Chapter 9
Mehra hunched in the corner of the balcony, trying to forget what she'd just witnessed so she could think straight. She'd seen some vicious fights in her time, seen a lot of blood spilled, but nothing even close to the orgy of gore and mayhem the Reliquiae had waged on those poor, innocent men.
She peered through the rails again to ensure everyone was gone. They were, including Sheppard. All that remained to prove anything had happened there were the bloodstains on the floor. She took a deep breath and forced herself to re-evaluate. There was nothing she could do for Sheppard now. But Ronon was on the loose – perhaps still in the compound. If she could catch up to him, perhaps the two of them could work together on getting out of here. It certainly looked like the six months of incarceration had done little to dampen his fighting spirit. And one angry Ronon was as good as three trained marines.
Sinking back down, Mehra allowed a wave of both relief and horror to wash over her. Ronon had survived, but the Reliquiae had taken Sheppard. What if they fed on him later? No…if they had wanted to eat him they would have done it there and then. She had to believe that and put the dark thoughts behind her. After all, Geeja had insisted that the Reliquiae needed Sheppard for some reason. Of course, Geeja wasn't exactly top of her list of people to trust…
Suddenly, the door near to her drew back. She clung to the shadows, hoping to remain hidden, but it was no use. Wanless instantly spotted her and made a grab for her, dragging her up into the light. 'Back to your cell,' he screeched, hauling her toward the door, even as she did her very best to resist. She twisted, spinning under his forelimb and sliding out of his grip…only to be snatched up by another pincer and smacked upside the head with the third. It wasn't as hard as it could have been, but it certainly stunned her into inactivity.
It occurred to her then, as he pulled her back out into the corridor and back in the direction they had journeyed through earlier, that he hadn't even asked where Sheppard was. He hadn't expected to find him there. He'd left them on that balcony because he knew the Reliquiae would be able to find him there.
'You planned this, didn't you?' she demanded. 'You got Sheppard out here so those creatures could take him.'
'Silence,' Wanless hissed, his head snapping around in her direction. It seemed like that was something he really didn't want anyone else to hear. Maybe she could use that to his advantage.
'You know, if you don't want anyone knowing about what you did, it might be best if you just lose me,' she suggested.
Her attempt at blackmail immediately fell flat when he countered with, 'Or kill you.'
Seemed like Wanless had mastered all the useful English words he might ever need to use to oppress and terrify his prisoners. And she didn't doubt that was a threat he would follow through on if she pushed too hard.
So, the Kheprians were up to something...something Akalus wasn't privy too? Interesting. There had to be an advantage to be gained somewhere in all this mess.
She tried for more information rather than a direct challenge to his authority. 'What will they do to him? Kill him?'
Wanless didn't reply, only snorting into his mask as if her ignorance was tiresome.
"What about Akalus? What does Hezekiah need for Sheppard? '
The Kheprian stopped instantly, slamming her back against the damp wall so hard her head spun. 'Who told you that?'
But Dusty was on a roll. She had him reacting now. Maybe she could find something out if she just asked the right questions. He might not be willing to answer her, but he might give her clues with his behaviour.
'I thought you were loyal to Akalus...how come you handed Sheppard over to someone else?'
Wanless grasped her by the throat and lifted her bodily off the floor, bringing his masked face in close enough for her to see the reflection of her face turning purple in his visor. 'You not understand. You only human. You are already lost.'
Then he dropped her, looming over her as she staggered then regained her footing while she panted for breath. 'What does that mean?'
Wanless pushed her hard, sending her stumbling on a few steps ahead of him. 'Enough talk. Move.'
She walked on ahead, conscious of his menacing presence at her back the whole time. She'd been looking for answers, but had been left with more questions. They were already lost? What the hell was that supposed to mean? As long as she was breathing there was hope. Nothing was lost yet.
