MAD MEN OF MUC-MUC - Part 3
By NotTasha...
again, thank you for the feedback. I'm glad you're enjoying this. I really appreciate all your kind words.


CHAPTER 8: TACOS AND WATERMELON

Rodney crawled through the cave, slowly, carefully. The glow of the scanner illuminated only a short distance, increasing the claustrophobic feeling of the space. His hurried breathing echoed all around him, and he hitched himself forward.

The walls are NOT closing in. The walls are NOT closing in. There are no spiders. No spiders. There definitely are NO spiders in here. GAH! what was that? What was that? Oh... just my hand. Okay.. no spiders. The walls are NOT closing in. My hand is not a spider. It is not a spider!

Leg aching, McKay did what he could to keep moving. With use, his arm had started working adequately, but his elbow still smarted. He figured that he must have whacked his funny-bone on the way down. Now why in the hell do they call it the funny-bone? Nothing funny about hitting it. Nothing at all.

He couldn't get fully to his knees, portending a twisted joint, but managed to flop forward on his one good leg. "Just a little further," he whispered. "Just a little bit more. There's power up ahead…power. Yeah...power. Just a bit more…no spiders. Oh God…. " But the tunnel seemed to go on and on. He paused, holding his breath to listen, because he was breathing so heavily he could hear nothing beyond that. He concentrated, hoping that he'd hear John and the others coming back for him… hoping he'd NOT hear the sound of crazy Muc-mucs leaping down to get him.

The fear that the wild men would discover the pit propelled him onward, made him brave against the possibility of arachnids in the hole -- made him somewhat brave of such things. He knew that he had to get away – because if the dreadful Muc-mucs discovered the covered pit – he'd be dead. He was trapped in this tunnel. He'd be made into tacos, no doubt.

"Just got to keep going," he muttered, hobbling onward. "A bit more… that's all… a bit…and I'll find the power source, and get out of this DAMN TUNNEL!" He didn't think he could take the stress of it much longer. Just watch, when the Major and the others eventually came looking for me, they'll find me stuffed up this flue, dead of a heart attack. Probably take them days to drag me out.

And suddenly, as he crawled forward, his hand dropped instead of meeting with the tunnel. The narrow passage opened up and he inched into a larger area. He held out the scanner, using its glow to illuminate the space, noting that he was almost on top of his target now. "Ha! I'm out! Out of the tunnel, but where now? Some sort of room? Oh...I hope it's not a trap."

'That'd be my luck," he muttered. "Crawled right into their clutches." Finally able to maneuver about, he sat up, and felt along one wall and hoisted himself to his feet. His aching knee barked at him, but he managed to stand, leaning heavily on the wall. The buzz in his head had lessened somewhat since his last chance at standing -- but his skull still thudded where he'd hit it. He was bruised, undoubtedly, just about everywhere. Probably banged around like a pachinko ball when I fell, he thought.

"Okay," he uttered. "Okay, this is good. I'm standing. Standing is good. Standing is much better than crawling."

The room remained dark, the only illumination coming from his device. "Well," he said out loud, "if I want light, I'm going to need power." He checked the scanner and homed in on the power source. Staggering on his painful knee, he made his way across the room, nearly running into a console at one point. "Where are you?" he muttered. "Where…" and then he paused as a shape was revealed near the base of the panel.

Carefully lowering himself beside it, he took in the strange device. It was shaped like a watermelon - a tumor-ridden melon, decidedly irregular. A blob here – another blob there -- haphazardly placed. Wired up like a Christmas tree, it emitted a lower level of power. "Now that I know where you are, what are you?" he asked, feeling around, encountering more wires, along with a series of knobs and switches. He puzzled over the readouts on the scanner, unable to decode what exactly fueled the device – but it appeared to be a generator of some sort.

"Not Ancient," he decided. No, it didn't have the grace of the great people. The device was ugly, ungainly, unbalanced. It looked as if children had put the thing together. He checked the scanner again, examining it, finding that it appeared to be sound. The shielding was similar to what he'd found on many Ancient devices, telling him that someone may have cannibalized other technology at some time to create this. The thing, he finally resolved, was capable of creating a great deal of energy if initiated.

