Standing at the foot of the gate ramp on the Surrosan homeworld, Teyla briefed John and Ronon on what to expect.

"They are a peaceful, cerebral people who devote themselves to study and learning. Their city is not far from here." She gestured in the direction they should travel and the three of them began walking briskly.

The surroundings were pleasant, rich with vegetation. "Kinda like a park," John noted as they headed down a path paved with stones cut into geometric shapes. He glanced around. This place could be made into a decent Frisbee golf course. He wondered if the Surrosans would be up for a little cultural exchange.

"The Surrosans are meticulous about their environment," Teyla said. "Their architecture is clean and mathematically precise, their buildings immaculately kept. They approach life with scientific precision and great attention to detail. They are a serious-minded, hard-working people."

So probably no Frisbee golf, John thought with a grimace. What was it about serious-minded, hard-working people that made them such total stick-in-the-muds? Hadn't they ever heard that all work and no play makes... John's right foot struck unexpected unevenness and he was headed for a face-plant, fortunately averted by Ronon's steadying hand on his arm.

Bending to the ground, John picked up a piece of broken paving stone. "Meticulous, huh?"

Teyla looked disconcerted. "I am sure that repairs will soon be made. Perhaps they are unaware that the path needs mending."

Nodding, John straightened and they resumed their progress. Teyla continued to wax knowledgeable about the Surrosan cultural obsession with science, order, and precision. All the while, John was aware of the increasingly decaying state of the path. By the time an errant thorny vine caught hold of the sleeve of his black tee and drew blood from his arm, John had heard enough.

"All right, I've heard enough," he said, 'cause he was clever like that. Pulling free of the grabby sticker-vine, he added, "Y'know, Teyla, I can't help noticing that this path seems a little ratty."

Teyla raised an eyebrow. "I have seen no trace of the animals you refer to as 'rodents.'"

Fine, be like that. John said, very patiently, "Would you say that this path meets the standard of 'immaculately-keptness' that you would normally expect of the Surrosans?"

Her face fell minutely; John barely managed to contain a triumphant, "Gotcha!" It wasn't very leader-like and besides, she'd only get revenge later during his beati... uh, their sparring session.

"I must admit," she said, "I am a bit surprised by the state of this path. On my previous visits, I never saw so much as a stone out of place or a bush less than perfectly trimmed."

"When were you here last?" Ronon asked her.

"I last visited shortly after I became our leader," she answered. "But others among my people made trading visits later and never reported anything amiss."

"Well, you did say your people haven't heard from them in a while," John said. He gestured with his head that they continue and they resumed walking, now more cautiously. Ordinarily, poor groundskeeping wasn't cause for alarm, but this was Pegasus; in this galaxy, a trip to the garden of Eden could turn to shit even without a treacherous serpent. Hell, even without apples.

"Ronon," Teyla said, "you have been here much more recently. What do you recall from your visit?"

"I was here twice," the Satedan said. "First time, it was pretty much like you said."

They kept moving in silence until John realized Ronon really wasn't going to continue without prompting. "And the second time?"

Ronon shrugged. "Second time, it was different."

Boy, the big guy really knew how to spin a yarn.

Teyla stepped in front of her large teammate, fixing him with a stern glare. "Ronon, I believe you know more about what has become of the Surrosans than you are saying."

"Yeah," John said, never one to miss a good pile-on. "The second time was different, how?"

They were interrupted in their pursuit of truth by the sounds of nearby combat. Profuse grunting and occasional swearing were punctuated by the sound of wood striking wood and, less often, bodies. Instantly alert, the three of them hurried cautiously down the path toward the sounds.

Turned out they were almost to the end of the path anyway, finding themselves in a clearing that looked to be on the outskirts of the city. What was happening there was... well, if John didn't know any better, he would have thought it was some sort of riot. What convinced him it wasn't was the fact that all the "rioters" were dressed identically in white tunics and black shorts, and all of them were armed with long bamboo-like sticks. In real riots, people didn't dress alike and they generally armed themselves with the most lethal objects they could lay hands upon. Bamboo-y sticks of uniform thickness and length were not the spontaneous violence implements of choice among discerning vigilantes

A closer look told him that the apparent melee was really a group of people sparring in pairs. Swinging their sticks with extreme concentration but an utter lack of skill or precision, it was clear that each combatant was directing his or her aggression at only one partner, although there was a disturbing number of inadvertent strikes, pokes, and tripping up of people in surrounding pairs.

John glanced at Teyla to see if she had any better understanding of what they were looking at here, but her expression was one of complete astonishment. He felt vaguely sympathetic; she'd come here expecting to renew ties with a society of tidy Einsteins, Stephen Hawkings, and Frank Lloyd Wrights and instead had found the Pegasus version of the Keystone Kops.

