Chapter 8
After visiting several taverns since the previous sunset, Mishta's condition could only be described as decidedly delicate. She sat on a hillside on the outskirts of the village of Faradah, her chin resting on her drawn up knees, watching the primary sun sink below the horizon. She admired the distant second sun, which still glowed like a tiny but brilliant gemstone in the sky just above the tree line, though she knew she would have to head into the village soon and seek shelter for the night before darkness completely engulfed the area and the bandits came out to play.
Since embarking on her mission to outdo her brother she had downed several alcoholic beverages, perhaps as many as she'd enjoyed in the whole of the previous year, and her system now protested bitterly against the thought of any further imbibement. She'd just eaten a loaf of sweet bread and guzzled down a flask of karrik milk to line her stomach in the hope she could manage a few drinks more without becoming so inebriated she might miss some vital piece of information. But this was the last tavern, she promised herself. If she didn't find the elusive race with the explosives they required this time, she would bow to her brother's superiority and allow him to take the glory. Nothing was worth the recovery she already faced following all this and she refused to make it worse.
Thoroughly tired of being drooled over, prodded, poked and groped, not to mention bored with sad life-stories of life partners who 'just didn't understand', it took a great effort of will to get back on her feet and motivate herself to face another evening of drunken parlance with this region's varied miscreants and lowlifes.
Once upright, she concealed her bag of provisions in a shallow hole, covered it with leaves, twigs and some flat stones to hold it all in place, then headed off to sweet-talk the regulars at the Lokorit Tavern some half a mile walk away.
Slipping in quietly this time, she dipped into a shady corner of the room to observe the customers before deciding which of them to approach. The bartender headed over to her, his keen eye for customers noticing the new face amid his usual clientele. She ordered a sangberry juice, hoping its refreshing taste would clear her head before launching into another evening of boozy revelry, then leaned back against the bar to sip it while deciding on her next move.
She was about to join a gathered group of Japhalans, when she overheard something that caught her attention. Someone mentioned explosives.
At last…she was making headway.
On turning in the direction of the voice, she was furious to spot Lansha engrossed in conversation with three members of the Entuurian species, who were obviously visiting the region from their home planet as they were not usually seen in this area. Their pale skin did not lend itself to such a warm climate as theirs, and the daytime temperatures in these equatorial regions of Gragoffa could cook an Entuurian caught out without plenty of supplied to hydrate them.
Mishta's first instinct was to use her wiles to take over the conversation and force her brother out, but then she recalled his warning of the previous evening and held back. This wasn't a competition. It sounded like he might be getting somewhere, and she couldn't, no, she wouldn't jeopardise his breakthrough.
Her spirits plummeted as she realised her brother had gained the upper hand over her once again. Still, there was no point in dwelling on defeat and since there was no need to stay sober, she decided to order herself something stronger, hire a room for the night, and recover in relative comfort before returning to the hardship of life in their rebel camp.
Calling the bartender back, she ordered another Talooka Sunrise and gulped a huge mouthful back. This was the last one she would drink in a while. The Founders frowned upon such things in their womenfolk. And if they didn't succeed with their plan this might be the last one she would ever taste, so she meant to savour every mouthful.
Looking back toward Lansha she realised he'd spotted her, and an expression of worried anticipation now clouded his face. She knew what he was thinking. He expected her to cause a scene.
Instead, Mishta lifted her glass in a silent toast, saluting her brother's victory.
oooOOOooo
A siren sounded, waking Ronon from his uncomfortable slumber. A gritty floor in a cold, damp tunnel wasn't his idea of a bed since settling on Atlantis, but it was all he had, and all he'd had for six months now, so there was little choice other than to curl up there and get some sleep. And he often comforted himself by recalling that he'd slept on worse in his now dim and distant past as a runner. At least here in the mines they were sheltered from the elements.
During the night he'd been repeatedly disturbed not only by his own discomfort, but by the sobbing and groans of his fellow captives. It was always the same after a new intake. It took days for them to accept their new circumstances without tears...sometimes weeks. When the siren had at last sounded to herald the beginning of another day in the mines, he felt like he'd had little more than an hour of sleep in total, nowhere near enough to ready him for the day of hard labour ahead.
He slid his weary body out into the open and stretched to relieve his aches and pains. Teyla emerged from her own tunnel in much the same way. Seeing him up already, she gave him a quick wave and a weak smile. He dipped his head in return, but the sound of someone heading his way cut their exchange short. Ronon reached for his pick and bucket and was about to start work when a particularly huge Kheprian guard rounded the corner near his tunnel.