Unless he knew something she didn't...
oooOOOooo
In his current hiding place, Ronon took a moment to compose himself. He was supposed to be tough. He was supposed to be strong. He wasn't supposed to dwell on the deaths of people he didn't even know. He'd seen enough death and carnage in his life to be almost immune to loss, but the sound of that man being ripped apart while he ran for his life would most likely haunt him for a long time to come. He'd saved his own ass and left an innocent to die. But there was no denying that those females would have done the same thing to him if he'd stayed around. Some fights just couldn't be won and you had to accept your losses. Guilt was sure to get you killed. You had to shake it off.
The chaos and noise outside of the room he'd hidden in had died down now, so he assumed the females who had launched the attack had left the compound. With any luck, no one had seen him escape and he would be presumed dead. Eaten by those monsters along with those other hapless prisoners. That might mean he could move about without anyone looking for him and remain unseen...or it might mean those bug guards would be on the watch and extra vigilant in case those things came back to attack again.
He looked down at what he grasped in his hand, something he had been longing to get hold of for months and had finally managed to snatch in the midst of the violent distraction. He turned the key card over in his hand. Such a simple thing, yet it would give him free rein in the compound...as long as he was careful not to get caught. But if he was going out there he wanted to give himself the best chance he had. So, what could he use to arm himself?
The room appeared to be some kind of dormitory, with beds and storage units, none of which contained any weapons he soon realised as he began to rummage through them. Okay, nothing obvious to defend himself with, so what did he have? He walked into an anti-chamber off the main room. Bathroom facilities. He hadn't seen those in what felt like forever. To his left was a mirrored wall, and he figured that was his best bet. He punched and kicked until it began to break, large, thick shards falling to the floor with more noise than he would have liked under the circumstances. He picked one up and examined it. It was sharply angled at the end and had a tapering edge that was as good as any knife. He tore off a strip from the bottom of his shirt and wrapped it around one end of the shard, making it safe to hold. Work finished, he brandished the homemade weapon, making several controlled slashing movements to gauge the best way to move with it, to find its centre of balance. Now he felt much more like his old self and his spirits rose in a way he hadn't experienced for many months.
The sound of a door opening, and an anxious low voice muttering something alien stopped him in his tracks.
Someone had come into the dormitory.
He darted to the wall beside the doorway he'd entered through, pressing himself back against it as he very carefully moved his head into a position in which he could peer around the frame.
It was just one solitary little figure, one of the weird little freaks that spent their time pathing up prisoners like him who pushed the guards beyond the limits of their patience. He hadn't seen any of them in weeks. Apparently, they didn't frequent the mines. That was the realm of the bugs. These guys inhabited the higher levels.
He watched for a few moments as the little figure moved around the room, picking up stray items Ronon had tossed about in his hurried search for arms, then dropping them to the floor again with confused grumbles. He was gradually working his way toward the bathroom. Ronon pulled his head back and watched the floor, waiting for the tell-tale shadow to fall across the threshold that would tell him the alien was on his way in.
And the moment it happened he launched, jabbing the shard of shattered mirror hard into the diminutive figure's throat to prevent him from crying out. All that issued forth was a fluidy gargle before he went limp and Ronon slowly lowered him to the floor.
Stepping over his victim, Ronon proceeded to the door that led out onto the corridor, listening to ascertain if anyone else was approaching. All outside was silent, so he used his key card and swiped the controls, letting the door hiss back as he kept himself concealed. Now, certain he could hear nothing, he dared to poke his head out and check the corridor was clear.
It was.
Okay…what should he do now? Should he make a break for it in the hope of getting back to Atlantis somehow and returning with help, or should he at least return to the mines and collect Teyla, the only team mate he knew for certain was still alive? It didn't take him long to make his choice. Despite the risk of being recaptured, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving Teyla languishing in the mines for even a day longer than he had to. He would head downwards, recalling the trip he had made earlier on his way up from the mines and find his way back down there.
They would leave this place together, or not at all.
oooOOOooo
The first thing Sheppard became aware of as he slowly regained consciousness was the sound of running water.
Confused, he strained open his heavy lids to a room so far removed from the one he'd fallen unconscious in, he thought he might actually be dreaming. He closed his eyes, counted to three, and opened them again. Everything was the same. He really wasn't asleep. Unless he'd done that in his sleep, of course.
