Chapter 12 (5276)

Toeing at the ashes of the cooking fire revealed no life left in them, not a single glowing ember to kindle a flame. The fire was burned out and cold, as were the few discarded cooking vessels tossed aside nearby in the now deserted encampment. Most likely the Birajans had packed up and moved on the first opportunity they had after transporting the humans off world. The camp had clearly been abandoned some time ago, leaving the trail cold. Despite the Reliquiae searching the woodland the first opportunity they had after their sisters were healed and their health replenished, it had taken them too long to find the camp's exact location. And since the rebels were no longer travelling with the Kheprians in their ground vehicles, it would be next to impossible to track them now.

Oolanae surveyed the ramshackle assortment of shelters that had been left behind, most barely standing in the dappled shade cast by the trees around the edge of the clearing. The ground was dry now but showed the toll taken by the recent monsoon as clearly as the shelters did, displaying numerous trails of deep footprints preserved in the baked dry mud. Some were bigger than others and showed unusual tread patterns unlike the footwear worn by the local Birajans. Those belonged to humans, perhaps some of the impressions even echoed the steps of the Wraith Slayer himself.

The sun was gaining height and her kind were not used to being out in this heat. Her sisters already hissed complaints about the unbearable warmth. Oolanae, too, longed for the cool embrace of their fortress home, but they had to search for clues before they could return to it. She was almost certain that this was the camp of the rebels who had been shielding Sheppard from them, but she wanted to be certain. The heavy track prints of what she believed where the Kheprian cargo transporters started and ended only a few hundred yards away. That had to be a sign that they were on the right track, but she needed more evidence to settle her few lingering doubts.

One of her sisters now stopped suddenly only a short distance from her, nose in the air, catching a scent.

'What is it?' Oolanae demanded, striding over to her.

'I smell…'

But she didn't need to finish her sentence, because Oolanae picked up the scent now too…human blood.

She followed the intoxicating smell as it gradually grew stronger. There was a patch of undisturbed earth ahead of her, a sign that there had been a shelter there that had protected the ground from the onslaught of the rains, one that had been in good enough repair to pack up and take with them. Within its boundary she found discarded medical supplies tinged with blood. Oolanae picked up the now dried out cloth that appeared to have been used to clean an injury, the smell of the human's blood almost overpowering her self-control. She hissed a deep, threatening rumble from far down in her throat. It was the blood of the Wraith Slayer, she was certain of it. It reeked of his Lantean heritage, tainted with the sickness that had almost claimed him when they had taken him from Phylacos. Anger welled within her. She had been so close to capturing him on that Kheprian transporter. If that hybrid female hadn't intervened, he would be their prisoner now. But instead here they were, picking through another species' scraps and waste for any sign of hope.

'He was here,' she growled to her sisters. 'He is injured, and the sickness grows within him again. He will weaken…and then, perhaps it will be him who seeks us out. We will return to Anastan and wait to see what his next move will be.'

In her opinion, that was their best chance of finding him now, and none of her sisters disagreed. There were no further clues to be found here in the camp. Nothing to indicate where the rebels had gone after fleeing, not even a hint of which direction that had left in. It was possible they would break cover again when they needed supplies and inadvertently reveal their new position, but Oolanae felt certain that it was more likely the human or his companions would come to Anastan looking for an opportunity to gain more enzyme to prolong the Wraith Slayer's life.

His sickness was their vulnerability, and with their enzyme being the only known treatment to stave off the ravages of the insidious disease engulfing his frail human body, it seemed obvious that was only a matter of time before the rebels came looking for the Reliquiae.

They had waited thousands of years to become whole again. They could wait a few days more.

oooOOOooo

'In here. It's all right. It's totally safe, I promise.'

Sheppard approached the door of the craft when he heard Mehra's reassurances. The young girl she guided along with her looked utterly terrified as he appeared in the doorway. He pushed his hood back far enough that she could make out his human features beneath it and stuck out his hand. 'Here…let me help you up.'

The horror in her expression was replaced by recognition and, now that he could see her up close, he also knew he'd seen her face before. She'd been part of the genetics programme, and he'd seen her a few times in the exercise yard. They'd never spoken, only locked eyes once or twice during torturous circuits. She'd been terrified then, too, he recalled. He couldn't say he blamed her. Under all the grime and her tattered apparel she looked awfully young…too young to be snatched from her home and thrust into a weird universe sixty thousand years in the future, that was for sure.