'You...come,' it screeched, signalling the direction in which he should move with his gun.
He didn't think he should refuse, so started out after him without question.
'Leave those here,' his guard said, pointing toward the tools Ronon still carried. 'You not need them.'
Ronon glanced back over his shoulder at Teyla, whose face was suddenly a picture of horror. People didn't leave the mines. At least, they didn't return once they did leave. And Ronon seriously doubted they were released with a handshake and a 'thank you for your service'.
He only hesitated for a second before putting down his equipment and following his huge captor, having learned the consequences of not following orders already many times. He had no intention of drawing unwanted and brutal attention to himself again. After the first couple of weeks he had decided to learn the art of patience everyone used to tell him he was so lacking in. Patience bought him time to heal, to watch things, to bide his time and figure a way out of this pit. He hadn't spotted anything obvious from down here in the limited vicinity of his tunnel, so he wasn't about to turn down the opportunity to scout out opportunities further afield.
By the time they reached the elevator that had brought him down here six months ago, he was one of six, each of them young and reasonably strong. Seemed likely they were being given some other hard task the others down here might not be powerfully built enough for. What was that saying Sheppard had always used when sending him on his way to babysit Zelenka on another science mission? Oh, yeah. A change is as good as a rest. A pang of sorrow awoke at the remembrance of his friend. He tried not to think about Sheppard because he hadn't seen him for so long and he couldn't think of any other reason he wouldn't have been selected for the mines other than the fact he might be…
He refused to even allow his mind to form the word to finish that thought. He would keep Sheppard and McKay alive in his mind until someone showed him evidence to the contrary. He would continue to plan his escape and the rescue of his friends…all of them…until the very last beat of his heart, or until the last breath left his body.
He cast a look around at the other humans, all alarmed and shaking where they stood. Ronon drew himself up to his full and considerable height. No matter what lay ahead he would not show fear. He might have learned patience, he might have learned obedience, but he had not yet learned to truly fear these creatures…and that would be their ultimate downfall.
oooOOOooo
After passing a comfortable night in a proper bed for the first time since joining the Founders' rebellion, Mishta should have woken feeling bright and refreshed, but she didn't. Instead, her throat felt like the sands of the wastelands, her mouth tasted of old plain boots, and her head thumped as hard as lament drums keeping a rhythm unheard but starkly felt.
Her decision to celebrate her brother's success now seemed a regrettable choice, especially considering the walk back to camp that lay ahead of her. She pulled a pillow over her face and blocked out the daylight for just a little while longer. For the briefest moment, she considered what her life could be if she simply failed to return to camp. She had a little money, could earn more if necessary, and then she could sleep in a bed like this every night...until life as she knew it came to an end. Cold shivered through her, the thought of their possible future or lack of it too enormous for her aching brain to comprehend. No, tempting as this bed was she couldn't give up on the fight; not now with the end so close at hand.
So, she rose and ate a meagre breakfast – all that her unsettled stomach would allow – and drank a large beaker of hot shallatus to give her focus a boost and quell the hangover brought on by last night's excesses. That done, she settled her bill and was on her way. Though she didn't relish the idea of listening to the rebels lavishing praise on her resourceful brother, there was no escaping it. She would pin on a smile and grit her teeth through it, just as she always did. He deserved it, she supposed.
The countryside surrounding Faradah looked breath-taking on this fine morning. There was even a little cloud cover, a welcome change considering the long trip she had ahead of her. Mishta made her way back to where she'd hidden her supplies, slipping off her dress and pulling on the everyday clothes she felt more comfortable in. She gazed out across the valley as she snapped shut the six buckles on each of her boots. The plant life was in full bloom and the scent of nearby chrysalyn flowers drifted to her on the breeze, a light aroma that helped to clear her head a little as she breathed it in and tried to put all thoughts of the stuffy, vapour-filled taverns of the past two evenings behind her.
At times like this, she wondered whether she'd done the right thing in joining the Founders. She rarely had the opportunity to enjoy a sunrise with a view like this. Her own people, the Birajans of Suporoan, no longer welcomed her. Members of the rebellion were deemed trouble makers who drew too much of Akalus' attention to them. If she ever tried to return to them they would at best drive her out, at worst, kill her. Every member of the rebellion faced that risk, but being a Human/Birajan hybrid made her stand out in a crowd more than most of the others. She couldn't deny who and what she was. Returning was impossible.
