Clones. They had to be. Either that or they were inbred. Rodney considered the latter to be the most likely possibility, given the isolated locale. Plus, they looked like they had barely discovered fire let alone invented the wheel. They made Ronon look positively Cro Magnon. Men, women, children clad alike in simple rustic garb, Pegasus-style, trickled out of rickety huts, and loped steadily towards them. Zombies! Thought Rodney. Cue the fog... They were soon surrounded by the villagers, who now flurried around them like windswept leaves.
The crowd parted to allow passage to a group of some thirty to forty crossbow-wielding men, who staggered at a pace towards them. Rodney watched in fascination as first Ronon then Teyla sniffed the air. A miasma of alcohol permeated the atmosphere, and it grew more offensive as the men approached. They were roaring drunk, and it was only mid-morning! Most couldn't even walk in a straight line. Frowning, Sheppard raised his P90, his shoulders hunched and his stance defensive. A sandy-haired man rivaling Rodney's own non-heroic stature and build moved in on them, stood four-square, and stared at the team. The man's keen eyes rested on Sheppard.
"Welcome, offworlders! As you can see, you are outnumbered, so make this easy on yourselves and hand over your weapons." The sandy-haired man belched mid-sentence.
"You call that a welcome? My cat could do better."
"Can it, McKay!" Sheppard growled without taking his eyes off the man. Rodney decided to can it. Sheppard shrugged boyishly, then cocked his head to one side, his P90 gripped tightly but aimed low. "Listen up, chief. We were invited here to trade. Food for medical supplies. You people need our help and expertise, we hear. I'd appreciate it if you'd lower your weapons."
"I sanctioned no such trade. Who invited you anyway?"
"I met a certain elder of your village," said Teyla as she stepped forward with a reassuring smile."He suggested we come. He was most vehement. "
"His name?"
"He introduced himself as... Amfikken P'kar-Klarrip, I believe."
At that, the man chuckled. "Good ol' Amfy. He came through for us." Rodney watched as the chuckle almost took on a mind of its own and touched first the entourage, then the remaining men, then the women and finally the children. Then, the chuckle was cut off in an instant, as the leader snapped his fingers. The team was instantly surrounded by armed men, but no attempt was made to relieve them of their weapons. Yet. Either way, they were screwed.
"Now, boys, we just arrived. It's been a long walk. We're hot, we're sticky, and in need of refreshment. If there is no chance of trade or hospitality, we'd best be on our way." Sheppard was pulling his easy diplomatic grin, with a dash of his loose, reassuring body language for good measure. He swept one open-palmed hand back towards the way they had come, turned away, and was prodded in the shoulder with a crossbow for his efforts.
Nice try, Sheppard, thought Rodney, ruefully, but no cigar.
" 'Hospitality' is my middle name," said the man, with a cold smile. "I am Maldar 'Hospitality' P'Kar-Bamfik. Come, meet my woman, Shanda, and that there… that there's m'boy, Garrek. This way. Won't ask you twice," and he signaled for them to be jostled deeper into the woodland.
Rodney was already tired, but now he was pissy to boot. They were back to trudging and meandering. Past any semblance of a residential area - if sheds counted as housing - to a scattered, dilapidated hotchpotch of buildings which smacked more of animal farming, light industry and an abandoned then repurposed resort. Barnyard meets Bauhaus meets Holiday Inn meets the Apocalypse, he thought. Pens and coops surrounded the marginally more sophisticated industrial buildings, one of which emitted an alarming, clanking noise, and another of which reeked of copper and cedar-tainted smoke. Rodney found himself flehming like a cat, which earned him a glare from Ronon; a grimace of disgust from Sheppard - one which he usually reserved for naked Asgard - and a knowing smile from Teyla.
"I smell blood, too," Teyla whispered in his ear. "I believe they smoke their meat in there."
"I prefer my meat in nice, tidy MREs. Meat, as far as I am concerned, grows on trees in cubes," he stated flatly as he thrust out his chin. Teyla sighed, and looked away.
Rodney spied marginally more upscale, two-story housing nearby in orderly rows much like resort accommodation, and oddly, some hundred yards away, something that looked like a trash heap with a diving board. Was that modern art, or a pool that had fallen into disrepair? Hm. Another building looked remarkably like a seventeenth century inn, or a themed hotel lodge. Rodney hoped that that was where they were headed, although with their track record, even benign, welcoming inns and lodges had a nasty habit of holding something sinister.
"You might as well hand them over, Sheppard. We're outnumbered," Rodney hissed.
"Problem is, McKay, any half-baked society can fashion bullets once a weapon is in hand."
" 'Half-baked'? You've got to be kidding me! This sorry batch never made it out of the proverbial mixing bowl!"
"Or into the proverbial melting pot," Sheppard answered in a weary tone.
"Got a plan yet, Sheppard?" growled Ronon.
"John, I fear… " whispered Teyla.
"Something's not right here, I know."
"You mean, apart from the whole 'hand over your weapons' thing? I don't like the way they keep looking at us. And their womenfolk and rugratfolk insist on following us. It's creepy. I can almost feel them breathing down my neck. I'm half expecting to turn around and find them doing the freeze thing. Like that stupid kids' game. For stupid kids. Seriously, Sheppard, do we have to go with them? We're going deeper and deeper into the woods. That seriously doesn't smack of hospitality."
"We have no choice, McKay. We'll play along for now. Teyla, Ronon, on my mark, I want you to get the hell outta here. McKay and I will keep 'em entertained. We'll join you later."
"We will? I very much doubt that Mulder or whatever his name is can be trusted."
Sheppard shot him a knowing look, then turned to Ronon and Teyla. "If McKay and I don't make it out by noon, head for home. Get help."
"Colonel Sheppard – John! - I believe my source might have been unreliable. If I do not get another chance to apologize, I - "
"Teyla, even if 'ol' Amfy' was as drunk as these good people, we were in a tavern, for crying out loud. I don't blame you. Not one little bit. This could still be good. Look at all these blue pears! And those spotted... " he rolled two fingers as if in search of a word, "supergrapefruits. They have so many, the kids are even playing soccer with them. Lookit!" And Sheppard wagged a forefinger towards a grubby bunch of cookie-cutter boys kicking a large, round fruit. Sheppard's voice had that excited, optimistic squeak to it. Rodney harrumphed. As far as he was concerned, the little brats could kick the living daylights out of citrus any day of the week. He reserved judgment on the optimism.
"What's the Cunning Plan, then, eh, Sheppard? If I am to be part of it, you might as well divulge now. We're almost on top of the place."
"Drink 'em under the table." Sheppard smiled slyly.
"Seriously?" Rodney resisted hitting Sheppard as he cocked his head to one side playfully.
"No. If they offer you booze, pour the stuff onto the floor, McKay, or into the potted plants. They're already hammered. We might yet have the edge if this all goes to hell in a handbasket. Look. These guys are not going to play nice. If they can treat their kids like this, they're not going to give a damn about us."
"Treat their kids like what?"
"Just - look around you." Sheppard indicated their strange entourage with a fleeting nod.
"They look inbred. Hillbillies? Hello? Duh?"
"There's more to it than that." Rodney watched Sheppard's eyes darken, and was about to ask what he meant, when they were ushered through a heavy oak door and into the inn.
"Seriously, Sheppard, how're we to 'keep 'em entertained'? I suck at the can-can."
"Just - talk too much as usual, Rodney. Now, why don't we find out how welcome we really are, huh?"
oooOOOooo