"Boy, even their hair's different than you expected," he said, failing as usual in the tact department.

"Quite different," she answered tightly.

John frowned, watching the nearest sparring pair as one man got the end of his stick lodged in a hole in the ground and his opponent tripped over it. The first man then slipped and landed on the second, their wild, frizzy locks flying in their faces.

"In fact," John said, turning toward Ronon, "their hair looks a lot like yours."

Teyla grabbed Ronon's arm ungently. "Ronon, who are these people? What happened to the Surrosans?"

"These are the Surrosans."

"That is impossible. The Surr..."

They became aware of a sudden lack of noise and saw that the sparring session had ended. The ground of the clearing was littered with injured, bleeding, groaning people, and even those left standing were bent, bruised, and nursing nosebleeds and eyes swollen shut. Those capable of focusing outward were staring at the three newcomers.

John flashed a friendly smile and waved. "Hey."

When no one reciprocated or, indeed, seemed to notice that he'd spoken, he realized that the people weren't staring at the three of them.

They were staring at Ronon.

A portly short man, completely bald on top but wearing the sides in long reddish-gray dreads – which, yeah, looked every bit as ridiculous it sounds – stepped forward and reverently addressed their Satedan teammate. "Ronon! You've come back! At last, we have a chance to demonstrate our progress. Come, please! The board of governors will want to know you're here." Turning to the erstwhile combatants, he yelled, "That's all for today, students! As you can see, we have an honored guest. We will resume from this point tomorrow. Dismissed!"

"So," John said dubiously, "this was a class." Maybe a class for first aid responders?

The portly man beamed proudly as his students limped away, some of them leaning on their sticks or each other for support. "Yes, my advanced personal combat students. Finest group I've ever taught."

John kept a smile pasted on and nodded politely. If Atlantis established a trading relationship with these people, he guessed that medical supplies would be top of their wish list.

The portly man's attention was once again on Ronon. He clasped his hands together in almost childlike glee. "Oh, I really cannot wait for you to see all that we've done! I know you are going to be very surprised."

"I am already surprised," Teyla said with deceptive mildness.

The man seemed taken aback, as though it had only just dawned on him that Ronon wasn't alone. Gesturing with a hand each toward Teyla and John, he asked Ronon, "These are your... attendants?"

Ronon folded his arms and smirked. John knew it was time to earn that gate team leader stipend and stepped forward. "Lt. Col. John Sheppard. This is Teyla Emmagen, and you obviously know Specialist Ronon Dex."

"I am Juzo, chief cleric and minister of training," said the man, wearing a look of confused annoyance, as though he'd stuck in a DVD he'd really been anticipating and now found himself subjected to a series of ads for other movies that he couldn't simply fast-forward through to get to the feature, which he'd been waiting for for over six months because someone at the SGC kept forgetting to put it on the Daedalus.

Of course, John might be projecting a little.

Juzo nodded to him and Teyla with an insincere smile and then resumed looking at Ronon.

Waving a hand in a way that kinda screamed, "Taxi!", John said, "Actually, I'm the leader of our team."

Juzo's head turned and he sent a look to John that clearly demanded, Why do you keep speaking?

Teyla stepped forward before John could justify himself. "My people and yours once enjoyed a fruitful trade relationship," she told Juzo. When he looked confused, she clarified, "My people lived on Athos at the time."

"Oh, yes! I remember them."

Teyla's smile was like the sun coming up, and Juzo responded in kind. She continued. "We have not heard from your people in some time and were unaware of the... immense cultural changes that have taken place here."

Juzo smiled some more. "Yes, many things have changed here since those days. Once we were foolishly focused on matters that seemed vastly important, but were of little true significance." He again looked reverently at Ronon. "But we were very fortunate to have a visitor who showed us how our efforts as a people were best applied. Since that time, the Ancestors have certainly smiled upon us."

John looked around at the neglected landscaping and crumbling pavement. "I don't know. Kinda let the infrastructure go, didn't you?"

"Well, yes," Juzo conceded. "Actually, that's an example of our once misguided cultural focus. Before, my people were constantly distracted by frivolous pursuits. Today, we are firmly on the path the Ancestors have laid out for us."

Teyla frowned in frustration. "But—"

Ronon interrupted. "We're here because we're lookin' for a guy. Member of our team. Someone kidnapped him."

John felt startled by this reminder of the purpose of their mission. He and Teyla exchanged a guilty look.

"That's right," John said, belatedly taking over. "We have reason to believe that someone from your planet may have kidnapped him."

Teyla brought out one of the fliers with Rodney's picture and handed it to Juzo. "I don't recognize this man," he said firmly, handing it back to her. "And frankly, I have trouble believing that anyone from here would have had anything to do with this. Our people are all quite busy with physical training."