Above him towered a vaulted glass ceiling, a fantastic domed construction through which he could see the sun streaming down to bathe his body in its light. It felt so soothing and welcome that, for a few moments, he simply closed his eyes again and luxuriated in the sensation of its warm caress. If it was a dream, he would enjoy it for as long as it lasted. It certainly beat the nightmares of the past six months in Phylacos.
He'd just begun to blissfully drift back off into unconsciousness when the memory of the screams of the Reliquiae's victim invaded his head-space, bringing him round with a start. He'd been barely able to stay conscious so he hadn't actually seen anything detailed, but those sounds had been unmistakable – flesh and bone tearing apart amidst the most gut-wrenching shrieks he'd ever heard – and they had penetrated his fugue despite his brain's best attempts to shut him down. He doubted he'd be forgetting them any time soon. The Reliquiae had snatched him away from Mehra as he'd sat dying on that gantry in Phylacos, but he was still alive…or was he? Was this some other level of existence? Had he passed on and he hadn't even realised? Had he…ascended? Surely, he would have remembered that.
Sheppard sat up carefully, testing how his body felt. He tried to get his bearings, allowing his brain to catch up with the movement before attempting to process more of what he was seeing. Shuffling over to the edge of the bed to look over it he found himself lying on a huge bed, raised far off the ground on long, slim, sculpted legs. The sheets felt soft under his hands as he gripped them, the fabric silken to the touch and red as blood. That voice screamed out in his head again, along with that hideous flesh splitting sound and the crack of joints dismembering, and he found himself reflexively gripping those sheets a little tighter. Thank God, he'd been too weak to fully open his eyes.
Across the room in front of him, narrow windows stretched from the top of the high walls surrounding him down to the floor, letting in yet more nurturing light. The lack of any kind of window covering left them free to allow in as much sunshine as nature chose to share. It was an undeniably beautiful morning from what he could see, made all the more beautiful by the comfort of his surroundings. He felt guilty about dirtying up such clean sheets with the filth of Phylacos that still clung to him. But somebody had chosen to put him there so he supposed whoever it was didn't mind the grime.
Now that he really took things in he could see the place was old…very old. The smell of dampness and dust pervaded the room, as if it had been closed up for some time. There was a layer of dust on the floor that had been disturbed by movement, perhaps by whoever had brought him here and readied the bed for him. So, his instincts had been right. Until now, this room had been unused for a while. Perhaps the windows had been previously covered, which would explain why there was still a chill, musty air to the room despite the sunlight. Like him, this might be the first time it had been exposed to the touch of the sun for a very long time.
Two long-legged, high-backed chairs sat either side of an archway to his left, the archway through which, he now realised, he could hear the running water. He wanted to explore and find out where the sound was coming from, but he doubted he could make it across the room without help. Except, now that he really thought about it, he didn't feel as if he was bordering on death any more. In fact, he felt better than he had done for days. He didn't feel well, but he felt…a little better.
Had Geeja been right about the Reliquiae helping him? And if so, what had they done to pull him back from the brink?
A sense of foreboding brought on by that thought had him looking back over his shoulder to dispel the feeling that someone was creeping up on him, but all that loomed there was a huge mirror hanging on the wall above a headboard upholstered in more of that vibrant red fabric the bed was swathed in. He noticed now that the bedframe looked as though it were almost organic, carved in such a way as to make it look as if it were made up of many interwoven tendrils. It reminded him of something…He shuffled toward it across the sheets, reaching out to touch it to see what it was made of. It had a strange texture, and though it had a slightly damp feel it looked brittle and partly desiccated. As he examined it, he caught sight of reflected movement somewhere through the archway.
The water stopped running.
He held his breath and kept watching the mirror, certain he'd seen something move. His heart raced and his head swam; though undeniably healthier than he had been, he still wasn't in a fit enough state to take anyone on right now. Despite that fact, the suspense was driving him nuts. Why didn't they just show themselves already?
A moment later, he got his wish.