But out here in Faradah, no one cared if she was a Birajan rebel or not. At least they appeared not to. They were more interested in her human aspects in these parts, as she had discovered the previous two evenings. All her efforts had come to nothing…and her efforts had been considerable in some cases. In a way, it had been a relief when she'd realised Lansha had what they needed. It meant no more flirtation was required, no more tolerance of unrequited affection. So why hadn't she followed her original plan to down her brother's celebratory toast and get some sleep?
Mishta cringed as she recalled just how drunk she'd become before retiring to her room. Lansha had kept a brotherly eye on her while trying to continue his talks, and, thinking back, she felt guilty that she'd put him under so much pressure when his task was so vital. Unfortunately, her bitter disappointment at not being the one to supply the Founders with the information they sought had swiftly taken over her benevolent rationality and the one drink she'd promised herself had turned into six or seven…perhaps even more, she really hadn't been counting. She vaguely remembered a particularly large Japhalan taking an interest in her, a flush of heat rushing into her cheeks at the thought of their...interactions. The Japhalans were not an unattractive race, being related to Birajans by some ancient genetics, but far greater in physique and latent aggression…typically human traits that made her feel connected at some level.
Things had become quite heated and, with her normal inhibitions washed away by a river of alcohol, she'd decided to take him back to her room for the night.
Birajans were not a sexually active race. They chose life partners and only entered into sexual relations for the purpose of procreation, but, being half-human, Mishta often found herself dealing with urges her rebellion friends would not satisfy. Bringing younglings into a universe in peril was non-sensical to them, meaning sexual activity had ceased entirely in their group. She couldn't even pretend she wanted a child to ask another to satisfy her needs. This was one of the many reasons she despised being half-human; it threw her self-control off course at the most inappropriate times.
Unfortunately, seeking satisfaction from anyone other than the one you were promised to was beyond forgiveness in Birajan eyes. It led to instant exile from the tribe, or in her case the rebellion she had joined. She could ill-afford to be further exiled, but hormones and alcohol were a very bad mixture when it came to making good decisions. Last night, away from the prying eyes of her rebellion comrades, had seemed like the perfect time to give in to her desires and so she'd wasted none of it before heading to her lodgings with her would-be suitor in hot pursuit.
She'd managed to reach the top of the stairs before Lansha leapt to her rescue. His delay suggested he'd toyed with the idea of letting her learn her lesson the hard way, before his conscience had forced him to finally act. He'd tried to explain to the libidinous Japhalan that Mishta was extremely drunk and so not fit to know her own mind, but the Japhalan was in a less than receptive mood. He'd pushed Lansha away and tried to bundle her into her room before he could regain his balance. Lansha, though, was not easily shaken off, and stuck his boot in the door as the brute attempted to close it, preventing it from shutting.
Mishta remembered now that a fight had ensued, the large Japhalan having the advantage over her fit but physically outclassed brother. Lansha had taken quite a pummelling before she'd remembered about the gun she wore strapped to the top of her thigh. Putting it to the Japhalan's temple, she'd not so politely suggested he should try procreating with himself rather than her before she decorated the walls with his brain.
Reluctantly, the Japhalan had withdrawn at that point, suggesting there was some kind of unhealthy relationship going on between Mishta and her long-suffering brother. And thankfully that had been the end of the matter. The Japhalan had not returned.
Lansha had been furious with her, and rightly so. She'd put herself in unnecessary danger out of sheer petulance, and that was a terribly human thing to do. She felt ashamed that she'd been so weak. It was certain Lansha would still be angry, so perhaps it would be a good idea not to head back to camp until the time of the evening meeting, once the primary sun had set. Distracted by the news he needed to share, he would hopefully forget how angry he had been over her naivety…hopefully.
Just then, she heard the sound of an engine somewhere off behind her. Pulling on her sleeveless tunic, she snatched up her view enhancers and scrambled up the bank the brow of the hill to identify the source. She scanned the landscape as far as she could see. It was still early, but there were a few transporters moving in the village. None of them were big or close enough to be making the sound that had caught her attention, though, which meant...
Looking up, she spotted a craft heading in her direction. Thinking it wise to take cover, she hid among some rocks and watched as the ship came into closer range. It flew directly overhead, descending as it travelled. It was obviously coming in to land somewhere not too far away. As she watched, she became aware of the shining metal roofs of Phylacos glinting in the new light of the morning sun. The vessel began to turn in its direction. It was heading to the human prison camp.