He smiled, giddy at the thought that he may have discovered a new source of power. It didn't pack the punch of Naquadah, but whatever was inside the big ugly melon seemed to surge with untapped energy. He licked his lips in excitement, stretching out his aching leg and scrutinizing it in the poor light.

He had to fire the thing up – he knew that. Because, what else was he supposed to do? He was alone, in a dark room with a piece of new technology. This weird-looking fruity-thing might be the answer to all their problems. How could he help himself? He had to mess with it.

The controls seemed easy enough to understand. He flicked one switch and twisted a knob and the thing began to hum. He scooted back, hobbling slowly to his feet, placing distance between himself and it as the melon glowed – taking on a chartreuse hue, striped with a brighter and obnoxious lime. It almost hurt to look at it.

The greenish glow filled the room. Scanner held out in front of him, he monitored the device, watching the power spike as the thing surged to life. "Yes," he whispered.

Suddenly, the lights came on in the room – too bright at first. He cringed, expecting an explosion from the tetchy device. And then he saw it… "Ah..."

The room, fully visible now, was dominated by a chair – a twin to the one they'd found in Antarctica. "Yes, yes…" McKay murmured, limping to one of the powered-up control panels and running one hand along it. Referencing the scanner again, he checked on the melon-generator. It held its charge, staying well within what appeared to be a 'safe' operating level. Lovely.

Was that watermelon actually powerful enough to run the chair? Back in Antarctica, it took a ZPM to keep one going. Did this odd bit have that much power? Honestly, the generator didn't seem capable. Not Ancient technology – it really didn't fit in with the tech of the chair and the control panels. The generator, undoubtedly, had been added later – a break-fix until something better could be found.

He narrowed his eyes at the obtrusive lights – the room wasn't Ancient either, he decided. The wiring about the base of the chair didn't seem quite right either. What the hell was going on?

Watching the readouts on his scanner, he decided that if this generator produced even a portion of what a ZPM was capable of – it was a mighty good find. Chuckling to himself, McKay figured that this discovery might be enough to make his foray into spelunking worthwhile.

Now… about that chair… He turned to it, fascinated. "What are you all about?" he questioned. "Why did they hide you underground in a room accessible only by a little tunnel. Must be something important." He glanced around, seeking more information, but save for the control panels on either side, the room was bare.

Rodney pressed one finger to his lips as he leaned against the closest panel and took in the Ancient symbols. It took him only a moment to decipher it. His smile increased. "Oh yes… this is …" and he laughed. "Of course. I should have realized it immediately. It seems that I've found…" He gestured to the chair, and said aloud to anyone who might listen. "…The Seat of Power…"

CHAPTER 9: THE REMARKABLE BOCHWEY

"The hole," the Clinty man repeated. "You said your man fell through a hole in the ground?"

Sheppard puzzled at the man's words. "You speak pretty well for a wild man."

The savage grimaced. "Well, yes. I do."

Teyla frowned and turned to Sheppard. "These men cannot be the true Muc-muc," she declared. "I believe they are imposters." She fixed the man with a speculative look.

"You are correct. My people are far more advanced than the Muc-muc." He ran a hand through his knotted hair and uttered proudly, "I am, after all, a lead scientist and researcher of my people."

With a sigh, Sheppard thought, great, just what I need… more scientists to deal with.

The man continued, "There are no Muc-muc. They are but characters of legend. But we use that legend as a device to allow our people to work in privacy. I am Kevik of the Bochwey."

"Kevik?" Sheppard repeated and looked to Teyla. "Bochwey?"

She gave a knowing nod. "I know of them. They are scholars mostly, known for collecting information regarding the Ancients. They are notable for little more."

"Information about the Ancients?" Ford put in. "Might be worth knowing some of that."

Kevik snorted. "We know what we know, and no one else will know, not one. No! Know that and know it well."

Teyla added in a low voice, "They were once a great people, but they have fallen in repute." She eyed their garb warily as she added, "I had not known the extent of their decline until this moment."

Kevik snorted. "We are the knowledge keepers! We know all!" And he picked at he edges of the loincloth, making the Atlantians recoil. "This is but costuming. We will do whatever it takes to get what we seek."

