A/N: Thanks again for all your support and reviews. I'm still frantically trying to finish this piece, so the encouragement keeps me going. :)

Chapter 11

Nursing his swollen lip with an ice pack, Rodney watched Bathraen dart about his kitchen preparing the evening meal. The man certainly knew his way around the kitchen, and he'd soon whipped up a veritable feast for them to enjoy.

He set various plates laden with different dishes in the centre of his rectangular metal table, then handed Rodney an empty plate and told him to help himself to whatever he wanted. As usual he was famished, but the food just didn't appeal, not helped by the fact Bathraen had insisted on making their evening meal before discussing the issues burning in Rodney's mind since their meeting with Ashnael earlier that day.

When his companion finally seated himself at the table with him, Rodney could contain his questions no longer. 'So...I think I've been patient enough, don't you?'

'Yes...yes, you have,' Bathraen agreed, picking up a few items from the spread and then pouring them both a drink. 'I'll try to keep this as simple as possible.'

'No, please don't. I think I'm smart enough to cope with the details,' McKay snapped, insulted by the suggestion.

'Very well,' the doctor nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of bread he had just torn away from a baton shaped loaf. 'I will give you all the information I know, although I confess I do not understand all the machinations of our government.'

'Who ever does?' Rodney muttered, taking a sip from his cup. It was some form of wine from the taste of the contents, and not bad either. He figured it might be best not to drink any more of it until he had his head wrapped around what Bathraen was about to tell him, though. He wasn't exactly renowned for the ability to hold his drink.

'Around seven of our years ago, something happened to our population. At first, we didn't realise the problem was so serious, because communication between the cities is limited, but I had noticed a slight increase in the number of couples approaching me for help because they were having trouble conceiving. It was only after a year of complaints from my patients and those of other physicians across Traginta Duo, that we finally forced our government to reveal that this problem was also being reported throughout the Centum Civis. We have never been able to identify the source of the problem, but the best guess of our government's top scientists is that some kind of virus entered our water supply or was carried on the air, the after effects of which left our population effectively sterilised.'

'So, no one on your planet can have kids?'

'Not exactly. While the vast majority of our population have been affected by this...sickness...there are some, but only a few, who are still fertile. Most of them are under government care, those in the sub classes, but those in the upper classes and perhaps a few others who have been missed in our checks remain free.'

Rodney frowned at him as he finished chewing his food. 'So this government care is some kind of investigation, right? I'm thinking those people not affected might hold the key to a cure.'

Bathraen wagged a finger his way. 'Exactly our thoughts. So, the government gathered up as many people who tested unaffected as they could and took them all under their supervision. They ran tests, hundreds of tests, and even after all that, they couldn't find a solution.'

'So, you've had almost no kids born on this planet for seven years?' Rodney clarified. He wasn't a doctor of medicine, and he didn't pretend to know everything about ecology, but he imagined that if that kind of problem persisted for a generation, it could have a catastrophic effect on the planet's ability to repopulate.

'Almost none, yes.' He swallowed hard, as if what he had to say next was causing a lump in his throat. 'After they'd completed their experiments, the government decided the only thing they could do was keep those slaves who were still fertile in their clinics and begin a structured breeding programme, handing out the healthiest stock to be brought up by the wealthier classes as their own.' He shook his head, and Rodney thought he could see tears threatening to spill. 'The lives of those poor souls in the programme amount to nought now. They are just a production line for the future generations of both the wealthy and our slaves...way for the government to fill their coffers. I could not work with them any more...and since then, I have never alerted them to a single person I have discovered to still be fertile.'

'I get that...I really do...and I feel for your people, but what does this have to do with...' The penny suddenly dropped. They couldn't go to the government with the news of what Ashnael had done, because they would draft Ronon into the breeding programme. 'Oh...oh, right.'

'As you now understand. We cannot approach the government to help you free your friends. They are not above using off-worlders as a means to save our people. We have to come up with another strategy...perhaps some way to bring your people to the city to free them.'