The girl stretched out a bony hand and grasped his fingers, her skin cold and clammy to the touch. It wasn't exactly surprising considering how scared she was. The body's fight or flight response didn't worry about warm fingers. Sheppard guided her to a seat, but when he tried to let go of her found she had a tight grip on him that she didn't mean to relinquish. Apparently, she wanted him to sit with her. He could do that if it helped her to feel safer.

'What's your name?' he asked, trying to put her at ease.

'J…Jemma,' she barely whispered. It was as if she'd forgotten how to talk.

His heart sank. He'd spent six months alone in a cell before Mehra had been tossed in there with him, it was possible she'd had no one to speak with for even longer than that. 'Hi, Jemma. I'm John. It's okay. You're safe now. We're gonna take care of you.'

The smallest hint of a smile flickered at the corners of her lips as her pale grey eyes focused for a few seconds and gazed back into his. He estimated her to be not much more than sixteen. What the hell kind of a mess her mind was in he could only imagine. She had an air of someone who'd seen far too much, far too young. The things he'd seen and experienced in Phylacos had tempered his spirit, and he'd seen a lot in his life. It wasn't something a kid should ever have been subjected to.

Mehra deposited herself in the seat in front of them and passed a flask of water back to the Jemma. 'Here, have some of this.'

The girl whispered her thanks and took the drink, grasping it in both hands as if the weight of it might be too much to hold in just one. He remembered that feeling of weakness only too well. He hoped she wasn't sick.

'This is Dusty, by the way,' Sheppard told her, making the introductions.

Mehra wiggled her raised fingers, 'Hi.' The girl just blinked, and the grin Mehra had pinned on slipped straight back off again. 'So, where've you been since Phylacos blew?' she asked, trying to engage her.

The girl shrugged her scrawny shoulders. 'Don't really remember. Got passed around.'

It was a vague and slightly disconcerting answer. Sheppard and Mehra exchanged a worried glance and he found himself hoping Jemma wasn't blocking out something too horrible to remember. 'Well, you're safe now,' he reiterated, not sure what else he could say that would help.

Mishta now arrived in the seat beside Mehra's and held out a box containing slices of bread and strips of dried meat. 'Here, eat something. You look half-starved.'

The girl just stared at her, and it took him a moment to realised she wouldn't have a translation chip. 'She says you need to eat something.'

Still clutching the water flask in her left hand, Jemma stretched out her right hand and snatched a piece away as if she thought her fingers might burn if they lingered too long in the box. He realised she was staring fixedly at Mishta the whole time. Not surprising since she'd never seen anything like her before.

'You don't have to be frightened of Mishta,' he assured her. 'She's alien, but she's on our side.'

'I'm half-human,' Mishta reminded him. Funny how she wanted him to mention that when it suited her, but had spent most of the time he'd known her cursing her human heritage.

'She and her brother, Lansha…the guy up front there next to the pilot, are half-human,' he explained, more to humour Mishta than to ease the girl's fears. He doubted his words would make much difference to her. She was clearly traumatised and would need to build trust for everyone here herself.

Ronon had been keeping his distance this whole time, seated on the opposite side of the craft. Sheppard thumbed over his way. 'That's Ronon. He looks kinda fierce but he's a good guy.'

Ronon dipped his head to the girl, then looked away out of the windshield as the craft began to ascend. Jemma seemed surprisingly unphased by the movement, engrossed as she was in her meagre meal. She didn't even respond to Ronon.

'And the pilot, the Birajan, his name is Juroah. He's a good guy…not like the scientists at Phylacos.'

Jemma locked eyes with him again, a weird mixture of anger and anxiety etched into her young features. 'Do I have to remember all these names?'

Thrown by her odd response, he struggled to find words to answer. 'Uh…no…just…just trying to put you at ease,' he assured her. Still, he supposed she was young and scared, and had been through who-knew-how-much in the past few weeks while separated from her fellow humans, so he told himself not to be too quick to judge. She would mostly likely relax given time.

The girl suddenly looked deathly pale. 'I…I'm sorry…I don't know why…' Jemma's eyes rolled back and she slumped against him, dropping her bread and the flask into her lap. Sheppard quickly scooped up the flask before too much spilled and supported her head. 'Hey…hey, Jemma. Can you hear me? Jemma?'