Two Reliquiae females emerged from the archway and stood silently at the foot of the bed, watching him. For a few horrified seconds, he kept staring at their reflection, hoping they were nothing more than phantom images in the looking glass. He gave an exaggerated blink, hoping they'd be gone when he opened his eyes. But they were still there, as large as life, and in their case, it was a formidable sight. He found himself wishing all this was a dream after all. Dying in Phylacos suddenly had genuine appeal.
Sheppard gripped the sheets so hard now his knuckles ached. He didn't move – couldn't, in fact. His fear rendered him rigid under their harsh gaze. In full health, he might stand the chance of putting up a good fight against these creatures, maybe even get lucky and win, but not today, not even with the slight improvement in his condition. He didn't have a snowball's chance in hell.
They remained there, silently watching him for what felt like an age, no flicker of movement from them. His heart thumped wildly against his ribcage, but he didn't have the strength to react. Had they brought him here to kill him at their leisure? Had they eaten their fill at Phylacos and he was dessert? How long did they intend to drag out this agony? If he had to die he wanted it over with.
The sound of another door opening interrupted the stalemate. He watched a female with long auburn hair enter and cross to the bed, all reflected in that same mirror. She spoke quietly with the two keeping guard, and they withdrew via the doorway they'd appeared through, leaving them alone.
This new female approached the bedside. Sheppard gripped those sheets even tighter, but dared to turn and face her. 'I trust your room is comfortable?' she asked in perfect English.
'I…I guess,' was all he could think of to say.
She reached out and took hold of his left hand. He did his best not to overreact as she prised his fingers free from the bedding, her touch cold and clammy against his skin. 'You're crumpling the sheets. You'll spoil the aesthetics.' He automatically let go with his right hand so she had no need to touch him again. She smiled, obviously aware of why he had done it. 'How are you feeling now, Human?'
He didn't know how to answer her question, straight forward as it initially seemed. Was she asking whether he felt better after passing out earlier, or was she referring to his obvious fear of the situation he found himself in? 'I've been better,' he eventually said. He figured that answer covered both options adequately.
'Your health has been partially restored while my sisters discuss how much more we should do to help you.'
He nodded, understanding now why he felt just a little stronger. 'Don't take this the wrong way...but why would you want to do that?' he asked, curiosity helping him to find his voice.
'You will see. There is enough time for you to get clean before their discussions reach a conclusion, at which time you will be informed of your importance to our future. Please, come this way.' She made a sweeping gesture toward the door the others had used, obviously expecting him to head through it.
Though he'd dreamed of a hot shower almost from day one at Phylacos, the urge suddenly left him. Washing with an audience...that wasn't his thing. And his present company really made the whole thing a hell of a lot less appealing.
'Come. You must be eager to cleanse the taint of Phylacos from your body,' the female encouraged, beckoning him to move.
It was only then that Sheppard realised he could feel a slight sensation of pressure inside his right ear. On reaching up to touch it, he found something wedged tight and deep inside it.
'Do not remove that!' the female warned, the suddenness of her interjection making him start. 'We fitted you with a translator to make our interactions simpler. It has electrodes that feed translations directly into your brain. You could do yourself irreparable damage if you remove it without it being deactivated first.'
'So, you're not speaking English?'
She gave a vague and almost patronisingly patient smile. 'No. It is not a language native to our galaxy. Now, please, come this way.'
With some difficulty, he slid to the end of the bed and tried out his legs, finding them still unwilling to support his weight despite his malaise having lifted somewhat. The female caught his arm and held him up with ease using only one hand. 'Here, I will assist you.'
He wanted to refuse, but got the impression the female's words were more of a statement than an offer. She walked him through the arched doorway and immediately a number of aromas fought to invade his olfactory system simultaneously; soaps, perfumes and warm flesh all intertwined with clouds of stifling steam to literally take his breath away. Ahead of him, a sunken bath the size of an average swimming pool took up almost all of the floor space in the room beyond it. The two Reliquiae females who had earlier withdrawn from his bedroom stood in it, stripped down to what amounted to alien swimwear, which revealed large areas of pale, almost translucent skin on their aging bodies. He faltered as he saw them in there, knowing immediately that they were waiting for him to join them. This was getting way too weird. He was supposed to submit to some kind of freaky grooming session from these man-eating aliens? He couldn't shake the feeling they were cleaning him up because he was just too filthy to eat the way he was. Maybe he'd be better off hanging onto the grime...
