Chapter 13

"What kind of an outfit is this?" John's voice shook with cold. "They don't even have proper cells!"

Teyla had been listening to her team leader complaining on and off for most of the night. She knew why he was doing it; to distract her, to distract himself. His voice had grown steadily more uneven and croaky and she could tell that he was shivering as much as she was.

"Stalagmites," he said and coughed hoarsely.

"I do not understand, John." Teyla could not stop her teeth from chattering together as she spoke.

"These things they've got us tied to. They're called stalagmites," he rasped.

"Oh."

"They grow up from the floor." He coughed again. "The others that come down from..." He broke off and this time his coughing fit ended in hoarse gasps of pain.

"John, do not talk any more!" ordered Teyla.

After Smeadon's dismissal the previous night they had been hustled back down the stairs and there had been some rancorous discussion about where to put them. Predictably, but foolishly, Teyla thought, John had interjected his thoughts on the matter.

"How about back where you found us?" he had said, making himself a natural target for Karron to release his pent-up anger and humiliation. Teyla had walked and John had been dragged through the troops' living area and through a rough, winding passage, to this cave. The floor and ceiling were a mass of spiky rock formations, beautiful in their own way, Teyla thought. They had each been tied to a separate formation and left in the dark and cold, and although the thick spike she was tied to had looked as soft and smooth as chalk, Teyla had quickly realised that it was made of solid, unyielding rock and, with her arms tied behind her, pulled back tight against the smooth, damp surface, it was impossible to get free.

Teyla tried to breathe slowly and deeply through her shivering; she tried to calm her mind and take herself somewhere far away, somewhere where she was not cold or in pain or fearful for her life and that of her friend. She imagined being warm and comfortable and safe, with her people on Athos, her lost home, or with her new family on Atlantis.

She managed for a short time and then the pain in her strained arms brought her back to reality and she was surrounded by the harsh, frigid blackness once more and John's wheezing breaths.

"We'll get out of this, Teyla," he croaked. "We will. Somehow."

"Yes, John, we will."

oOo

"All ready, Dr McKay." Lorne's voice came out of the chill, pre-dawn darkness.

Rodney nodded sharply, his jaw clenched tight with suppressed panic. Two Jumpers were parked outside the Happy Helg, as well as the little Skyrunner; Elizabeth had sent Sergeant Stackhouse's team as well as Carson, and Gard was eager to come along and earn his bounty.

Boudicca loped up the ramp of Lorne's Jumper and sat, looking back at him. Rodney followed and they were soon airborne. He sat on one of the benches, opposite Carson, who looked at him with sympathy.

"We'll soon have them back, Rodney."

Rodney smiled weakly. Boudicca, unfazed by the closing hatch and confined space, pushed her furry head into Rodney's side and he put his arm around her.

"How's Ronon?" Rodney asked.

Carson rolled his eyes. "Put it this way," he said, "I had to threaten him with restraints to stop him from coming along!"

Rodney gave another half-smile, half-grimace and clenched his fingers in Boudicca's fur.

They flew into the rising dawn until Lorne's voice came from the cockpit.

"There's some kind of camp down there!"

Rodney joined Lorne up the front of the Jumper. The land beneath was more sparsely forested and rose into the gentle waves and rocky outcrops of moorland before, in the distance, high, jagged peaks could be seen, backlit by the violet light of early morning. Below, in a clearing, were a few tents in a circle around a fireplace.

"Bad time of year for camping," said Lorne.

"They could be the group sent to look for Colsen," said Rodney. "They might know something useful. Are we cloaked?"

"Yeah. I'll circle back and decloak; give them some warning."

Lorne pulled the Jumper away, then reapproached, slowly, reducing his altitude. In the dim light, Rodney could see figures begin to emerge from the tents; Lorne landed a short distance away. Rodney was first out of the hatch. He recognised some of the group from the chaotic meeting at the Happy Helg. They remembered him, too, and greeted him effusively with grins and back-slapping, their warm breath creating clouds in the freezing air. Rodney had to restrain his impatience with the social conventions, but the group became silent and attentive when he told them of the disastrous hunt and John and Teyla's kidnapping.