Mehra leaned over the seat, pressing her fingers to the girl's neck. 'Got a pulse.'

Jemma's eyes fluttered a little, then focused on him, the previous recognition returning to her gaze. 'John?'

'Yeah, that's right. You passed out,' he smiled, pressing the flask to her lips and letting her take a few sips. 'Guess you haven't had much to eat or drink recently?'

'No…not much,' she echoed, looking down at the bread in her lap as if surprised to see it there.

'Well, when we get you back to camp we'll make sure you have a real good meal,' he told her, pushing the flask into her empty hand as she picked up the bread in her other one.

The girl settled a little at his reassurances and munched down on the bread, crumbs flying everywhere as she almost devoured the whole piece in one go, chugging down gulps of water to wash in down quicker.

'Whoa…slow down there,' he chuckled, brushing bits of bread from his sleeve. 'There's plenty more where that came from.'

'She eats like an animal,' Mishta scowled, lip curled in disgust.

'What did she say?' Jemma barked, frowning back at her.

'She said you should be careful not to choke on that,' Mehra interjected, before Mishta tried to make herself understood.

Mishta and Jemma's eyes remained locked on each other's, neither one backing down. Sheppard slid out of his seat, happy to let Mehra referee the standoff. She seemed to have the situation in hand. A small hand grasped his arm. 'Where are you going?'

'Not far,' he smirked. 'I just want to look over the controls.'

Jemma stared intently, then after a few seconds of silent thought, she let go. He made his getaway, sidling up behind Juroah.

'How is our new guest?' Lansha asked as he spotted him loitering there.

'Jumpy,' he shrugged, watching the old Birajan navigating the craft with practiced ease. He hadn't flown anything in over six months now, and Sheppard ached with longing as he watched the little pilot go through the motions with almost no thought or effort.

'To be expected,' Lansha nodded. Then he seemed to read John's mind, standing up and gesturing to his seat. 'Here, you can see what he is doing better from this spot.'

Sheppard didn't wait to be asked twice. He was in the seat and glancing over the co-piloting controls almost before the words had passed Lansha's lips.

'She handles well. What's her top speed?' he asked Juroah.

The old Birajan glanced over at him, a slight smirk twisting his mouth. 'I have no idea how you measure speed. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.'

Lansha immediately found a free seat and Juroah set the craft into another league. Sheppard could feel the force pinning him back in his chair. For a shabby old planet-based transporter, it was pretty damned fast.

'Nice…' he grinned, appreciating the sense of exhilaration the new burst of speed gave him.

'Would you like to take the controls for a while?' Juroah offered as he slowed the craft down again. 'You're a pilot, aren't you?'

Sheppard's whole body thrummed with excitement as he grasped the dual steering joysticks in front of him and Juroah relinquished control. There was a slight pull in his biceps as he got a feel for the handling, a minor dip in altitude, but in seconds he'd rectified the loss and was holding the vessel steady. It wasn't exactly a 'jumper, but damn did it feel good.

Juroah fired up a holographic HUD and programmed in an instruction. Something resembling, but in so many ways exceeding, a Satnav fired up to Sheppard's left. 'This is our course. Would you like to take us home?'

'Would I ever!' This was the most alive Sheppard had felt in…He stopped himself right there. He loved to fly. It was pretty much his favourite thing to ever do. But for a few seconds earlier that day, something had made him feel even more alive than this, and his stomach plummeted at the missed opportunity and the sense of being manipulated. He realised he wanted Mishta to want him for who he was, not the hope of freedom he awoke in her. Suddenly aware that he was distracted, he focussed on the HUD and adjusted their course to put it directly on the line it was plotting for them.

'He's a natural,' he heard Lansha call over to them.

'That he is,' Juroah agreed. 'He puts many of our own pilots to shame. You learn quickly, Human.'

'So I'm told,' Sheppard murmured, taking them up over a rise. As he topped it, a wide landscape came into view, one with mountains reaching for the blue skies. Their course took them in closer, and as they neared, Sheppard noticed what appeared to be a huge building cut into the rock face. 'Is that…?'

'Anastan…yes,' Juroah nodded, his features now notably taut. He programmed something in, and the HUD displayed a slight course change, taking them in a wider circle around the mountains. Sheppard looked over his way, arching a brow. 'Can't be too careful where the Reliquiae are concerned,' he shrugged. 'This is as close as I'd like to get.'