Teyla nodded, understanding. "They have been known to assume guises to gain what they desire, yet never have I heard of them appearing like this." Her nose crinkled up as the wind shifted a bit. "They are a people much like the Genii…" she tried to say.

In response, Kevik spat on the ground. "The Genii? The Genii are but scum on the stinking scum swamp compared to the Bochwey. The Genii are the grime that builds up the knickknacks on the shelves over the stoves of the Bochwey dwellings. The Genii are the animal turds that stick to one's feet when one walks through the holding pens to gather eggs from the scree-quahs and to milk the peviboos. Yes, turds when compared to the Bochwey!"

"Okay, we got the picture," Sheppard responded.

"We are superior in all ways," Kevik added with a sniff.

"And this is coming from a man covered in mud."

That make Kevik pause. "This is not our usual appearance. We are advanced people who enjoy the many conveniences of the modern world – like electricity and indoor plumbing. We are dressed in this manner for a reason!" he snapped. "We are conducting research! Genii dress up as well, but not so cleverly! They wish to confuse others into thinking they are simple, yet they hide underground to do their research. We, the Bochwey, are educated people in pursuit of knowledge." He scratched at his ass crack as he added, "We disguise ourselves to gain answers to questions regarding the Ancients."

"And you hang out in trees." Sheppard watched the strange group huddle together. One picked at another's hair. A couple others moved their tender feet uncomfortably. "Educated. Right."

Teyla pressed on. "Why would the Bochwey impersonate the Muc-muc?"

The man declared, "Our research is significant! We didn't want to be intruded upon! By convincing outsiders that the Muc-muc are about, we would be left in peace."

"Significant research?" Sheppard echoed. He glanced at Keviks' clothing. "Regarding the best material to cover your johnson? If that's what you're looking for, you should keep searching, by the way."

"There is a device of great power hidden upon this planet and we seek it." Kevik of the Bochwey sneered. "Our ruse would have been effective to convince most races. It would have scared away intruders!"

"So, this has been a success for you?" Sheppard asked, keeping his P90 ready while the rest of the mock Muc-mucs pointed their own less advanced guns back at him.

"Well, you're the first to arrive since we got here," Kevik returned, pursing his lips. "It really should have worked."

"And where the hell did you hide those guns?" Sheppard shouted at the other Bochwey. "You're all wearing loincloths, for Christ's Sake!"

The group looked a little sheepish as they handled their weaponry, but they did not lower them.

"Okay, fine… you're doing research. Gotcha," John responded. "So you won't mind if we find our friend, get him out of the hole he's in, and go home? Then you can go back to whatever the hell you were doing in the trees."

"We will remove him," the man responded. "You will stay here."

"Like hell," Sheppard spat out. He made a move toward the covered pit and heard the cocking of several weapons in response. He groaned in irritation.

"You will remain where you stand," the man ordered. "We will examine the entrance and remove your companion for you."

"Nothing doing," Sheppard responded, wary of the guns. Did these guys actually know how to shoot them?

"You have no choice," Kevik declared. "There are more of us. If you wish to rescue your companion, you will do as I demand and set down your weapons immediately." He crossed his arms over his chest and gave them a keen look. "Otherwise we shall open fire upon you and your friends, and then who shall save your companion?"

Sheppard hesitated, not liking this one bit – but there were twenty-five Bochwey and only three of them – and the Bochwey had bang-bangs and pointy sticks. With a nod to the others, Sheppard lowered the P90 to the ground and stepped back.

CHAPTER 10: DECISIONS

"Okay then," McKay muttered, fussing about at the control panels, hoping he could get the system to activate, but nothing responded. It had power, but the panel still didn't function. This isn't going to be easy, is it? He lifted his gaze from the panel and gazed at the chair.

It did look rather like the chair that had been found in Antarctica.

Regretfully, he inched toward the chair. It really would be best if he could get the major down here, he figured. That way, John could do all the work. Yes, the major would activate the chair, do his little mental dance, and Rodney -- the expert at such things -- could sit back and watch the control panels light up. It was so much easier to scrutinize new equipment when he could have the Major do the grunt work.

