to one knee and paused, trying to catch his breath.
"You can't give up, you know."
John looked over his left shoulder, his gaze meeting a friendly one staring back at him. He blinked hard, and stared again, trying to believe what his eyes were seeing. "Holland?"
"Hey buddy." Holland smiled slightly.
"What the hell are you doing here?" John croaked, before pushing himself to his feet. He continued walking, Holland right beside him.
"Hell of a question to ask, Shep," Holland answered. "I'm always here, you know that."
John's brows furrowed at Holland's cryptic answer, but he couldn't seem to find the words to question him, so he just nodded, absently.
"You know," Holland spoke again, "you confuse the crap out of me."
"What?" John staggered and felt Holland's strong hand on his arm. He looked up at his friend.
"You," Holland repeated. "Since when is your life worth any less than anyone else's? Mine? Your team's?"
John pulled his arm free and started walking again. "Being cryptic isn't your style, Mark," he answered, annoyed. "Spit it out."
"Fine," Holland again grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Didn't it ever occur to you that your team would rather risk their lives along side you than watch you die?"
Anger surged through John. "They're my team," he retorted. "I lead them. That makes them my responsibility."
"Jesus Christ, John!" Holland let go of him and stepped back. "Where the hell did you find the "I" in Team?"
"Hell of a thing for you to say," John shot back, "or have you forgotten about the Dasht-i-Margo?"
Holland's expression instantly cooled and he looked away.
"I thought so." John took a deep breath. "It's why I defied orders and came back for you, when you crashed in that hellhole, buddy. I've watched too many members of my teams die and every time…." He looked away for a moment, before fixing Holland with an intense stare. "It's why I'm doing this for my team now. If they're in trouble, it's my job to get them out, even if they don't agree with how I do it. They're my team." He took a deep breath. "Yeah," he nodded, "we watch each other's backs, but when the chips are down, their safety is my responsibility and mine alone. That's what it means to be their leader."
After a moment, one side of Holland's mouth turned up. "I know." He looked back at John. "So, don't you think you should stick around so you can keep watchin' their backs?"
John's brows furrowed as Holland's form faded from existence. "Holland?" He looked around. "Mark?"
John's back was on fire, the pain searing even through unconsciousness, pulling him awake. Drawings in a breath of hot air, he coughed weakly, forcing his limp legs to strengthen and take the weight off his arms. Staggering, he fell forward against the ropes, his own momentum causing him to sway as he struggled to get his feet under himself again. The ropes cut into his wrists, but that pain was muted by the scorching intense agony from his back. He groaned, winced and licked his parched lips with a tongue that was sticky and dry in its own right. He swallowed painfully and coughed again.
"John?"
Distantly, he heard Teyla's voice break on his name. He wanted to shout back to her, reassure her that he was okay, that everything was fine, but all he could manage was a groan.
"Be strong, John!"
He slowly lifted his head, grimacing against the burned skin on the back of his neck. His vision doubled, but he focused, barely making out the blurry cages in the near distance. He blinked hard, concentrated, and slowly the six cages became three. He could see each of his team members staring intently at him from inside them. "Tey…la," he whispered. His head dropped again and his gaze lost focus, the blur of sand underneath him becoming even more indistinct, almost hypnotically so. He drew in a hoarse breath of hot air before exhaling: breathing was the only thing he was strong enough to do… and a task he wouldn't surrender.
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"His condition is grave." Teyla's voice was soft as she kept her gaze fixed on Sheppard.
Ronon stared at Sheppard's limp form. His eyes narrowed as he willed strength to his friend. "He'll hang on," he answered. "Until we can get to him, he'll hang on."
"He is badly injured, and the sun, heat and lack of water are only making it worse." Teyla paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "He knows that once he is dead, we will be allowed to leave." She bowed her head. "He has no reason to prolong this."
"He'll live," Ronon repeated. He tuned out the pain coming from his raw wrists and continued working on his bonds. He twisted hard and grimaced. "He's too stubborn to die." He looked first at Rodney and then Teyla. "Sheppard never gives up." He stared at Teyla and, after a moment, she nodded silently.