'The Reliquiae are useful for one thing,' he heard Mishta say from just behind them now. 'Maybe we should go there…see if we can't capture one to keep as our pet. We would certainly save on physician costs.'

'Don't even joke about that, Mishta,' Lansha chided, a distinct quake in his voice. 'Both Juroah and I know what it's like to face those monsters down…as does John. I prefer my skin on my bones, if that's all right with you?'

Sheppard could still feel the soreness in his arm, the one the Reliquiae in Phylacos had shredded with her claw-like nails. Yeah, he had to agree with the guys on this one. Best to give the Reliquiae a generously wide berth.

'You fly well,' Mishta told him, leaning on the back of his seat. 'Another thing for Marmotah to be jealous of.'

From the corner of his eye, Sheppard saw Juroah turn her way. 'Not if we don't mention this to him. No need to cause trouble where there currently is none.'

Feeling it best to stay out of that conversation, Sheppard feigned full focus on the flight. Much as he didn't like the commitment Mishta had been forced into, he didn't want to get pulled into debating it again. At least not right now. Who would have guessed that almost sixty-thousand years into the future, patriarchy would still be as toxic as it had been in the twenty-first century?

The HUD indicated a required bank to the left and he swept the craft that way, making a smooth arc that barely set his passengers off balance. 'Very nice,' Juroah cooed appreciatively, a warm grin adorning his weathered old face. 'Very nice. Pity you don't plan to hang around with us. We could use someone who can fly as well as you.'

Sheppard felt Mishta's weight instantly lift off the back of his seat, her presence shifting further back in the craft. He guessed she hadn't liked the mention of his leaving. But they needed to do it. He couldn't keep relying on these good folks to protect them when there was a perfectly feasible base of operations they could utilise while also reducing the danger to their Birajan friends.

The rest of the flight was accompanied by jovial conversation from Juroah and Lansha, but Mishta didn't return to join in. Sheppard brought the craft in for a soft landing in a perfect spot next to another craft, the touch down so gentle it was barely noticeable when the craft made contact with the ground. God, how he'd missed flying. It did his heart good. So much so, he didn't want to get out of the co-pilot seat…which he knew was a mistake the moment he noticed Marmotah watching their transporter from the steps of his own craft. There was no way he hadn't noticed Sheppard piloting. So much for not mentioning it to him.

Sheppard spun his seat around and looked at the others, Mishta barely acknowledging him as passed by and disembarked. So, he pinned on a smile and headed back to where Mehra, Ronon and Jemma were rising from their seats. 'Let's show you your new home…for at least the time being,' he said to the girl, offering her his hand. She immediately grabbed it and wrapped her free arm tightly around his, clinging to him. 'A little nervous, huh?'

'They're good people…you'll like 'em,' Mehra assured her, giving her shoulder a playful knock.

Jemma didn't seem to like that, tugging Sheppard even closer to her. He wasn't exactly comfortable with it, but he didn't have the heart to pull free. He figured she'd relax once she'd gotten to know everyone.

Marmotah, who had made his way over to the craft most likely with the intention of starting an argument suddenly stopped in his tracks as Sheppard descended the steps with the fragile girl. The Birajan eyed her sceptically, then smirked and watched them go by, making no comment at all, but apparently amused enough to save his ire for later.

There were a variety of smells wafting from various minor caves and mingling in that larger docking area, all of which had Sheppard salivating since he hadn't managed to eat much at breakfast. He guided Jemma through to their allocated cave and sat her down on his bed roll. She gazed up at him, her huge eyes fixed on his.

'You wait here. I'll go get you some hot food,' he told her, attempting to walk away.

She refused to let go of his hand. 'No…please stay.'

The insistent contact was becoming embarrassing. He understood he was the one face there that she recognised, but she needed to learn she could trust the others, too. He gently, but firmly, pried her fingers open.

'I'll just be a few minutes. Mehra will stay with you.'

He sensed Dusty's eye-roll, but she had composed her face into a smile by the time Jemma looked her way. 'Sure. And you can tell me all about yourself.'

'You will come back?' Jemma asked him, not even responding to Mehra's suggestion.

'Of course.' And then he was out of there, glad to put some space between himself and their new charge, his discomfort leaving him with a nagging sense of guilt. She was just a kid. It wasn't her fault she was so freaked out.

