Chapter 2

The sensation of movement against his side brought Major Sheppard back to the land of the living. He groaned and rolled away from the warm weight, feeling the gravel below his back crunch and shift; sharp stones digging into tender spots. But then what wasn't tender? Taking a shaky breath John listened to the world around him, not quite willing to open his eyes.

"Oh god, ma head." A familiar Scottish brogue moaned.

Giving in to the inevitable, Sheppard opened his eyes and instantly regretted it. The light sent his headache to new levels of agony.

"Ditto Doc." He whispered putting a hand to his head and wincing as something protested painfully.

A moment later John was answered by another groan and the sound of someone moving; a shadow fell across his face, blocking out some of the oppressive light. Risking a peek the major cracked open an eye and was greeted by the bloodied, dirt streaked and concerned face of Dr. Carson Beckett.

"Gee Doc, you look like I feel." Beckett ignored the comment, far more concerned with the source of the Major's discomfort.

His head pounded mercilessly but his concern as a doctor pushed it aside. "I think it's the after effects of whatever they drugged us with."

"Drug?" Sheppard asked groggily, trying to pull the recent past from his memory.

"I think they drugged us before being dropped here...wherever here is." He glanced nervously around, half expecting some nasty beastie to appear from the undergrowth.

"Ow!" Sheppard moaned as Beckett found the source of his discomfort.

He moved away a little, trying to sit up then changed his mind when his ribs voiced their dislike of the idea. The doctor gave him an admonishing look and Sheppard reluctantly let Carson continue his poking.

"I think you may have some bruised ribs."

"I could have told you that without the poking." Sheppard snapped. "You don't look so hot yourself." He pulled away from Beckett's examination. "Help me sit up."

The doctor didn't look pleased but helped Major Sheppard to sit, neither one of them felt like standing just yet. Once Sheppard's head stopped spinning he looked around noticing the local graffiti problem, following the boundary of the clearing, up along the carvings to the top of the cliff. For a moment he ruefully wondered if they'd been thrown off.

"Looks like a nice vacation spot Doc, think they have room service?" Carson gave him a hard look and sighed; sometimes the Major's sense of humour was a little disconcerting. He rubbed at the back of his head and winced, discovering a very large lump and his hand slick with blood.

"Personally I'd settle for knowing how to get home." He mumbled, starring at the blood, trying to figure out if he had a concussion. Digging around in his pocket, Carson pulled out a more or less clean handkerchief and gingerly dabbed at the back of his head.

"That's pretty much on the top of my list, but right now we need to figure out where we are and how we got here."

The doctor merely nodded, then regretted it as his stomach churned. Definitely a good possibility of a concussion. He was a doctor not a soldier; the Major could do the thinking. Maybe he should remember that when invited through the gate next time, if there was a next time.

Sheppard turned his attention to the carvings again, there was something familiar about them, the strange spiral pattern in the middle struck him as odd. The surrounding patterns looked a hell of a lot like art work decorating various places around Atlantis. They were a little more primitive but too similar to be a coincidence.

Beckett followed his line of sight, guessing at the Major's thoughts, "they look like some of them sculptures in Atlantis."

"I was thinking the same...a lot like them."

"Coincidence?"

"I don't believe in coincidences." Beckett found that interesting for a man who relied a little too much on instinct.

Pulling his eyes away from the strange carvings Sheppard studied the rest of his surroundings. The clearing seemed to be in the foothills of a small mountain range, arcing half way around the forest spread out below them. It reminded him a little of the Oxbow in Montana, but hotter.

The climate here teetered on tropical, the vegetation like the rainforest, heavy vines and foliage littering the forest floor. John had spent time hiking in similar forests during training missions, learning how to survive in the wild. He'd hated it with a passion, mainly because it meant no flying for months on end. The clearing had the feel of long faded importance, there were no ruins or visible signs except the carvings, just a feeling of something...big.

"Is that a city?"

"Where?"

"Out there, look." The doctor pointed down the valley to the far edge of the forest several miles away.

At first Sheppard didn't see anything and wondered if the lump on Beckett's head was making the doctor see things. Blinking a few times against the glare of the sun, he managed to make the buildings out. They were the colour of the mountains, built from stone and camouflaged within the jungle.

"Wonna find out if the city has the lived in look?"

"You're not suggestin' we walk all the way over there, are ya?" Beckett sounded incredulous; the city was miles away and could very well be a ruin.

"Well that or we can just sit here until we die of thirst and exposure."

Mentioning thirst made sweat trickle down Beckett's back, he licked his lips and realised he was indeed thirsty, probably another symptom of a concussion or the drug...probably both.

"Shouldn't we stay here and wait for someone to find us?"

"Somehow I don't think a rescue is coming anytime soon."

"They wouldn't give up on us that easily."

"How do they know where to look? Ford may or may not have made it through the gate, for all we know he could have been dumped somewhere too. I don't know about you but I have a feeling we're not on Nian anymore Toto."

"I don't see a Stargate." Beckett offered, frowning at Sheppard's bad joke.

Before answering John cast a side glance at the carvings again, there was something about them that didn't sit right. "The Nian have ships like the puddle jumpers, the stargate could be in orbit."

"Oh...good point." Beckett didn't like the way this was going.

"So what'll it be Doc? You wonna sit here all day and hope someone drops by or go see if the locals are friendly?"

"I thought you were an optimist."

"I prefer the term optimistic realist."

Collecting himself Sheppard shifted to his knees and careful climbed to his feet, the world spun again then righted itself. So far so good. He offered a hand to the doctor and helped the man to his feet, wincing at the stab of pain in his side. Beckett seemed to have more trouble keeping his feet; wobbling dangerously the doctor went pale, then green, finally staggering a few passes away to throw up.

"Definitely a concussion." The Scot mumbled between retches.

To Be Continued....