"We've seen nothing of any strange vehicles," said one of the men. "We traced Colsen as far as old Gerta's farm, over the hill there." He gestured back along the rise of moorland. "But this one," he jerked his thumb behind him to where Rodney could see the dilapidated line of an old stone wall. "We went up to the house..."

"It's in a right state!" one of the women interjected, to a general chorus of agreement. "There was a creepy old codger and a couple of young farm hands. None of us recognised them."

Another woman continued. "They said they'd not seen Colsen and wouldn't let us search the land."

"Or put us up for the night, even in the barn!" said the first man.

Rodney looked at Major Lorne, who spoke into his radio to Stackhouse, still circling in the other Jumper.

"Sergeant, check out the nearest farm, see if anything looks suspicious. And scan for any caves nearby."

The campers got their fire blazing and Rodney tried to avoid the great plumes of smoke coming from the damp fuel.

"Come into the Jumper, Rodney. It's freezing out here!" Carson stood with his arms wrapped tightly round him, looking cold and miserable.

"I'm fine. It's not even raining, for a change."

"Where's your friend gone?"

Rodney looked round. "Who, Boudicca? I don't know, maybe she's gone to find something small and furry for breakfast."

Lorne's radio crackled and he listened and then spoke into it, telling the Sergeant to maintain his position.

"Stackhouse saw armed men on patrol, round the farmhouse and near a cave entrance," Lorne told Rodney and Carson.

"So, what do we do?"

"I'd say they'll be expecting us," said Lorne, thoughtfully. "Which means a frontal assault would be a bad idea."

"So, what, we just go and ask for our friends back?" sneered Rodney. "Because I don't think that's going to work!"

"Rodney!" Carson tried to be the voice of reason, but Rodney interrupted.

"How can this possibly end well? Smeadon's so far from trustworthy I'd sooner bargain with a Wraith! And we've got him cornered like a rat in a trap, which means he's going to be even more dangerous!"

"You're right, there," said Gard. Rodney wondered where he'd appeared from and where he'd parked his mushroom. "The man's as wily as they come."

Lorne looked at his watch. "Check-in's in ten minutes. We'll see what Dr Weir has to say."

Dr Weir agreed with Major Lorne in that a full-on assault was too risky for the hostages.

"We need to talk to Councillor Smeadon, at least to play for time," she said. "I'll get in touch with the Manarians."

"You're up, Dr McKay," said Lorne, when Elizabeth had signed off. He gave Rodney a steady, expectant look.

"What, me? I can't negotiate! I don't do that kind of..." He waved his hands dismissively.

"Diplomacy?" suggested Carson.

"No! I can be diplomatic!" Rodney paused. "Well, maybe not, but I mean..." He snapped his fingers. "Artifice! That 'say-one-thing-mean-another' stuff, reading between the lines and so on. It's not me! Especially when people's lives are on the line." He shuffled uncomfortably. "People I er..."

"Care about?" said Carson.

"You just need to find out what he wants," said the Major. "It'll buy us some time. Any major decisions can be left to Dr Weir."

"Alright, I'll go!" blustered Rodney. "I didn't mean that I wouldn't, just that... I'm not very good at that kind of thing."

"You'll be fine," reassured Carson.

oOo

Thoughts of escape had long since receded into the dimness of John's mind. The cold and the pain were all-consuming and their constancy and that of the darkness and silence were all that he knew, all that he was. His thoughts had frozen into the permanence of his pitiful state, so that when, finally, a light approached and there was the sound of boots on rock and short bursts of fearful voices, he remained locked in his torpor.

A sudden spike in the agony in his arms and ribs barely registered and he did not become aware of any change until there was bright light above him and his eyes automatically screwed up against it. His awareness increased when somebody raised him to pour some warm liquid between his lips and then he was set down again and a blanket was draped over him. Suddenly, with the thawing of his body, his brain was able to cope a little more with sensory input and he listened to the hurried, guilty voices.