Mishta adjusted her viewers, focusing in on the name emblazoned on the left rear wing of the hull. Diiro Koora. A Reliquiae ship. They were flying into Phylacos? Akalus had supposedly warned them to stay away from his complex years ago, so was this a strike against him? No, she didn't think so. They were hardly being stealthy. Perhaps their health was failing. Perhaps the human blood procured from the local meat auctions was no longer enough to sustain them. Everyone knew Akalus kept the best humans for himself. Several Reliquiae could feed from a human and gain enough vital blood to regenerate themselves decades younger. But, perhaps as they grew older, they needed more blood to make the regeneration successful. She wondered if this was why the Kheprians' harvesting run was so much greater this time. Perhaps it wasn't Akalus desperately seeking that special human, but a new agreement to supply the Reliquiae with human flesh. Perhaps they made a truce.
Akalus with the backing of the Reliquiae was a formidable foe indeed and such an alliance could make defeating him all the harder. This was bad…very bad. She needed to get closer and find out what was going on. They had to have more information if they were going to have to factor in the activities of the Reliquiae into their plans.
Grabbing her bag of supplies and equipment, Mishta ran down the hill, heading for the wastelands. It could take over two hours to cross that barren area at normal walking pace; she had nowhere near that length of time if she had any hope of finding out what was happening at Phylacos. No matter how sick and hungover she felt, she needed to run across that wasteland as fast as she'd ever run.
One way or another, the future of life as they knew it could depend on her speed this day.
oooOOOooo
The Diiro Koora transport craft landed gracefully in the exercise yard of the Phylacos complex, narrowly avoiding the already battered equipment and the electrified outer fencing. As the dust settled, a door opened and a ramp lowered to allow six fluidly elegant females to descend to the parched ground.
The Kheprian guards kept a respectful distance as the Reliquiae swept by, their rangy limbs helping them to cross the substantial distance to the open doorway in very little time. These women were of great age, yet were as agile as the youth of most other species. Though they refrained from indiscriminate violence now, their history told a very different story. No one crossed the Reliquiae. Their reputation preceded them across this whole region of the universe.
Inside the entrance doorway, they were immediately met by the Akalus. His imposing form created a barrier between them and the corridor beyond him, a clear warning that he was watching them and they could only proceed when he gave his permission.
'Master Akalus. We did not expect to see you in person. This is a high honour indeed,' their spokeswoman, Oolanae, said while dipping her head respectfully to their armoured host.
'It is,' Akalus agreed, still standing square to Oolanae and her sisters. 'But since we parted on such poor terms the last time we met, I felt the occasion warranted my full attention. I trust you have come carrying enough credits to purchase our finer stock.'
'Of course. We understand the value of high quality humans,' the female replied, with another slight incline of her head. 'The markets of these parts supply only substandard produce...weak, mewling, pathetic creatures hardly worth the time it takes to devour them. We are willing to pay well for something...stronger.'
'Come through to the chamber and view the humans I have to offer,' Akalus said, gesturing to the next set of doors. 'I have some matters to attend to before we make our deals today, but you can take some time to assess them while you wait for me to return.'
They nodded and ducked through them, pulling their black cloaks in around their slender bodies as they entered the main hangar. A group of nine young human males were penned up there for their viewing. The Reliquiae sniffed the air, long inhalations in the direction of the prisoners as they cowered away from them.
All but one.
This one stood tall, almost as tall as them. He glared with a ferocity they had not witnessed for a long time from between long ropes of filthy hair, his skin filthied up by hard work and punishment. He smelled strong...defiant. His blood would sustain them for some considerable time.
'There are a few good specimens here to help with your regeneration. Fine young men,' Akalus boasted, standing before the finest of those as if it were a warning not to touch him just yet.
The Reliquiae eyed the rest of the group. There were, indeed, at least three strong men who could provide them with sustenance worth the journey they had made. But the one they really sought, the one the Kheprian had promised to deliver, was not amongst them.
Oolanae looked about at the Kheprian guards surrounding them, wondering whether any of them would help them find their target. The one she had dealt with at Agrastan was not here, and she could not trust these others. But she was prepared to wait…a while.
'Very well,' she agreed on behalf of her sisters, who now all bowed their heads in acceptance. Akalus made no move to bow in return, simply striding from the room, leaving them in the capable hands of his Kheprian guards.
And so, the Reliquiae waited.
oooOOOooo
The sound of the door lock pulling back woke Dusty from her sleep. It took her a couple of seconds to remember where she was, but then her eyes fell on Sheppard, lying pale and still in her lap, and a sick wave of remembrance washed over her. How could she have fallen asleep in his time of need?
The door opened to reveal Wanless. He looked at Sheppard's inert body, lying pale and still in Mehra's lap where she cradled him, and he faltered a moment before approaching him and nudging him with his foot.