'Phylacos mistreats its prisoners terribly,' the female said, guiding him to the edge of the pool. 'How long has it been since you last bathed?'
Sheppard was too busy imagining how painful being eaten alive would be to answer. But the pool looked warm and inviting, even if there were two Reliquiae lurking in it. His whole body ached from bruises and illness despite the help they'd given him, and the thought of allowing the warm water to lull those pains away for even a few moments swiftly overtook his fear. He could do this...might as well make the most of their hospitality before he breathed his last.
'I assume it has been some time,' she said, answering the question for him.
'Uh, yeah,' he said as he began to lift off his t-shirt, struggling to get it over his head, but managing with a grunt of determination. As he dropped it at his feet he felt her fingers touch the scars on his shoulders, tracing across his back from one to the other. He froze, the sensation making his skin crawl.
'You resisted your captors, I see,' she said, walking around in front of him and stroking her long, bony fingers across the scars that showed where the metal pins had passed straight through him. 'Their methods are so…barbaric.'
'And you're not?' he heard himself say, without even consciously forming the question.
She stopped her walk and fixed him with a cold, hard stare. 'I suppose it would seem that way to you, but we kill to feed, not for finances.'
'And you can't humanely kill humans before eating them?' he asked, amazed that he was still speaking so directly to her. 'At least then they wouldn't suffer.'
'You were a part of the genetic programme at Phylacos, yes?' she asked, changing the subject.
He stared blankly at her, then nodded.
'You have seen first-hand what suffering is meted out there. The punishments, the experiments, the incomplete humans artificially brought forth into this world so prematurely, the augmented developments and births, the forced gathering of genetic matter - I can see from your scars that you understand that only too well. Are you telling me that what we do to those we feed upon is any worse than the horrors you have endured and witnessed there?'
She seemed in complete earnest of the argument she made. And perhaps she was right. He'd suffered six months of imprisonment and abuse of various kinds, which had left him at the point where he had prayed his illness would take him. Was five minutes of agony in any way comparable? 'I suppose not,' he conceded. Then he came right out and asked, 'Are you gonna eat me?'
That made the Reliquiae female smile, an almost friendly expression if the skin around her mouth hadn't still born the staining from her earlier meal. 'What is your name, Human?'
'Lieu...' He stopped himself. 'John Sheppard.'
In that instant, the expression on the Relinquish face changed. She registered first shock, then a vague semblance of anger, yet she forced her face back into a tight smile all the same.
'John Sheppard, you clearly have no concept of your importance in this universe. There are any number of beings who wish to ensure you continue to live...but perhaps more who would wish you dead. We need you alive, John Sheppard. We will not kill you…' The strength of her stare now intensified and burned right into him. '…yet.'
That final word swiftly kicked his sense of hope into touch. He wasn't on the menu today, but he was still there as a potential future snack should his importance diminish. And he got that…to them he was like a side of ribs, or a Big Mac. He was food, plain and simple. But if he was food, what other important role did he have for them that delayed his demise like he was a Christmas special rather than the all-day breakfast?
The female took hold of the belt of his trousers and began to unfasten it. He pulled back. 'I don't need your help,' he assured her.
'You are weak.'
'I'll manage,' he insisted, jutting his jaw and glaring until she backed off.
He bent down to untie his boots and almost face-planted. The female caught him and supported him until he steadied again.
'Allow me,' she said, squatting her long body down to release his bootlaces from the eyelets, and helping him to slip off both the boots and his threadbare socks he wore beneath them.
Sheppard clenched his jaw and inwardly cursed himself for not being able to follow through on his certainty he didn't need her assistance. He managed the belt of his trousers himself, and they fell to the floor as she helped him to step out of them. He stopped at his boxers. No way was he parting company with those.
'Do you need help?' the female asked, as if him stripping naked in front of the three of them was the most natural thing in the world
'No...I'm done.'