Rodney nodded, his brain beginning to tick over with possible ways to draw their rescue teams to this city, but then his brain threw him a curve ball, something else entirely choosing to surface in his memory. 'Wait a minute...what did Ashnael mean when he said Sheppard's new owner really wanted an off-world pilot? Is this why?'

Bathraen set down his cutlery and took a deep drink of his wine. Then he finally met Rodney's gaze and nodded. 'I'm afraid so. Magistra Tranaedan is one of the few wealthy unaffected by the sickness ravaging our society. She must be seeking to have a child...though why I have no idea. She's never struck me as the maternal type, and she's not as young as she once was. Unless... '

'Unless what?' Rodney demanded.

'Her life is not entirely a happy one, I hear. Her husband is a jealous man...controlling. Perhaps she feels this would be an escape for her. A wealthy woman who could bear children would be a coveted prize indeed in the Centum Civis. Many great men would seek to possess her. Magister Tranaedan might not be willing to release her from their marriage, but a fight for her hand that left Tranaedan dead would free her from her vows to him.'

'But she can't make Sheppard do that for her, right? I mean...a man has to be willing before...those things happen.'

'It's not always as simple as that, Dr McKay. Magistra Tranaedan has her ways...some cruel, some not...and she will definitely have a plan. She always has a plan.'

Bathraen seemed to drift from the conversation then, his mind far from that table. Maybe the good doctor had had dealings with this woman. Maybe they'd been "familiar" once themselves. If so, then Bathraen knew what she was like, and it didn't seem like he was very impressed with her.

'Is she pretty?' Rodney asked.

Bathraen blinked at him, his mind returning to the here and now. 'Pretty? I suppose...once...but she is a little old to be described that way now. Still beautiful on the outside, yes, but it doesn't mask the darkness that lurks within her. She will stop at nothing to get what she wants.'

'Oh crap!' Suddenly, Sheppard's situation appeared worse now than Ronon's. Rodney was suddenly torn about who to fret over the most.

'But in truth, it isn't Magistra Tranaedan your friend needs to fear. She will most likely cajole, manipulate and coax him until he feels fulfilling her whims will make him happy. He'll feel no shame or regret. But her husband...now he's a completely different story. If he catches your friend involved in any inappropriate activities with his wife...' Bathraen closed his eyes and his body shuddered, but he didn't finish his sentence.

Rodney was left wondering what the man had seen to make him react so violently to his memories. Whatever it was couldn't have been good if he couldn't even find the words to talk about it. So, Teyla was living in poverty and sickness, Ronon was gonna have the crap beaten out of him purely for fun and Sheppard was trapped in a household with a nympho wife and a psychotically jealous husband?

He huffed a bitter laugh into his chest, shaking his head.

Just another day in the Pegasus Galaxy, then.

oooOOOooo

By the time the transporter touched down in the Tranaedan's hangar, Sheppard's two female companions were over the worst of their ordeal and back into flirtatious mode. If he had to listen to the magistra's friend tell him how handsome and brave he was one more time, he swore he was going to hurl.

He flung open the hatch and jumped out, then loaned them his support as they climbed down, Magistra Callaedin grasping his hand once they were on the floor and refusing to let go. 'Well, Alethael, he might have a problem with authority, but he certainly is heroic.'

He tried to extract his fingers, but she just gripped onto them tighter, determined to keep hold of them until she was ready to let go.

'I'll ensure he gets the proper thanks,' Magistra Tranaedan nodded, grasping her friend's arm and tugging her away.

Sheppard wasn't sure he wanted to find out what her idea of "proper thanks" was. It sounded like more trouble than it was worth.

Magistra Callaedin held onto his hand as long as possible, finally releasing it as he resisted being pulled forward with her.

'Good night, Jadrael. I hope to see you again soon,' she called, watching him the whole time until she was out of the door.

'Not if I see you first,' he muttered under his breath, turning to look at the craft to see just how much work he had to do before crawling into his bed. He was grateful to see it wasn't so bad...another sweep out of the floor inside followed by a quick polish up and he could hit the hay with hours to spare before morning. Which wouldn't be a problem if he didn't ache so much.