'Back off, you lousy piece of crap,' Mehra growled, knocking his leg away.
'Is he...?' the creature began, his voice grating painfully on her eardrums.
Mehra was about to confirm his question when Sheppard took a shuddering breath and strained his eyes open, his body trembling into wakefulness. Mehra almost burst into tears of sheer relief that she hadn't let him down after all. He was still with her. 'Hey, Sir,' she grinned down at him.
Sheppard managed only a ghost of a smile in return. 'Hey yourself.'
'You still alive!' Wanless screeched, surprisingly pleased by that discovery.
Though initially startled to find they had the Kheprian for company, Sheppard was too weak to react any further. 'Apparently so,' he sighed, unable to hide his disappointment.
The Kheprian guard snatched hold of Sheppard's arm and tried to drag him up.
'Where are you taking him?' Mehra demanded, immediately on the defensive as she wrapped her arm over him and held him down.
'Laboratory,' Wanless squawked, yanking Sheppard's boneless form into a more upright position, then hauling him up onto his shoulder before heading for the door.
Dusty flung herself in front of them. 'Whoa, whoa, whoa! Just hang on a minute. If he's going, I'm going too.'
The Kheprian rumbled deep in his throat.
Mehra stood her ground, refusing to show any fear. 'I mean it. You wanna take him, you have to get past me first.'
The tension hung thickly between them, with Mehra bracing herself to take the blow she had absolutely no doubt would be coming her way. Unexpectedly, with little more than a snort, the Kheprian grunted, 'If you insist.'
She stepped aside to let him pass and then followed him into the corridor.
'You may come to regret your decision,' the creature added, the cryptic comment making her falter for just a second, before hurrying to catch up. Much as her curiosity told her to demand to know what that meant, she had to keep her priorities straight. Get Sheppard to the laboratory first, ask questions later.
As they journeyed, Sheppard let out an occasional groan, which although pitiful at least let her know he was still alive. The Kheprian moved fast, but with a lumbering gait that shook through Sheppard each time one of his huge feet hit the solid floors. She winced with each sound, a little fearful that the movement might just finish him off. But what other option was there? He was dying; he either went to the laboratory with all the risks moving him entailed or died in his cell. It had to be worth taking the chance.
A few minutes later Wanless stopped at some doors that pulled back to reveal a box room. Mehra gave him a dubious look. That didn't look much like an laboratory. She stepped back, unwilling to enter.
'Inside. This quick way up.'
An elevator. That was exactly what they needed.
Wanless stepped inside and lowered Sheppard from his shoulder. Mehra leaned him against the wall so she could rest while the lift took them up several levels. He slid to the floor, his legs refusing to hold his weight. They let him sit for the time it took the elevator to make the journey upward. No point in putting unnecessary duress on his body. Mehra squatted down beside him. 'How're you doing, Sir?'
He could barely get his breath, but he gave a 'thumbs up' to show he felt okay. She wasn't entirely convinced, but as long as he could still move and respond, there might still be a chance to save him.
The lift groaned to a noisy halt, and the doors slid open to an apparently empty corridor. Once again, Wanless hoisted Sheppard up, forcing another wheeze from his strained lungs, and carried him out into the passageway to continue their upward journey. On this level, the atmosphere felt lighter and the air smelled fresher and slightly warmer. They had to be nearing the surface, moving free of the damp depths of the underground prisons.
Then Wanless unexpectedly activated a door on the left and ducked in through it. He lowered Sheppard to the floor once more and Mehra scooted in past him to check he was okay. They found themselves crouching in the shadows of the balcony overlooking the hangar she'd first woken up in, and beneath their level she could hear voices, female voices, speaking quietly to one another in a language she did not recognise. She looked up at the Kheprian as he began to depart. 'You said you were taking us to the laboratory,' she hissed, conscious of the figures gathered below them.
'Wait here,' he told her, turning away.
She jumped up and caught hold of one of his arms. 'No, you wait. Sheppard doesn't have time to hang around until you're ready to see your orders through. He needs help now or it might be too late.'
The creature simply glared back at her in silence, then snatched his limb free, repeating, 'Wait here.'
'What? No…wait…' she tried again, but the door was already sliding shut between them as the words left her mouth.
Sheppard leaned back against the low wall beneath the rails and desperately sucked in shallow breaths. Mehra watched him struggling, and crouched beside him, taking hold of his hand. 'Hang on in there, Sir. He'll be back soon,' she promised him, though she had no idea if that was true. 'We're almost there.'