He headed back out to the landing area looking for Ronon, since for some reason the big guy hadn't followed them to their cave. Sure enough, when he reached the crafts, he spotted Ronon leaning just inside the cave opening some few hundred yards further on. He would recognise his gigantic silhouette anywhere.

'Hey buddy. You okay?' he asked as he neared him.

Ronon turned at his question, his expression troubled. 'I was sure it would be Teyla this time.'

'I know,' Sheppard nodded, heart heavy. 'I was sure, too.'

'We need to find her, Sheppard. The longer she's missing, the harder it'll be to track her.'

Sheppard nodded, resting himself against the other side of the opening, just far enough in not to be visible should anyone pass. 'We need to stop relying on these markets and follow what clues we have.'

'This prince the one who took her mentioned,' Ronon rumbled. 'He's the key.'

'Yeah…I'm guessing someone as important as a prince isn't gonna kidnap someone just to sell them on. I think he's planning to keep her. All these "tips" are a way of keeping us off her scent.'

'But why Teyla? Why not one of the other humans?' his friend mused.

'That I don't know…yet. But if we keep looking, we might find out something that clues us in.'

'Juroah said he'll look into it. There aren't that many princes around. It's a Birajan thing,' Ronon told him. 'Twenty-six tribes, each with princes. We go see 'em all if we have to. Narrow it down. We'll find her eventually. Someone'll slip up.'

Sheppard liked his certainty. Ronon had set his heart on finding Teyla, and nothing short of death would stop him. He felt the same…only death was likely to come a little sooner to him than anyone else currently realised. Without warning, a cough rattled up from his lungs and doubled him over. He could taste the tang of iron on his tongue, so buried his mouth in the crook of his arm where the stains would not be seen on his shirt.

Ronon was beside him before he could get a handle on it, his concern all too apparent. 'Sheppard? You okay?'

'Sure,' he lied, clearing his throat. 'Just picked up a cold from all the rain.'

'You look like crap. Have done for days. When're you gonna tell me what's going on?'

Sheppard met his friend's gaze, wondering if now was the time to tell him what was inevitably going to come out in the next few days anyway. There was no way he was going to be able to hide things for much longer.

Ronon wasn't taking any more weak excuses. 'I've seen the way Mehra looks at you, and those hybrids. They know something. This isn't just a cold, is it?'

Sheppard sighed. 'No…no it isn't. It's…' he looked at Ronon a moment, realising this was going to tear the man apart inside. 'I picked up a sickness just before we got abducted. Apparently, the cure was lost millennia ago….'

'You're dying?' In an instant the colour had completely drained from Ronon's face and his chest visibly heaved with each breath he took.

Sheppard chewed his lip, considering trying to spin that one into something more positive, but he knew there would be no lying to Ronon now. He was a man of few words, but he was sharp as a tack and would know straight away.

'Yeah…yeah, I am. But not today…and not before we find Teyla if I have any say in it.' Ronon's jaw clenched, the muscles twitching. Sheppard felt the need to explain further. 'When Mehra was put in my cell in Phylacos I was pretty sick…then I got snatched by the Reliquiae and they healed me…a little. But it was just a temporary fix. Mehra doesn't know that, but I think she's figuring it out. Mishta and her brother did some tests on me when they brought me to their camp. That's how they know. That's how I found out I wasn't cured. But this is between you and me for now, okay?'

After a few seconds of consideration, his friend gave a sharp nod. 'So we need more enzyme,' Ronon concluded, and Sheppard watched as the Satedan's strategic mind began to work out the logistics of attaining that now they'd seen Anastan.

'Hey…I'm good for a while yet. Let's focus on finding Teyla.'

Ronon turned to stare right into his eyes. 'Can't do that if you're dead,' he grunted, and stalked away, back into the cave.

Sheppard remained there a while longer, gazing out across the landscape as he ran over the exchange again in his mind, wondering if he could have handled it better. But there really was no good way to tell someone you were dying, he supposed. It had gone as well as he could have hoped.