"This paper has been posted on many different worlds," Teyla said. "On one of them, a young woman was seen showing great interest in the paper. She was described as wearing her hair in the style of your people." She glanced at Juzo's silly attempt at a Rononesque coiffure. "That is, the style your people once embraced. Shaved on the sides, long at the crown..."

A dark look arose in Juzo's eyes that he quickly submerged. "As you say, that is the old hair tradition. Now, we wear it like this."

He ran a hand through his limp dreads and beamed proudly. John cleared his throat and said, "Real nice. But maybe there's somebody—"

"You said something about the board of governors," Ronon interrupted again. Juzo exploded once more in enthusiasm.

"Oh, yes! Let's hurry into the city proper. They'll want to know of your arrival right away." Juzo turned to begin walking across the clearing, turning once to make sure they were following.

John hung back to keep enough distance between them and their host to murmur, "Has there been a change to the team hierarchy I should know about? Because I could swear that I used to make the decisions on missions."

Ronon seemed untroubled by the implied accusation. "I remember this guy. We're better off talking to someone else. 'Sides, you guys really didn't seem to be gettin' anywhere."

John wanted to make a cutting remark so he could avoid admitting the truth of that, but Teyla had seen an opening and taken it.

"I assume," she said to Ronon, "that you can explain why these people seem to have changed the emphasis of their entire culture to emulate you?"

With a one-shouldered shrug, the big guy responded, "They formed a wrong impression the first time I was here. Next time I came, they'd changed everything. No one was more surprised than me."

Once they'd passed through the treeline and into the city, Juzo began the play tour guide, enthusiastically pointing out the archery range (the trunks of the trees behind the hay bale-mounted targets were absolutely riddled with gashes and puncture marks), the cross-country trail (upon which lay a woman having her ankle wrapped and her arm splinted), and the newly finished obstacle course.

"I designed it myself," Juzo stated proudly. "It is the most challenging course we've ever had. Our runners have been using it for less than a week, and already seven of them have been injured."

John reflected on the obvious pride in this announcement. "Don't get me wrong, Juzo – I'm sure you did a great job designing the course – but if seven people have gotten hurt trying to run it, maybe a little tweaking's in order. You know, for safety's sake."

Juzo waved a hand dismissively. "Their injuries will only make them stronger." He beamed at Ronon.

"Injuries do not make people stronger," Teyla said. Her voice was velvet-covered steel. "To subject your athletes to a dangerous course is not very responsible. It benefits no one to subject people to pain for no reason."

John found himself thinking of their stick-fighting sessions and wondered if he should risk calling hypocrisy.

"Injuries," Juzo intoned, "are part of being a runner. Pain is simply an incentive to keep moving."

"Well, yeah," John countered, "in a life-threatening situation. On a training course, pain's a signal that you're doing something wrong."

Juzo's facial expression was becoming less and less tolerant. "Clearly, we have very different philosophies."

Ronon pointed to one of the many once-grand structures in the city that seemed to have been left to fend for itself against time and weather. "That still the place where the governors meet?"

"Yes," Juzo said, clearly elated that Ronon would deign to remember such a detail, "but they'll all be at their respective training stations now. I'll need to sound the summoning signal inside."

"Great," Ronon said, starting toward the building. "Let's go sound it."

Teyla glanced at John before following. Juzo had already started, taking a series of quick strides to catch up and walk next to Ronon. John called, "Right. Ronon, you take point. I'll watch our six." His peripheral vision caught Teyla's turn of her head but he refused to look at her.


They'd had to take the long way around to reach the Gymnasium Formerly Known as Observatory in order to avoid running into any more Surrosan citizens. After miles' worth of walking around literally joined at the hip and shoulder with Tarru, Rodney had developed a unique understanding of what life as a conjoined twin must be like. He had a crazy urge to sit down once he got back to Atlantis and send Jeannie a heartfelt email thanking her profusely for not developing from the same fertilized egg as him.

As they stood with their backs pressed against a wall on the backside of the building, waiting for Tarru to be sure that no one would see them as they sneaked in, Rodney took stock of what he could see of the city. The buildings in the immediate area seemed well-built but poorly maintained, the paved areas in general were in need of attention, and all the vegetation showed signs of neglect. Clearly this culture's sudden rejection of a science and engineering emphasis was taking its toll on the city's infrastructure and upkeep.

The gymnasium, as one of the newest buildings, was still in pretty good shape, if a little weird-looking. That's to be expected, Rodney supposed; if you start constructing an observatory and switch to building a gym midstream, you're bound to get a result with a bit of an identity crisis.

"Come on!" hissed Tarru, pulling him toward her. They slipped through the back door, assumed conjoined-twin positions, and hobbled hurriedly down a corridor.

"Where's this lab of yours?" He thought he was whispering, but she still shushed him harshly.