He nodded to acknowledge her encouragement, but he couldn't find breath enough to speak. Even lost in those shadows, she could see the life draining from him in front of her eyes. The minutes ticked by painfully slowly and still there was no sign of their escort. Where the hell was Wanless? What was taking him so long?
oooOOOooo
By now the Reliquiae's patience was wearing thin. The Kheprian guards they had questioned assured them Akalus would return to make their trade soon, but as yet they had caught no sign of any humans other than those Akalus had offered them and they were here for more than that. Had the Kheprian leader tricked them?
Oolanae took a step closer to the tall human, the one exuding rebellious fury in his glare, savouring the scent of his defiance. Oh, his flesh would indeed taste sweet as he screamed out his last. She could barely contain her desire to taste that strength and feel the luxury of rejuvenation fill her veins.
'Back off...' the human growled, and he even had the audacity to grin at her as if he relished the thought of battle. Foolish child. He didn't stand a chance against them. All his taunting did was ensure a more painful death. She almost pitied him.
Akalus returned at last, offering no apology for the delay nor the sore temptation he had left them with.
'I take it you have had ample time to appraise the stock?' he asked, his mechanically filtered voice devoid of emotion as he addressed them.
Oolanae looked to her sisters, who all dipped their heads, telepathically agreeing to the choice she had made herself in Akalus' absence. 'We have, Mas –' Oolanae stopped, picking up another human scent. It was more distant, but definitely unmistakably human, '—ter…Akalus.'
For a moment Oolanae was lost in dim and very distant memories collected many, many years ago by others of her kind. The scent awakened an old fire that had long since guttered out...a yearning to return to what once was...
'Do you smell that?' one of her sisters asked, her voice a mere echo inside Oolanae's head.
'I do.'
'It reeks of Lantean. He is near. The Kheprian did not lie.'
Oolanae scanned the room with keen eyes. They had long heard the rumours of Akalus' constant search for someone of Lantean descent to fulfil his life's work. It seemed he really had managed to locate someone to do that, just as the Kheprian had informed them. As such, it was imperative they removed the Lantean from Phylacos. The scent was close...somewhere nearby. There was a gantry running along the higher level of the room. He could possibly be concealed there, but she needed to pinpoint his location before attempting to obtain him. Any mistake now could lose them valuable time and give Akalus the advantage in the confrontation to come.
Her gaze drifted back to their host while she silently instructed her sisters to use their senses to locate the Lantean's position on the upper level. 'We'll take the three largest specimens...will one thousand credits each suffice?'
Akalus inclined his helmeted head. 'I think this one at least should bring a little more,' he suggested, jabbing a stun-stick into the towering young male he clearly knew interested them most. The human dropped to his knees, expletives exploding out through his clenched teeth even as he cast Akalus a murderous scowl.
Humans could be such coarse creatures, but unfortunately they were also necessary to the survival of their race. Oolanae ignored the eruption of foul words. 'How much more do you require?'
There was a definite pause, but Oolanae wasn't foolish enough to think he was nervous about voicing his proposal. This was for psychological impact, nothing more. 'I do not need more credits, if that is what you're thinking. I need something else...something a little more personal to you.'
Oolanae lifted her chin and looked squarely at their host. 'Name your terms.'
'Enzyme.'
Akalus thrust out a hand toward her, and Oolanae looked at the contents it cradled – a syringe.
'We share the enzyme with no one,' she said firmly. And this had been the way through all time. Akalus had to know he was asking for too much.
'Then –' With a flick of his wrist Akalus triggered a previously concealed weapon that blew a hole straight through the midriff of one of her Reliquiae sisters. 'I am forced to take it for myself.'
oooOOOooo
Up in the gantry, Mehra was desperately trying to keep Sheppard conscious. As he started to slouch she propped him up straight against the barrier and called his name as loudly as she dared, eventually adding a sharp slap to the equation that had his eyes instantly snapping open.
'Stay with me, Sir. Wanless will be back soon.'
He grumbled an incomprehensibly garbled reply, his eyes already sliding shut again. She sighed and let him rest. There was no way to keep him going if he had no energy left.
Mehra wasn't easily creeped out, but this place, with its encroaching shadows and foul stenches, had her distinctly on edge. She'd have felt a whole lot happier with a P-90 in her hands...and with Sheppard looking like he might be able to fight his corner. But right now, she doubted he could blow his own nose. And she was supposed to just sit here until Wanless came back for them?
No way.
She was about to drag Sheppard up and haul his skinny ass out of there when a fracas from the lower level caught her attention. Temporarily abandoning her plan, she crawled to the barrier and cautiously peeked over to get a look at what was going on.