"I didn't know where else to put 'em, did I?"

He doesn't want 'em dead! What use'd they be then, eh?"

"Smeadon doesn't want 'em here at all and Karron's for the chop if he ain't careful. These two're neither here nor there!"

One of the voices became more threatening.

"You don't have to become their best friend, just keep them this side of freezing to death, yeah?"

There was a reluctant, grunted assent and then silence, except for the more distant murmur of voices and the throb of the generator. John didn't know if he could move. He rolled his head one way, slowly, even this limited motion waking stabs of pain in his neck and shoulders. He saw only a rocky wall through the slits of his eyes, and slowly worked his head in the other direction. Teyla: lying on her side, facing him, within arm's reach if moving his arms hadn't awoken burning pins-and-needles from his fingers upward and wrenching agony in his shoulders.

There was nobody else nearby. They were unbound. This was their best chance of escape. John, concentrating hard, managed to move his arm enough to cover one of Teyla's hands with his own. Then he fell asleep.

oOo

Rodney stood in the middle of the rough farm track. The ground was white with frost and the grass either side stuck up in sculptural spikes. He looked up at the farmhouse, a couple of hundred yards away over the rising ground, and at the open fields either side, broken only by a few stunted trees. He couldn't see any movement, but felt he was being watched, and not just by his own forces, covering him from the treeline.

Rodney unholstered his Beretta, laid it carefully on the ground and stepped back. Gard had looked blankly at him when he'd asked about the local equivalent of a white flag of truce, but it seemed to be generally acknowledged that making some kind of gesture toward disarming would signal the intent to parley. A thin voice came from the direction of the farm buildings.

"What do you want?"

Rodney shouted back, "I want to talk to Smeadon!" and was pleased when his voice didn't squeak or crack.

There was no reply. Rodney looked over his shoulder, but couldn't see his own forces either. He stood, feeling stupid, his hands stuck in his pants pockets for warmth. There was no sign that this was a working farm and Rodney thought that if Smeadon had been trying to blend in, he could have made more effort. There were no helgs for a start, an unthinkable situation for the locals whose livelihoods depended on the creatures and whose culture was centred around them. The farmhouse and outbuildings looked tired and unkempt, with an air of disuse.

Nobody came and Rodney began walking in circles, waving his arms to try to keep warm. Then his eye caught a small movement from the farmhouse; the door was opening. A man emerged. He briefly held his hands out to either side, presumably to show that he was unarmed, but Rodney thought the windows of the farmhouse were probably bristling with hidden weapons. The man came forward and, in the dim, grey light of incipient drizzle, Rodney saw the sharp-featured face of Councillor Smeadon. He didn't remember the man very well; only a vague recollection of his superior air and thinly-veiled sneers, as Teyla negotiated their initial alliance. The Manarians, in general, were a formal, yet friendly people; Smeadon obviously had his own priorities, as evidenced by their betrayal to the Genii. He wore a long, dark coat with fur trim at the collar and cuffs, although as he came closer, Rodney could see the fur was patchy and the coat had a faint, greasy sheen.

He stopped a few yards away, arms folded defensively, chin raised so that he looked down his nose, his small lips pursed with distaste. Rodney tried to keep his expression neutral, but felt his own chin come up and his mouth turn down at the corners.

"I have your people; you know that, don't you?" Smeadon said abruptly. "I will not hesitate to have them killed if I am threatened!"

"Thereby losing your bargaining chip and ensuring your total annihilation," said Rodney, dismissively. "We want them back; what'll it take?" Rodney knew that, in being so blunt, he wasn't fulfilling his brief to play for time, but the man was obviously a cold-hearted killer and he didn't feel he could manage pleasantries. Images of sharp-knived Genii kept appearing in his mind and the fact that this man had given them a way in to Atlantis. The idea of Sheppard and Teyla at Smeadon's mercy made him feel stomach-churningly desperate.