Thankfully, his assurance met with complete indifference. It seemed the undertone he'd feared was attached to her actions was only in his mind after all. 'As you wish. You may remove them once you are in the water if you prefer.'
Hell no! he thought, but he figured he'd cross that particular bridge when he came to it.
She supported him to the water's edge, her pale, cold, wizened fingers digging into his thin and equally pale arm. He hardly recognised his body as he looked down at himself here in the brilliant daylight of this elegant room. He'd wasted away to almost half the man he'd been six months ago due to inedible rations and poor health. He'd known he was fading, but he'd had no idea how drastically the sickness had taken its toll on his outward appearance. The Reliquiae woman continued to support him while he descended the steps down into the pool, the warm water enveloping him and instantly relaxing his tense body as it cradled him in its embrace. He could have happily died at that moment, taking that wonderful sensation with him to his grave…or probably their stomachs.
One of the Reliquiae already in the water took hold of him and pulled him against her, offering herself as a pillar against which he could lean his weary body. The other held a pitcher, which she filled with the warm, scented water and poured over his head, sending warm rivulets cascading over his hair and shoulders.
The warm water opened up some of his recent wounds, including the needle-mark on his throat from Wanless' assault. The effect of his blood on his two companions was instant. The grip of the one holding him tightened, her fingers and sharp nails digging into his flesh. The other pressed in against him bringing her face close to his neck -
'Restraint, sisters,' the other ordered from her place beside the pool.
The grip loosened and they gave him more space, but he could feel the anticipatory trembling of the Reliquiae supporting him quaking through his back. Once again, the mood shifted from friendly to threatening, and in his current state he felt totally vulnerable. He'd known that wonderful sense of relaxation couldn't last.
'We took the liberty of scanning your measurements while you were resting,' Oolanae said, picking his disgustingly stained and noisome clothing up and throwing it onto the open fire that heated the room from a vast stone fireplace. 'We have replicated your human clothes as new, assuming you will fill them adequately once again when you have gained weight. We thought you would feel more comfortable dressed that way than in anything we could offer you.'
She lifted up a perfect replica of his previously tattered BDU shirt, minus the dirt and rips. Just as it had looked all those months ago when they'd been returning home from M4L 925.
'Thanks,' he said quietly, saddened by the thought.
His assistant poured liquid soap onto his hair and rubbed it into a lather, bringing her closer to him again. Each breath she took shuddered in and out of her as if she was at the brink of ecstasy…ecstasy brought on by the smell of his blood. Or maybe it's just my magnetic personality, some little voice quipped in the back of his mind.
But this wasn't a joke, this was real and they were pressing in on him again.
'Ladies,' Oolanae chastised once more. 'Show some decorum. Do you wish the poor man to think we are totally lacking in self-control?'
The fact she even had to say those words told him that self-control might be an issue for these ladies. Hopefully Oolanae could keep her head or he was a goner for sure.
His personal groomer waded to the side of the pool where an arrangement of hygiene related items lay. When she approached him again, she carried a blade. He automatically tried to back off, getting nowhere against his Reliquiae support.
'Do not be frightened, John Sheppard,' the auburn-haired female said, seeing his reaction. 'She means to shave you and cut your hair, nothing more.'
The female behind him tipped his head back, as the other dragged the sharp blade up the beard growth on his throat. He tried desperately not to flinch, knowing the slightest knick could send those two into a frenzy. Thankfully, his Reliquiae groomer was careful even though this was not something she was used to doing; the concentration etched onto her face told him as much. His jaw-line proved particularly tricky for her, and the blade sliced the top few layers of his skin. As he knew he would, he began to stream with blood, a curse of his illness. His helper paused, her eyes greedily flashing her desire for the taste of him. The one holding him leaned around to look, her breath warm on his ear. It set his follicles on end. He felt sure she was about to rip his throat out with her teeth.
'Restraint,' the voice commanded, and once again they composed themselves.
After several painstakingly long minutes, his chin was clear of growth for the first time in six months. Next, his groomer set about cutting his hair, a much safer job and one he felt a little more certain he might survive.