He lifted up his vest, revealing the four angry circular burn marks on his torso. Not to mention the blistered skin under his cuffs. Bitches! Where did they get off thinking they could treat people that way? But they could. They had the wealth and they had the status...he was just their latest toy...something shiny and new to play with until the novelty wore off. Well, the novelty had well and truly worn off for him tonight. There was no way he was letting her get away with anything like that again.

Sitting down on the steps of the craft, he dropped his head into his hands and let the reality of his situation sink in. He was in trouble...big trouble. Magistra Tranaedan clearly wanted more than just piloting skills from him...as, apparently, did her friend, and after hearing what had happened with her previous pilot...that "unfortunate accident", he really couldn't afford to give ground to her. But now, short of Atlantis starting some kind of interplanetary incident and blasting them out of there, he had no clue how any of them were going to escape. And since there were one hundred cities and as far as he knew no way of knowing which one they were in for sure, that could become one hell of an incident – not the kind of thing that was likely to win them many allies in Pegasus. All this because he'd listened to some dumb voice in his head.

He wondered how far Atlantis had got with the search and rescue. He supposed whoever was in charge in these parts might be willing to let his people in, but something told him the government of this planet was well aware of the activities of its inhabitants. They obviously kept a tight rein on them considering all the walls and shields and permissions that had to be granted to even travel. Ashnael had brought them into the city without a hitch, which seemed odd. He probably had those facilitator guys at the gates in his pocket and so they'd been willing to turn a blind eye to the extra passengers. Elizabeth would most likely kick his butt all the way back to Stargate Command, and he wouldn't blame her for it. Why the hell had he not acted sooner at Ashnael's house? He'd known the creep was up to something. If he'd pulled his gun on him as soon as he'd heard Ronon's surgery was complete, they might all be back on Atlantis by now, feet up and trying to keep Ronon entertained in the infirmary while he recovered. But something had told him not to...and he had a feeling it had something to do with the weird red-eyed people in his dream...

'What on Traginta Duo were you thinking taking the Magistra out into the parkland at this time of night?' he heard Raelzine shout from the doorway as she stormed her way into the hangar.

That was all he needed...the old witch on his case again. He peered up at her as she stomped toward him. 'She asked me to. What was I supposed to do?'

'Say no, of course,' she snapped, jabbing a bony finger into his shoulder. 'She was inebriated.'

'And how is that my problem?' he asked, fully aware of how much his belligerence would bother her, but not giving a damn any more.

'When she is in any of these craft she is in your charge; it's your duty to protect her. You should have refused knowing her judgment was impaired.'

Incensed to be in trouble with her yet again, he got to his feet, looming over her. 'Let me ask you this, Raelzine. Is there a single bad thing that happens in this house that isn't my fault?'

'Those women could have been gravely injured –'

'I didn't know that! When are you going to get it into your head that all this is alien to me? You tell me I have to toe the line, then you tell me I have to stand my ground. And am I really supposed to feel bad about what might have happened to that couple of screwed up whores?'

When he flailed his left arm angrily in the direction they'd left in, Raelzine caught hold of it, pushing back the cuff as far as it would go to reveal the blistered skin beneath. 'I see they had to punish you once again,' she grunted, though clearly shocked by its appearance. 'What did you do this time?'

'I didn't do anything!' he yelled. 'I don't have to do anything to get into trouble round here, don't you get that?'

She sighed, nodded, and took a deep breath, her eyes moistening. 'I'm sorry, Jadrael. Perhaps I should simply have asked what happened,' she said more gently.

His temper came off the boil as he recognised the genuine concern in her expression. Besides, he was too damn tired to stay mad at her tonight. 'You don't need to know,' he said, feeling embarrassed about the whole sordid ordeal now he was able to look back on it. He sat back down and leaned his elbows on his knees, resting his aching joints again.

She nodded, looking even more upset now. 'Did they...hurt you?'

'Well, clearly!' he snorted, holding up both his burned wrists so the cuffs slipped up his arms a little way, exposing the blistered skin again.