Really, Rodney realized, he was an observer -- a trained observer -- a good observer. Really, he should be practicing the kind of science that let him relax behind a computer, kick back on a couch -- watching the outcome of experiments. He shouldn't be the one actually participating in the experiment. He shouldn't be the one being chased by wild Muc-mucs, that's for sure! Shouldn't be dropped down holes either!

Glancing toward the tunnel, he wondered if he should just wait. Certainly, the Major and the others would be coming – soon. They'd all have a laugh about leaving him IN A HOLE! Then he'd show all of them the cool new generator he'd discovered, then put Sheppard in the chair, fire up the thing and figure out what it was supposed to do. Yeah, let the Major deal with it if something goes ka-floey. Should just wait a bit… he thought.

And he leaned against the panel, trying to keep the weight off his aching knee. He shrugged his left shoulder and wiggled his fingers. The arm was feeling much better. His head still ached miserably. Yeah, he wasn't up to doing this alone. Just wait for the major and the others. Let him work. Let me relax.

But, they hadn't come yet. If everything was fine – then they should have been here. He glanced toward the dark tunnel, wondering whether he should be expecting John Sheppard next... or… Muc-mucs? But what if the others were in trouble? What if the savages had captured them?

He sighed and looked at the chair again. Groaning, he closed his eyes and shook his head. Damn, he wasn't getting out of here on his own. There was no apparent way out of the room, except for that tunnel – and he wasn't going to be able to climb out. And the others… what if they needed him?

There had to be a better way out! He had to make a decision and make it now. If the Major and the others were in jeopardy, he'd never forgive himself. Hell, he'd never make it out of here without help.

And he glanced to the chair again.

CHAPTER 11: DOILY

Sheppard was on his knees, hands behind his head – a position he never enjoyed. Teyla and Ford were beside him, both looking ready to spit nails. Several of the Bochwey stood around them, keeping the captives under their guns. The man Sheppard had named Perot was messing with their P90's.

"You might want…" Ford started, inclining toward the 'Texan'. "You might want to consider putting the safety on that thing," he finished. "Wouldn't want to blow off your own head."

The man gave Ford a haughty look and continued to fiddle with the unknown weapons until Kevik snapped, "Gimmet! Put it down!"

Nasally, Gimmet replied, "But alien weapons are my specialty!"

Kevik seemed to take that as a reasonable response and shrugged.

"Don't blame us if that things goes off," Sheppard declared, wishing that these men had learned how to sit properly when they were clothed in those unsuccessful excuses for panties -- he was getting far too personal with Gimmet at that moment and didn't care for it.

Kevik turned, nodding to his people. "Pouse, Vimmle, Quee, it's time we examined that opening in the ground." The young brothers and the man with the long Kerry face jumped to their feet, and Sheppard had to revise how he'd named them.

No longer interested in the man who was about to blow himself up, Sheppard turned toward the pit, watching as Kevik and three of his men came to the hastily covered pit. "McKay," he whispered, "Stay cool, McKay." And he winced, realizing that this really wasn't a possibility.

"Clever of you," Kevik declared, "To disguise the opening. You wanted it only for yourself?" He grinned, trying to look superior, but it was a difficult task to pull off when one is smeared with mud and wearing a doily over one's naughty-bits. "But we would have found it in time."

Pouse and Vimmle, the brothers, grabbed hold of the broken wall while Kerry-faced Quee approached with his weapon in one hand and a flashlight of some sort in the other. Kevik came alongside Quee as Pouse and Vimmle pulled back the covering.

"McKay!" Sheppard shouted. "McKay! Look out!" And he leaned forward, ready to heave himself to his feet and knock Quee to the ground if it came to that. "If you hurt him," Sheppard growled, "you're dead men."

Kevik laughed, even though Pouse and Vimmle both looked a little frightened by the threat. Quee was unaffected by the words and leaned over the opening, shining a light with one hand as he aimed his gun into the depths.

"McKay!" Sheppard shouted again, hoping to hear the scientist shout that he was all right.

Quee searched about, looking within the hole, then he suddenly drew back, flummoxed as he uttered, "There's no one down there!"

"What?" Sheppard shouted, getting up from his cramped position. Around him the Bochwey started ooh-oohing and ahh-ahhing again until they remembered that they didn't have to pretend to be Muc-mucs anymore and they started shouting out for him to get down. Quayle moved forward, ready to stop him.

