Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or its characters… (I just like to kick the sh-- out of them sometimes.) I also do not own the various pop culture staples I have referenced/will reference throughout.
Author's note: This is short, but it was necessary for there to be some sort of segue to the delicious abuse of Sheppard bit coming up next…
As McKay trudged along behind the semi-giant, he wished that he hadn't eaten his entire portion of the stale loaf of bread. It definitely would've better served as breadcrumbs to mark the path than a source of sustenance. And he knew it was important that he try to be as observant as possible as he was led about the system of caves.
Sheppard had been let out of their depressingly dank cell before, but only to be banged up enough that whatever brain cells that had managed to survive this long hadn't faired so well. So it was all up to Rodney. He would have to remember the layout of the place, figure out a way to escape.
And since they were taking him to repair something… maybe there would be tools he could 'borrow.' No one had said exactly what was in need of fixing. But given those he had encountered thus far, they probably were simply not capable of understanding it themselves. Let alone articulating the problem… or articulating at all.
In fact, every time one had opened his mouth, Rodney had honestly expected grunting instead of words. Cavemen! Thoughts of primitive creatures masquerading as men led his thoughts to a certain individual, one that he silently swore that he would no longer refer to as a 'caveman' if he made it out of the Clan of the Cave Bears alive. Even behind his back…
The more Neanderthal than human leading the way stopped short, and Rodney, having his mind occupied with what he would never admit were unimportant thoughts, ran into him. Immediately, he regretted the lapse in attention, for the man was as solid as rock, which Rodney also estimated the trolls intelligence to equal.
The scientist rubbed his nose and resisted the urge to shout a stupefying stream of offenses, regarding the species of origin of the man (if you could call him that)'s mother and/or father.
"Here," Grog announced. It was easier to think of him as 'Grog' than to ask him for his actual name. The result of such an inquiry could only have two possible outcomes in Rodney's mind, neither of which was pleasant. 1. Grog could think it an impertinent question and violence against his person could ensue. Or 2. The oaf's brain could explode sending shards of rock-hard flesh spraying in his direction. No, silently calling him 'Grog' was the best viable option.
"Alright," Rodney said, mustering all of his strength to force a façade of geniality. "We're here." He paused briefly, but no further explanation was offered.
"Where's here?" He tried after the moment of bizarre silence stretched on. This particular inquiry appeared to be too much for poor Grog. His unibrow furrowed into more prominence, placing most of his face into shadow rather than just his eyes.
"Here," he repeated his previous remark, obviously unable to generate anything resembling independent thought.
"I thought I was supposed to fix something," Rodney asked hopefully. He clasped his hands together to signifying his readiness to work.
"This gate is broken," Grog offered. Pointing to an opening similar to that of their cell and many others they had passed along the way. But although the style of metal grating looked similar, it was not securely entrenched with a doorway worked into the middle on rusty hinges with rusty locks. Instead, it seemed to be rigged to a system of winches…a fashion very nearly resembling…
"A portcullis?" Rodney wondered aloud. Why would they install a medieval style gate in the middle of their complex? Weren't they supposed to block the entrance, keeping invaders out, and peasants (or in their case, captives) in? Grog looked at him blankly. How unexpected. Of course, he would not be familiar with the term anyway… Still, Rodney couldn't help his curiosity being roused. "What's this gate used for?"
"It allows the beasts into the arena," Grog supplied.
Oh, that was real reassuring! Not only were there who-knew-how-many brutish giants in the complex of caves, there were "beasts", most likely bloodthirsty ones, infesting the place. One wrong turn during an escape attempt and they were Bantha fodder. Wait a minute-
"What arena?" Rodney couldn't contain his confusion. Having tasked his verbal capacities for the day, Grog pointed behind the scientist. He turned around slowly, not wanting to fall for the old trick, a quick anxiety screaming to be heard. What he saw shocked him, but fortunately didn't terrify him (in the immediate sense, at least).
Somehow, through all their wanderings down poorly lit, earthy halls, they had ended up in a small alcove on the edge of a very large cavern, the center of which held an arena to rival those of ancient Rome. And Rodney could not believe it. There was just no way he was that unobservant.
But the sight of a blue sky shining down from a gargantuan hole in the cave ceiling was enough to put an end to his face-off with his shortcomings. For some odd reason he could spend days on end shut up in a stuffy little lab, but being trapped in the caves, and mostly in one rather small cell for what had been at least twenty-four hours (but probably more), was beginning to agitate his latent claustrophobia. And here he thought he had been recovering from the affliction, too…
It was nice to know there was a viable surface to the planet (or possibly moon…but at least the option of asteroid had been eliminated). That meant there was a good chance of a stargate. And stargates equaled at least an infinitesimal amount of hope for escape.
The only question was How? Andcould they survive long enough in the hellish underground death fest to make the attempt?
A/N: Stay tuned for the tasty torturous portion (I promise it is coming up next), unless you don't enjoy that sort of thing. Then you probably clicked on this story by mistake…