Raelzine's response was to dip into the pocket of her work apron and pull out a cloth, scrubbing it across his mouth. He jerked his head back, instantly spotting the faint lipstick smear on the fabric.

'Did they hurt you?' she asked again, pronouncing the words very deliberately this time.

A glow warmed his cheeks and he couldn't maintain her gaze. 'No...they got interrupted by that guy who attacked them.'

He heard her gasp, but then she took him by surprise when she grasped him by the shoulders, giving him a firm shake. 'You have to be strong, Jadrael. Make her understand that you will not be swayed. I will not lose another member of our serving staff to her impetuous desires.'

'Well, getting that across isn't so easy when you're restrained and tortured,' he huffed bitterly, regretting divulging even that much to the woman. But he needed to talk to someone...to get just how angry and humiliated he felt out of his system. When he'd got back he'd wanted to punch the walls, but his anger was dissipating now, diluted by the fact it seemed he might have an ally in the household after all.

Raelzine passed the cloth to him and he wiped a little more of the greasy gloss from his mouth, glad to be rid of the lingering taste of Magistra Callaedin. He'd thought he'd got the lipstick off with the back of his hand during the flight home, but apparently not all of it. He could feel Raelzine watching him and realised his frantic rubbing probably looked a little OCD to her. He stopped, tentatively offering her the cloth back.

She took it, stuffing it straight back into her apron as if the very sight or touch of it was utterly revolting to her. 'Now get yourself to your room, young man,' she insisted, brushing at the front of his vest and making him wince. A moment of pained sympathy passed across her face, then she set her jaw resolutely again. 'You've had quite a day. Time to get some sleep and put all this behind you.'

'I still have to clean the transport,' he said, thumbing back toward it. 'I'm gonna get my ass kicked if that thing isn't polished before morning.'

'Leave it to Lanae and I,' she told him, pushing him toward the door. 'We'll soon have it done.'

'Won't I get into trouble if they find out I didn't do it?'

'They won't know; they're too wrapped up in tales of the magistras' narrow escape this evening. Now off you go and get some rest. Oh, and be sure to bathe those burns of yours, but dry them well once you're done. I'll bring you something to put on them so they don't get infected. Oh, and leave your clothes outside your door. I'll clean them for you later.'

He nodded and smiled his thanks, not waiting to be asked twice to leave things to her. She was right...it had been one hell of a day and he was now exhausted, sore and...and scared if he dared to admit that much to himself.

When he got to his room a clean bowl of water and soap and a towel had been set beside his bed, awaiting the completion of his cleaning duties, he supposed. He hauled off his vest, awakening all kinds of pain in his arms and stomach as he aggravated his burned skin. Bathing under the cuffs wasn't easy, drying the burns proved even harder, and by the end of his efforts he had pained tears streaking down his cheeks.

So, exhausted by his duties and injuries, he dimmed down his lamp and lay back and waited for his frantic mind to wear itself out, his desperate attempts to formulate some kind of escape plan eventually blurring into the surrealism of sleep...

...where the red-eyed masses grouped around him, reaching out to him, grasping at his arms and legs and pulling at his clothes as they begged him to help them.

He was swallowed up by the seething crowd, all of them pressing in, bearing down, sobbing and pleading...suffocating and crushing him in their desperation for him to hear their supplications. He tried to ask them to stop, but found he had no voice...no air in his lungs to form any sound. He was trapped...dying...and no one could hear him screaming...

Blackness engulfed him. He was falling into a great abyss, the faces now peering in on him, hands reaching down toward him, but so far away...so very far away now.

In his dream, he landed with a thud, jolting himself awake to the sight of Teyla, her red eyes gazing into his.

'The sensory wishes to see you.'

He jerked awake, this time for real, finding himself alone and still in considerable pain, even the weight of the blankets feeling too much for his burned skin. As promised, he spotted that Raelzine had left a pot of soothing salve on the crate beside his bed while he slept, and he applied some carefully to his burns, gritting his teeth against the stinging sensation it awoke in them. Eventually, complete exhaustion dragged him back down into slumbers, but his dreams brought him yet more distress, troubling him throughout the night.