"Up those stairs, two levels, to the left, all the way down the corridor."

"Well, naturally. It couldn't be one of these rooms right here on the main level, could it? That would be too easy. We can't have— Ow! That was my foot!"

"I know. If you don't lower your voice, I will make sure the next kick finds something more sensitive before they find us take us into custody."

"All you had to do was ask, you know. I'm not an unreas— Ow! Stop that!"

Excited voices suddenly had them dragging each other into a nearby alcove. "What's happening?" Rodney demanded.

"Here," Tarru said, "let me give you a full report, since I'm obviously in a position to know what's going on given that I've spent the last few hours right beside— Ow!"

"Quiet!"

A man and a woman, each sporting incongruous, poorly executed dreadlocks, hurried past their alcove on their way to the stairs. "You really think it's true? He's come back after all this time?"

"Narvan saw him," the woman answered. "He just walked in on the personal combat class."

"Where are they now?"

"I hear they are headed to the governors' building."

"Let's hurry, then."

The voices trailed away. "Who are they talking about?" Rodney asked.

"Who cares? Whoever it is has given us the distraction we need. Come on."

The lab was a cluttered room filled with disparate kinds of scientific instruments and supplies. It looked like technological yard sale. "You really could pick up the place when you know you're having company," Rodney said, wrinkling his nose. "Now, where are the components for this stupid machine of yours?"

"Over here." She led him to a corner, pushing objects out of her way with a casual kick and a careless shove. Rodney cringed every time something rattled or crashed.

He looked at the object on the table she pointed to, picking it up and turning it over as he examined it.

"Well done," he said. "This is wholly and completely not what I asked you for. It is in fact very far removed from what I asked for."

"We'll fix ourselves in a while," Tarru said. "First, I want you to help me strike the first blow for the rebellion."

"You know, you should see a doctor about your problems with retention. I distinctly remember telling you that I would not be assisting in any coup attempts."

"You won't have to do a thing! Just show me how to work this thing. Show me what to do so I can start the rebellion, and then I'll show you to the things you need to fix the brain thing."

"You'll really do that? You'll let me fix the stupid device if I show you how to work this thing?"

"Yes! Absolutely!" she said, beaming. She had quite a nice smile for a scientist with no discernible scientific knowledge or aptitude.

Rodney looked it over again, opened a compartment, looked around on the table and picked up a cylinder, and popped it into the compartment. He closed the compartment and slid a lever to make a locking sound. "That should do it."

Tarru looked eager. "Okay, what do I do now?"

"Do? Oh, nothing, really. Just..." He raised the object, which had a long projecting barrel in front, and pointed it at Tarru, who gasped and raised her hands reflexively. "... smile!"

Rodney pushed a button. Tarru gave a tiny shriek as the object clicked and whirred. Rodney turned a crank until a thick piece of paper began to emerge from the side of the device. He ripped it out and looked at it, chuckled, and handed it to Tarru. "There you go. Not very flattering, but I think it captures your utter cluelessness rather well."

"You... you..." She decided to express herself by slapping at his upper body repeatedly. "Why didn't you just tell me it was an image-making device?"

"Because I wanted you to see just how... stop! Just how ridic— will you stop? I wanted you to see how ridiculous it is for you to even be thinking about launching some kind of revolution when you can't even tell the lethal from the benign."

"I'm perfectly capable of learning. I just need someone to teach me!"

"I'm teaching you right now!" He held up the camera. "You can't tell a piece of photographic equipment from a... from a..." He glanced around nearby and finally selected a large bazookalike object. "...from something that looks to be a light intensifier that functions as an energy weapon. Hm. Neat."

He put it and the camera down and grabbed her by the shoulders. "I know you're unhappy with your life and believe me, I can sympathize with that. But if you try to use weaponry you don't understand and don't know how to use, you're only going to hurt people and do a lot of damage. I'm telling you this for your own good. Now: where's the stuff I need to repair this box? I want to be able to walk a straight line when I leave this building."

Shoulders slumped, Tarru looked near tears again. Rodney felt a little brutish, but hell, it was all in her best interest as well as his. She showed him to another table. "Here. This is the stuff I used to make the device. There should be enough extra parts for you to repair it. In fact, I'm sure you'll make it work a whole lot better."

She plopped onto a stool and slouched dejectedly. Yeah, he was definitely feeling like a prick now.

"You know, I wouldn't mind if you, uh, wanted to, you know... watch me work. You might learn some things. Not that I'd be narrating every move and I could only take time to answer a very few questions, but just watching someone of my caliber would undoubtedly be instructive."

Dully, she looked at him and shook her head before resuming staring at the floor.

Okay, then. He may be a prick, but he had made the offer. Forcing himself to forget about her for a while, he set about figuring out how to repair the device and restore their equilibrium... and his freedom.