Thanks for the reviews, they are very much appreciated and I answer them all. Hope you enjoy the next chapter
RETRIBUTION
CHAPTER 8
Rodney took a sip from his mug and grimaced. Discarding the cold coffee in disgust he rose from the chair and slowly made his way out onto the balcony. Dusk was fast approaching, heralding the end of yet another day, but still they were no closer to locating Sheppard's whereabouts.
For nearly three long months now, his friend had been missing with each lead coming to nothing, and the IOA itching to have him declared MIA and replaced with Caldwell. Woolsey, give him his due, had told the 'suits' Atlantis was, "actively pursuing positive leads which he was confident would lead to Colonel Sheppard's ultimate retrieval."
However the truth of the matter was Kolya's men were no closer to breaking than when they first arrived, obviously more afraid of him, than anything Lorne could come up with. Ronon had practically begged Woolsey…well maybe not begged exactly…to allow him some time alone with the prisoners. But despite actually considering it for at least a full couple of minutes, his ultimate refusal sent the Satedan into the gym for four hours straight, and by the time he was finished, Atlantis didn't have a punch bag left in the whole base.
All of his life Rodney firmly believed every problem could be solved with his superior brain and the application of science…but what a crock that was. While he did concede his genius had saved the day, usually on a monthly, if not weekly basis, it hadn't done one bit of good in finding his friend.
McKay looked out into the now night sky and saw the twin moons of New Lantia casting their silvery glow over the ocean. He sighed. John loved this view and Rodney wondered if there was a view where he was, or even if John was still alive. But what the hell was he thinking? Of course Sheppard was still alive, out there somewhere, mad as hell because rescue hadn't arrived…He had to be, because how would he live with the guilt if John was dead?
The cool sea breeze which had been pleasant up to a short time ago, now chilled his skin making him shiver…he really should go in.
Rodney heard the swish of the door behind him but didn't need to ask who it was. "Hi, Ronon, I'm perfectly fine you know. It's really not necessary for you to keep checking up on me."
As he heard a grunt and the swish of the door, he felt guilty. "Wait…Look, I'm…you know…sorry. I just came out here to get some air and well…it's his balcony. I've failed, Ronon, Sheppard's still missing…and I've no clue what to do next. What if we don't find him… what if we're too late…what if he's dead?"
"That's a lot of 'what if's'…even for you McKay. Without his transmitter you've done the best you could…always do. You haven't failed, Rodney and we will find him alive. Besides, the mans too stubborn to die...It's just taking us longer than we thought…that's all." Slapping McKay on the back. "C'mon Teyla's waiting for us, I'm hungry and you need to eat or Keller will have my hide, so let's go."
Rodney took one last look at the view and followed his team mate inside. Ronon was half right, McKay knew he had failed so far, but wouldn't give up. Tonight he would eat with his friends, and tomorrow…well that was another day. Nah… he wasn't given these brains for nothing, something would break soon and he would find Sheppard, no matter how long it took.
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Sheppard had been recruited into special ops when he was still only a raw recruit.
The trainer at the time was a tall, grey haired, wiry man called Major Anderson who recognised potential when he saw it, and it wasn't long before he realised one of the trainee pilots, John Sheppard, had it in spades. It wasn't just the high marks he scored in every exam, or the impressive skill shown during flight training. No…there was something special about the tall, dark haired, easy going young man that belied his affable nature, which he was quick to identify and report to the base commander.
In those days John was only interested in three things; girls, college football and flying, but flying always came first. Ever since Madeline Sheppard brought him his first colouring book with planes, trains and automobiles on the cover, John had been hooked. But not for him the cars which Dave loved, no…for John it had always been about the planes, or anything which soared into the blue. He loved the sweet, crazy, rush of adrenaline setting his senses alive every time he held the controls, taking him to the only place where he was truly happy, the only place he could be himself.
So when he was asked by the 'brass' to take additional training, the young recruit unimpressed by authority figures, thanked them nicely but then said 'no' as respectfully as possible. Of course…he hadn't reckoned for the wily nature of his CO, who, only mildly surprised by the young mans attitude, arranged for John to bump into an old friend from Special Forces at the mess hall. Looking back on that day, John knew now he'd been set up, because after meeting the veteran, impressed by what he'd heard and having realised he wouldn't have to give up the thing he loved, the rest as they say was history.
At first he had enjoyed the training, using his brain to its full potential and being challenged to be best he could be. However the first time he took a life, saw the blood pour from the wound he inflicted, and saw the light die in the mans eyes, he too wanted to die. It hadn't mattered he saved the life of a comrade, or that he helped secure a hard won victory against the Afghan insurgents. He, John Sheppard had taken a life and nothing anyone said or did took away the guilt which threatened to overwhelm him. Later while hanging over the john, throwing up for the umpteenth time, Anderson came over, waited until the dry heaves finally stopped and helped him to his feet.
Sheppard recalled the day well. He smiled as he remembered how the old guy let him talk, the way Anderson looked at him intently, as John told him he wasn't up to the job, and wasn't worthy of the faith bestowed upon him. However, once he was done spilling his guts and had asked to resign, Sheppard would never forget the next words which came out of the man's mouth.