There were several scarily tall women, hissing and screeching, emitting a baleful cry with harmonics that shook the rafters. Were they the Reliquiae Geeja had told them about? She covered her ears, as did the aliens and humans gathered down in that lower level. She felt sure her eardrums were going to burst from the reverberations. Sheppard stirred, not surprising since Mehra had been thinking the noise could wake the dead. He said something, but she couldn't hear him above the din, his moment of lucidity wasted.
As the noise began to subside, her eyes locked onto one of the human figures down there, a huge, dread-locked man fighting for all he was worth to get the hell out of there. 'Oh, my God! Ronon!' she breathed, a reaction that immediately had Sheppard rousing and clambering to take a look for himself.
She supported him as he looked down into the chamber, watching as the faintest of smiles crossed his face as he saw the huge warrior fighting for his life. The relief at seeing one of his team mates alive, tempered, of course, by the immediate danger he was in, had to be immense after six months of not knowing...not daring to hope... not that he had the energy to show it. He sank back down to the floor even as Mehra desperately tried to keep him upright.
'We need to…help him,' Sheppard grunted, his efforts leaving him gasping for breath.
'I hate to point this out, Sir, but we're not exactly in a position to do that.'
That was a thought that screwed her up inside until she saw Ronon break free from the grip of an apparently injured female and bolt for an exit. With her attention thus distracted, she had no way of realising they themselves had been spotted by the Reliquiae. So, when a lithe figure came crashing over the barrier and planted itself in the path between them and the exit from the gantry, all Mehra could do was watch in horror as the female snatched Sheppard from her grip and swept him over the rail and back down to ground level.
For a second or two Mehra was frozen rigid with shock, then she threw herself over to the barrier to look down to where the female had landed.
Utter carnage erupted at that moment. The injured Reliquiae grabbed hold of a stunned human male and proceeded to tear him limb from limb, devouring his flesh as if her very life depended on it. And perhaps it did, because when her meal finally stopped squirming and she had eaten her fill, she seemed suddenly more vital, her injured body apparently now healed enough for her to fight for herself.
Suddenly, the silence that had befallen everyone as that horror had unfolded was split by a piercing scream as one of the other men fell to his knees, hysterical at what he clearly believed would also be his fate. And once he had started, the others began to scream and plead for their lives too. The Reliquiae, ignoring them, launched for Akalus, each grasping a limb and pulling with all their strength, but to no avail. His clothing and armour tore apart, the burst of power that action released knocking them all backwards and leaving an empty mangled suit at the centre of their gathering. The females hissed, frustrated to find they had been tricked by a facsimile, and turned their attentions to the cowering humans. The cries of terror soon turned to agony as each one of the other human prisoners was ripped and torn like a gazelle brought down by a pride of lions. And all the time the female that had taken Sheppard kept a grip on his arms, holding him like a limp rag doll before her, never harming him, but never once releasing her hold on him either.
Mehra watched as much as she could, desperate to see what would become of Sheppard, but at times she just had to look away. She'd never considered herself squeamish; quite the opposite in fact. But she'd never borne witness to anything as depraved as this orgy of blood before, either. Apparently, even she had an upper limit to the amount of gore she could cope with and this carnage took her there and far beyond it.
Thankfully, Sheppard appeared to be unconscious and remained that way throughout the whole sordid scene whenever she looked his way. Just as Geeja had suggested, the Reliquiae didn't appear interested in eating Sheppard himself. She seriously hoped it stayed that way.
Wanless appeared in the midst of the fracas, screeching orders to his men and pulling them aside, making no attempt to intercept the Reliquiae or to retrieve Sheppard from their grasp. Why wasn't he trying to stop them, and why was he stopping his soldiers from intervening? If Geeja knew Sheppard was valuable to Akalus, didn't he?
The whole building began to shake from foundations to rafters. What the hell was it with these earthquakes? Was the planet breaking apart? Mehra grabbed the rails to steady herself as she continued to watch out for her colleague. If there had been a quick and obvious way down she would have taken it and tried her best to free Sheppard, but it was a sheer drop of at least fifty feet. She doubted she could land that in any fit state to fight. And even if she tried to find another route down, there were bound to be locked doors blocking her way…this place was full of them. So, what the hell should she do?
As if afraid of the tremors, the Reliquiae now retreated rapidly, Sheppard gathered up under the arms of two of them as they beat a path for one door mere moments before Akalus entered through another. Only now did the Kheprian guards appear to take decisive action, now that Akalus had returned and was barking orders at them in his alien tongue. Mehra couldn't understand a damn word he said, but she recognised a pissed tone of voice when she heard it, and this guy was as pissed as they came.