"Safe passage to the Gate and no pursuit," snapped back the Councillor. "Your friends to accompany me until I am safely away. Any hint of treachery and..."

"'You will not hesitate to kill them', yes, you said that already," sneered Rodney. He didn't know how Teyla or Elizabeth retained their equanimity when dealing with such scum. "We want the Colonel and Ms Emmagan released before you go through the Gate."

Smeadon huffed an unpleasant laugh. "Whereupon you would, no doubt, shoot me!" Rodney didn't deny it. "They go through the Gate with me; you may retrieve them when I have had time to Gate to another address."

"Not acceptable," said Rodney.

"And yet, you will agree," said Smeadon, with oily pleasantness. "You have two hours to make the arrangements or your people will die."

"Four! Four hours!"

"Three," Smeadon conceded, and walked away.

oOo

Teyla's mouth was dry and her head ached. Her body felt stiff and sore even while motionless and, although she was no longer surrounded by freezing blackness, she was still chilled. She felt a hand on hers and soft puffs of breath against her face. She opened her eyes. John was lying next to her, his face turned her way; pale, unshaven, cut and bruised with gray shadows beneath his eyes. Teyla slowly and painfully pushed herself up, her arms shaking so much that they would barely support her. She leant her head on her raised knees for a moment, her arms limp at her sides, hands feeling the cold smoothness of rock. She looked up to see that she was in an alcove off the main living cave; a glimpse of light, moving shadows and the scent of cooking came from beyond the irregular arch. There were wooden crates stacked to one side and Teyla's eye fell on two cups of water and a plate holding a few chunks of some kind of meat. She eased herself forward, feeling her shoulders and neck protest violently. She picked up one of the cups and drank thirstily, then ate half of the meat. John still slept.

Teyla began to gently stretch out her rigid, spasming muscles, using patience and her breathing techniques to slowly ease out some of the stiffness. Really, she needed heat, massage and, above all, time to heal, but if she could achieve some measure of mobility, that would have to do for now.

Her efforts were interrupted by the sound of raised voices coming from the main cavern. Suddenly, they became more strident and there was the smack of fist on flesh, followed by scuffling, curses and then the report of a single gunshot. A commanding voice then rang out, berating the troops and threatening dire consequences, after which the sounds relapsed into sullen murmurings.

Quick, rasping breaths came from behind her and Teyla turned to see John, sitting upright, his face contorted into a pained grimace, his arms folded tight around his ribs.

"John! Are you alright?"

"Oh yeah," he wheezed, with more than his ordinary sarcasm. "I'm real good! You?" He began coughing and wincing and Teyla passed him the other cup of water.

"I am well enough, John," she said, passing him the plate of food.

"So, what was all that about?" he asked, reluctantly beginning to eat. "Dissension in the ranks?"

"I believe it must be an issue of trust," said Teyla, thoughtfully. "The soldiers know who we are."

"So, they know someone'll be coming for us," continued John.

"But do they trust their leader? Or do they believe he will simply use us to bargain for his freedom and abandon them?"

John shrugged and then flinched at the pain in his shoulders.

"Try some stretches, John. It will help, and we need to be able to move."

He began rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms, but Teyla could tell from his sharp intakes of breath and quick tightenings around his eyes that the process wasn't pleasant.

"I suppose there's no chance of a hot shower?" John said, standing propped against the crates.

Teyla smiled. "A shower would be wonderful," she said. "But since that is not possible, shall we try to persuade the soldiers to release us in exchange for immunity?"

"I think not!" Karron's voice came from the cave entrance. He stood, weapon trained on them, flanked by two of his men, also armed. "I think you will come with me!"

"And why would we want to leave such pleasant accommodation?" John smirked.

"Because if you are not handed over to Atlantean forces, Smeadon will be killed!" said Karron.

"You are releasing us?" asked Teyla.

Karron smiled. "I'm sorry, you seem to be under the impression that I wish the Councillor to live! On the contrary, I have decided to quit his employ, and as a parting shot, I will be taking you with me!"