"I don't care how much willpower he has, he's still human," Rodney answered. He rattled the top of his cage experimentally. "He's been out there for at least a couple hours. We've got to get to him soon."
Teyla looked up. "The sun has dropped, but the day is not over."
"Great," Rodney muttered. "So dark could be an hour away, or six. Knowing our luck, we visited during the longest days of the year."
"We do not know that, Rodney." Teyla shifted her legs to ease them. "These could be the short days."
"I know that," Rodney snapped. "Just… feel long," he grumbled. "How long has it been anyway? If Atlantis doesn't hear from us after six hours, they'll come investigate."
"I have lost track of time, but it must be close to our check in," Teyla answered. "Perhaps reinforcements from Atlantis will make Rali see reason and release John."
"Doubt it," Ronon answered. "Think these people would die for their beliefs."
"Yes," Teyla admitted. "I fear that you are right."
"Uhh… Teyla?" Rodney's voice was hesitant. "Which way is the gate from here?"
Ronon stared hard at the hesitant look on Rodney's face for a moment, before following his gaze, which was fixed on a dark brown smudge on the horizon. It almost looked like a rainstorm, but the different tones of color, ranging from tan to nearly black, disproved that. Ronon's gaze narrowed. In his seven years running, he'd come across desert planets before; with dark clarity, he knew exactly what he was looking at. "Sandstorm," he muttered.
"Let me guess," Rodney pointed towards the storm, "the gate's that way?"
Teyla sighed. "Yes."
"Wonderful." Rodney's hands dropped to his lap. "Our screwed meter just went up by a factor of ten."
"It may miss us, Rodney," Teyla reasoned.
Rodney sat up straighter, banging his head on the top of the cage. He sent the offending bars a withering glare, before he looked back at Teyla, his expression far from patient. "Don't you get it?" He kept his voice low, but it was still intense. "If that thing is anywhere near the gate, then even if Atlantis dials in it'll interfere with radio communication."
Teyla arched a brow as Rodney waved emphatically. "We do not have our radios anyway, Rodney."
"They don't know that! So, as far as their concerned, the most reasonable explanation is that we took shelter in the ruins and just can't communicate." Rodney's shoulders sagged. "They have no reason to assume we're in trouble. And even if they suspect anything else is wrong, they can't send a jumper into that." He jerked his bound. hands in the direction of the storm. "They're going to wait this one out before sending any help!"
"We do not know that for sure, Rodney," Teyla answered quietly.
"Care to take a bet on it?" Rodney snapped. "It's the most reasonable explanation. In spite of our infamous reputation for getting into trouble, Woolsey isn't the knee-jerk-reaction kind of guy in stuff like this. He'll wait it out."
"Hey," Ronon cut off their discussion and tilted his head towards a group of natives approaching their cages. The one in the front had a large water skin slung over his shoulder, and a crude looking cup in his hand. He stopped next to Ronon's cage.
"It is a hot day. The Interpreter has sent us to give you water to help sustain you until your departure."
Ronon ignored the tacky dryness in his mouth and nodded his head towards Sheppard. "Give him some first."
The man looked over his shoulder at Sheppard, before returning his gaze to Ronon. "No. He is not to have any."
Ronon's lips curled back in a sneer as rage flowed through him. "Then I'm not taking one drop from you," he spat. "Not until he drinks."
"The sun is high today," the man tried to reason. "You need water."
"Tell that to my friend!" Ronon surged forward, slamming his face against the bars of the cage and causing the men to take a reflexive step back.
The man with the water skin looked past Ronon to Teyla, who shook her head, and then finally to Rodney who, with a resigned sigh, also shook his head.
The man nodded once, curtly, and walked away, his group right behind him.
"As noble a gesture as that was," Rodney whispered, "we are eventually going to need water."
Ronon nodded. "Once we get Sheppard free, we'll find water." His gaze narrowed but never left Sheppard's still form. "Once we get him free," he repeated quietly.
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