As everyone departed the room beneath her, Mehra slipped down to the floor, stunned into inertia. Sheppard was gone. And she hadn't done a damn thing to stop those creatures taking him. But what could she have done? She comforted herself with the thought that Sheppard wouldn't have wanted her to risk her life to save him against such a savage enemy, not with him in such poor health, but she wasn't entirely convinced by her own argument. She would never have believed she could sit by while a commanding officer was taken...but then, Sheppard would have argued he wasn't that anymore. And officially he wasn't. Major Lorne – soon to be Colonel Lorne – had officially replaced him three months back now. But commanding officer or not, Sheppard had still been a living, breathing human being...and she'd failed him. As she shrunk back into the darkest corner of the gantry to figure out her next move, Dusty wasn't sure she would ever be able to forgive herself for that…even if he did.
oooOOOooo
Struggling for breath and almost at the point of collapse, Mishta peered through the laser fence surrounding the exercise yard at Phylacos from her hiding place behind a patch of thorny brushwood.
The Reliquiae ship was there and two Kheprian guards stood either side of the entrance to the compound, but aside from that no other signs of life were visible. They hadn't spotted her steady approach, concealed as it had been behind various patches of bush and scrubby undergrowth. The whole time they had remained half-turned toward the doorway itself, as if expecting someone to emerge.
Taking a moment to rest, Mishta swigged back a few mouthfuls of water from her flask to ease the burning thirst that gripped her throat. The nerves in her legs twitched and prickled, firing confused signals along her muscles, but she was stubborn, yet another human trait she'd inherited from her father. She refused to let her legs give up on her now...although a few seconds of respite wouldn't do them any harm.
Once certain they weren't looking her way, Mishta scooted a little closer and squatted down to hide behind the solid lower part of the boundary walls. Shrugging off her pack, she frantically rummaged through it, looking for her bugging device, glad now she hadn't needed to deploy it when seeking information on explosives. She found it and its sister component, the receiver, buried under her previous evening's clothing, which still smelled of sirath vapours and stale alcohol. Unfortunately, she quickly realised the bugging unit itself wasn't working. She switched it on and off a couple of times to reboot its circuits, but it still refused to fire up. She pleaded with it, prayed to her gods and finally swore at the thing as she repeated the reboot process over and over, but to no avail. The unit remained inactive. In a fit of rage, she threw it at the floor, about to stamp on it when the unexpected happened. The power cell kicked in, illuminating a tiny light in the centre of its hard, grey exterior, barely there, but enough to let her know it was operational.
Stifling the urge to shriek with joy, Mishta swept it up and turned again to peer back through the fence just in time to see the entrance doors opening. All her muscles tensed as she saw the first figure emerge into the daylight. It was a Reliquia, sweeping aside one of the Kheprian guards with little effort as she darted for the ship. Behind her, five more of the Reliquiae emerged, one tackling the second guard in a similarly efficient manner, while another two carried what appeared to be an unconscious human male. He looked pale, dirty, and horribly wasted, a pathetic specimen by anyone's measure. Not a bit like her father. Were they stealing the wretched creature? He wouldn't sustain them for long.
Following them came more guards, all firing stunner shots which seemed to have no effect on the females. The Kheprians were usually formidable in battle; she wondered how these few women could have escaped Phylacos with so many Kheprians on hand to restrain them.
It didn't take Mishta long after that to see the blood on the faces and hands of the females and figure out why the Kheprians might have been cautious. They had already fed, and now they were fit to fight and heal in a way no sensible being would challenge. And yet this human they carried with them appeared unharmed. There were no obvious signs of lacerations on his body. Why had they spared him? The Reliquiae were a vicious race; to them, humans were nothing more than a source of nourishment. What made this one different? Unless...
Suddenly, Mishta realised the Reliquiae were boarding their vessel, leaving her little time to plant the bug. She shuffled around the boundary to a point behind the craft where she felt certain no one would see her. Then, standing, she drew her arm back and threw the bug as hard as she could, just as the Reliquiae ship's engines fired up. It soared over the laser fence and found its mark. Thankfully, that sound covered the noise of the magnetic bug attaching itself to the hull of the Diiro Koora. Now, all she could do was pray to Yusallai that it stayed attached long enough for them to learn where the Reliquiae were taking their apparently precious cargo.
A/N: Oooo, it's all kicking off as we say over here in good old Blighty. But at least Sheppard's put of prison! As always, thank you for the reviews so far. Please keep them coming. :)