Once they had made him presentable, the female at the poolside threw in a robe with which he could cover himself, and they helped him from the pool. He stood there dripping wet and probably looking even more sorry than he felt as they guided him to a small anti-chamber along with his new clothes, where jets of warm air gently dried his skin as he sat shaking and wondering what they had in mind for him next.
When he no longer felt damp, he pulled on his replica clothes, having to stop for several minutes between most items to just regain his breath. He had to wonder why he was even bothering to get dressed. He was literally exhausted from just the bathing process. If he sat there long enough, he could just die and spare himself the effort. Despite that feeling he persevered. With all his clothes finally in place, he sat back and weighed up his situation. No matter which way he looked at it, he was well and truly screwed. He had the feeling whatever these females needed him for wasn't good, but he was too damn sick to try to make a getaway.
He was trapped, just as much a prisoner here as he had been in Phylacos, no matter how pretty of a bow they tried to wrap it up in.
'John Sheppard. Are you dressed?' the female called from outside the door of the tiny dressing chamber.
He hesitated to answer, but realised he was only delaying the inevitable, and risking angering them unnecessarily. 'Yeah.'
'Then, please join us.'
He figured there was no point in refusing. But as he stood his legs once again let him down. Hearing him fall, the female opened the door and lifted him up, walking him back to the bed. He sat on the end of it, looking up at the three of them, who were now also fully dressed. He felt pathetic and small…and that really wasn't a feeling he enjoyed.
The lead female stroked his cheek almost affectionately with the back of her fingers, though there was no mistaking the flash of menace when her eyes met his and she spoke. 'That's much better. You are far more visually pleasing when the filthy taint of Phylacos is removed from you, John Sheppard. But you are still very weak. I will ask that the meeting reach its conclusion quickly, or I fear it will be too late for you. Now, rest and eat your fill.'
It was only at her gesture that he noticed a small table now sitting beside the bed, laden with food. It bore breads, cooked meats, and some sort of vegetables and fruit he'd never seen before all beautifully arranged on various platters. It all looked delicious and smelled twice as good, but he knew he wouldn't be able eat it. He'd had little appetite of late, and here, held captive by a savage, flesh-eating race, he was damn sure eating was the least of his worries.
'Eat your fill and we will return shortly,' the female told him with the vaguest of smiles. There was no real warmth to it, and it sent a shudder right through him.
The three Reliquiae left him then, the sound of a door lock clicking into place behind them. He would have expected nothing less. He'd not heard one single door close without it locking in the past six months. There was no mistaking the fact he was still a prisoner, even amidst all this luxury. The facilities might be better, but his situation had not improved.
He reached over and picked up a piece of bread to sniff at it. It wasn't like bread back home, but it was close enough to be palatable. Here, they preferred it heavier and tougher to chew, which made it all the less appetising to him in his current feeble state. He nibbled at the crust, getting little more than a taste of it before nausea struck. Dropping the bread back down on the table top, he instead took in the view out of those tall windows. Close by was an arid wasteland, but in the distance lay lush green forest, and he fancied he could just make out a mountain range shrouded in mist in the distance. It was beautiful, and he tried to enjoy it, though it was hard when he feared what his future now held for him.
From the vantage point the windows gave him, he worked out that the building he now found himself in stood a considerable distance above ground level, most likely on some sort of hill or mountainside itself. If he'd had the strength, he would have crossed to the windows to see what the drop was like, but he knew he wouldn't make it that far, less still make the climb down entailed in any kind of escape attempt.
So instead he gave into his fatigue and lay back on those soft, blood red sheets. He stared up at the high, vaulted ceiling, hoping beyond hope he would die before the Reliquiae meeting ended, though he felt like he was just a little too alive for that to happen. They'd made sure of that.
Even so, he got the feeling that was currently his best option.
A/N: Eek! I think this could be considered one of those 'out of the frying pan, into the fire' situations for Sheppard. Rather him than me! Thanks to everyone still following the story. There should be more on Thursday when I've had time to do a bit more editing. :)