"Why do you think I chose you John? This mans army doesn't want someone who will kill without consideration and then not give it another thought. I have killed many men in the line of duty and I cannot regret what I've done, because I'm a soldier and killing is sometimes part of the job. But I canl tell you I carry the burden for all the lives I've taken, and if you had reacted any other way…you wouldn't be the man I took you for. Now, get up and cleaned up. Tonight you and I are going to get very drunk, and in the morning, if you still want to resign, I will accept it without comment, however…I would be sorry to lose one of the best recruits I've ever had."
Of course, he'd awoken the next morning with a massive hangover, the resignation forgotten, and the two men never spoke of their conversation again. Today, looking out into the Genii village he remembered that dark day on Atlantis and the men he killed. It wasn't something he was proud of, but he didn't regret it either, because to do so was to regret saving his home and the people he cared for, and John knew, if he had to do it all over again…he would.
Sheppard saw the hate filled eyes of the people as they glared at him, and understood their loathing. To them he was a murderer, the beast who had killed their loved ones, changing their lives for ever and no punishment inflicted upon him would ever be enough to make up for their lost.
So regardless of what Kolya believed, he toiled from dawn to dusk each day, doing everything asked of him, not because of fear of Nessan or the belt he wore, but because he felt a debt to these people. For that reason John tolerated every spit, kick and trip all done under the watchful eyes of the guards without complaint. Because he understood their need for retribution, and if his pain lessened theirs, then maybe it would go someway to ease the burden of guilt he'd carried since taking his first life all those years ago.
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
The only thing which made life bearable in this back breaking, hostile environment was the friendship of the boy Sirus. Each morning after he was unchained from his stall, Sirus would sneak in and help him muck out the animals and feed the pigs. Because of the smell, the guards were content to wait outside, happy he was wasn't going anywhere now his ankles had healed enough to be fitted with chains. It was at those times John got as close to happy as he could get in this place, enjoying the companionship of the kid, not to mention the food he'd smuggled from the kitchen.
It was Sirus who taught him to how plough the rich fertile soil into neat, tidy, straight furrows. The work was arduous, taking him out into the fields during the heat of the day, leaving him drained and exhausted. But he enjoyed seeing the results of his labour, taking a little pride in gaining a new skill after only a few short days. Although no one would ever admit it, the farmers obviously thought his skills weren't too shabby either, as Nessan was applied to on a daily basis for John's help preparing their fields for sowing, and he could tell from the frustration on Kolya's face… no one ever complained about his work.
Of course, being the servant of the community, Sheppard did whatever was required. So, when he was told to help the old healer in the village, he dragged himself, minder in tow and walked along the rough gravel road along to her cottage and today's work assignment.
When John saw the old woman's gnarled, weather beaten face, he was reminded him of the cook who used to work on the Sheppard estate when he was a small boy. Martha would sit him on the high stool beside the big wooden kitchen table, and keep him supplied with milk and cookies, all the while making him laugh with tales of his father as a young man. However seeing the stern expression staring at him as he approached the cottage, and remembering Martha's easy smile that was where the similarity ended.
Taking care not to smile, John spoke. "Morning, Mam, what can I do for you today?"
"You have nice manners…I'll give you that. First I want you to go out back and chop up wood for kindling then I want the garden dug ready for planting."
Sheppard saw the amount of logs piled ready for chopping and didn't think anyone needed that much kindling, but when folk knew he was coming it was always the same…watch the nasty man sweat. So he went over, picked up the axe, and started swinging. It helped to think of Kolyas face…either brother would do…as he swung the axe, smiling to himself, knowing he was confusing the hell out the guard, who wondered what this prisoner had to be happy about.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he knew by now not to ask for even a drink of water, because (a)…they would'nt give him any no matter how hard he'd worked. Or (b)…even if they did there was always a catch, like the other day when he found a cockroach at the bottom of the cup.
But half way through digging the garden, the woman appeared with a mug of something in her hand.
"Here, this is for you…you've worked hard today."
John, trying not to appear suspicious, looked closely at the bottom of the cup and finding nothing moving, took a tentative sip. It tasted pleasantly sweet and felt like heaven against his parched throat. He flashed his best boyish smile. "Thank you, mam, you're very kind."
The old woman grunted, and turning on her heel walked away.
He finished the drink, savouring the cold liquid and the short break before picking up the spade and resuming the job in hand. It was a warm day, but not as oppressive as it had been earlier in the week, so why was he so hot? Then suddenly he was on his knees as pain…violent, immediate and all consuming ripped through him. Spewing out yesterday's scraps, he struggled to breathe, as wave upon wave of sickness alternated with deep, piecing, agonising convulsions tearing his gut apart. The guard saw what was happening, but just stood and watched for several long minutes, suspicious the prisoner was up to something, before eventually coming over just as the old woman approached.
"How does it feel to have your guts torn apart…eh boy? Oh, don't worry, what I gave you won't kill you, not like you murdered my son…But it will make you feel like you want to die…just for a while." Turning to the guard she pointed to John, curled in agony on the ground. "Get that piece of garbage out of my sight, and tell your boss not to bring him around here again."
TBC
Please review, I like to know what you think and motivated to keep up the pace of my edits!