The caves were well off the track to anywhere of note, so nothing had come past that he'd seen. It was blissfully quiet – serene, in fact. If only their minds were as peaceful as the beautiful scenery. Maybe this hadn't been the right time to tell Ronon about his problems. And if he'd thought that his reaction was bad, he hated to think how McKay would respond. Their journey to market had worn him out and they still had the move to the Greekaf caves to prepare for. Perhaps his bad news could wait another day for the others. Decision made, he scooted back into the cave to put on a brave face for just a little while longer.

oooOOOooo

'I will kill him!' Valkalar raged, knocking several flasks off the shelving to his left in his laboratory.

He stared at the empty tabletop, complete with dangling restraints, and thought of all the many and varied ways he would do that once he got his hands on his errant servant and his missing subject.

He'd woken early this morning ready to work, so it hadn't surprised him that his useless servant hadn't come running the moment he'd announced his wakefulness, but, when after five minutes had passed Tamrak hadn't responded to his communications and appeared at his bedside flushed and dishevelled, a feeling of foreboding had begun to churn in his gut. Now, some ten minutes later, Valkalar stood in his laboratory surrounded by guards, but with no human nor his personal servant in sight.

He rushed to his refrigeration unit, relieved to find all the samples he had taken still safely locked inside. Perhaps the little traitor thought leaving his work intact would buy him some leniency once he finally got his hands on him. Well, he was in for an unpleasant surprise if that was the case. There would be no mercy. He would disembowel him himself.

Realising the thought of that violent act had brought a sadistic grin to his face, one the guards surrounding him had obviously noticed but didn't dare question, Valkalar brought the expression under control and glared around at them.

'What are you all still doing here?' he demanded. 'Get out there and start looking for them!'

The prince stomped his way back to the elevator, riding it directly back to his chambers. In there, he lashed out again, knocking the pitcher of water from his desk with a clatter of glass shards and far flung water droplets. As he watched the puddle soak into his rug, his mood changed from one of anger to a sense of loss. That woman had been the key to all his plans. If his spineless servant had ruined that for him… He didn't finish that thought. Instead he tried to focus himself on what he knew of his servant What was he interested in? Did he have friends? Did he have any family outside of the city borders?

It was at this point that Valkalar realised he knew very little personal information about Tamrak. He'd served the royal family since he was four years old. How could he possibly have any other interests outside of that?

Understanding now that this was not a problem with an intellectual solution of the kind he excelled at, he begrudgingly accepted that he was going to have to allow his guards to manually search for the traitorous little wretch. Tamrak didn't own a vehicle, so he would be on foot. How far could he get with a human in tow before someone spotted them?

At that moment Valkalar's intellect kicked in and he dived toward his desk, searching for the Wraith storage tech he'd stolen and improved. It was missing.

'Devious little…' he growled under his breath, before wrenching the draw completely out and throwing it across the room. It collided with one of the four posts of his bed, sending wood and contents erupting in all directions, like shrapnel from an incendiary device.

Valkalar took a moment, closed his eyes, and breathed in a deep, calming breath. He was better than this. Tamrak was a mere servant, uneducated, slow of wit, and cowardly to boot. He wouldn't last long out there alone before he came scurrying back begging for forgiveness. He was certain of that.

He sat down on the end of his bed, wincing as sat on one of the many items his exploding draw had relinquished. He looked down at himself, his nightwear in disarray, and wondered where his clothes might be. They were in one of the many anti-chambers around here, but he'd never paid attention to which one. Tamrak had always laid out his clothes ready for him while he bathed each morning. This really was very tiresome. Tamrak had been perfectly trained for the role he fulfilled from a very early stage in his life. Now that training would have to begin again with someone new. Valkalar wasn't sure he had the patience to go to all that trouble.

Perhaps, when Tamrak came crawling back on his belly begging forgiveness, as he undoubtedly would, he wouldn't disembowel him after all. The little reprobate did have his useful skills after all. But he would make Tamrak suffer every indignity and humiliation he could think of while carrying out his duties until he felt he had suitably repented. Yes, perhaps he would spare him since he was a good servant. The human had no doubt played on the dim little fellow's compassion, an obvious flaw he himself had found most infuriating when cajoling Tamrak to assist with his darkest deeds. Tamrak wasn't entirely to blame for this betrayal; the human had undoubtedly led him astray.

No, he wouldn't kill him. Valkalar wagered to himself that the troublesome little oaf would never manage to fend for himself and would be back just as soon as he felt hungry.

His plans for universal domination could wait at least that long.

A/N: Thanks to those still reading and reviewing. All feedback is much appriciated.