Sheppard easily stepped around Quayle, leaving him annoyed and stamping his bare foot. Not allowing himself to be slowed, Sheppard strode across the distance that separated him from that pit. "McKay!" he shouted again. The Kennedy boys, having dropped the wood wall, barring him from getting any closer. Nader and Quayle jumped in as well, grabbing hold of his arms. Annoyed and frustrated, John jerked, trying to free himself. "What do you mean, he's not there?"

Quee shrugged, shining the light downward. "Let him look, Kevik," he declared. Reluctantly, the men released him, and John was allowed to surge forward to peer into the deep, dark and empty pit.

The Bochwey were right. There was nobody down there. "Aw, crap," John muttered.

CHAPTER 12: THE SEAT OF POWER

"Not so bad," Rodney stated as he lowered himself into the chair. It was awkward trying to move his uncooperative knee, but it was awful nice to get off his leg and relax.

"Okay, this is fine. It will work this time." The last time he'd sat in a chair such as this, he'd been met with only disappointment. That was in Antarctica, before he'd ever seen Atlantis, before the gene therapy, before he gained the ATA gene, before everything had changed. It would be different this time…He'd make it work.

He concentrated on activating the chair – simply that. Turn on, he thought, concentrating on power and glowing lights, whooshing and humming sounds, things going smoothly, and melons not blowing up, and Canadian geniuses not being killed in horrible ways.

Work... work.… And he tried to relax, to just let it happen, to just let it…work.

Maybe this time… maybe… And he concentrated, imagining exactly how the chair should function, seeing it all working in his minds-eye. A calmness came over him, a confidence, a certainty, and he knew he could do it.

There! Wait… yes… It's... it's... He smiled when he felt it happening, the activation of the chair. It slid back, into the classic 'dental exam' position with a whoosh and a hum. The room darkened again. This is it!! It's working!

Thrilled, he opened his eyes, and the stars came out. He laughed, loving it. He had managed it! He'd activated the chair. The stars seemed almost too bright as they swirled around him, as he stared back at them in utter delight. For a minute he just gazed at them, like a child, enthralled at the circus, transfixed by the wonder of it all.

Okay now, what do you do? he asked. What is all this about? Show me. And spots within the star-field lit up in red. He squinted at them, wanting to get closer – and he did. The mere thought sent him zooming into the image – with speed that made his stomach drop. It was like flying. If he wasn't so giddy already, he might have been nauseous.

He drew closer to the image, seeing planetary systems where he'd earlier seen only stars, seeing moons around planets, seeing asteroids, and he zoomed in closer. And then, the little red dot formed into a clear image. McKay pursed his lips in a smile, realizing what he'd found.

Well, well, well…This is about to get very interesting.

CHAPTER 13: LET US TOAST QUEE, THE CHOSEN ONE

"Where did he go?" John asked agitatedly.

Vimmle and Pouse leaned in, trying to see. "It's the entrance, I bet," one of them said – Sheppard didn't know which brother was which. "We found it! We have a way in!"

The other nodded enthusiastically, "It's here… I know this is it! It's finally ours! The entrance!"

"Quiet down," Quee shot back, eyeing the pit with great interest.

Sheppard stared down into that hole. Where the hell could McKay have gone? "An entrance?" Sheppard asked. "An entrance to what?"

Kevik looked perturbed. "None of your business," he shot back.

"Oh, I think it's my business." Sheppard nodded, turning to see Ford and Teyla headed toward him with Gopher guarding them. Gimmet and Nader looked as if they wanted to get in the way, but neither of them took the initiative, so neither moved. Gimmet went back to massaging his feet.

Sheppard went on, "My man is down there… somewhere. We're getting him out."

The Kennedy boys exchanged worried glances and one of the asked, "You don't think he'd mess with it, do you? That friend of yours. He wouldn't … activate it… would he?"

"What the hell's down there?" Sheppard demanded.

And before Quee or Kevik could hush them, the boys said in unison, "The Seat of Power."

"The Seat of Power?" Ford said from beside him. "Oh, that can't be good."

"Because," one of the brothers continued, "If he were to activate it…"

"…It could be bad," the other finished.

"Especially if he isn't one of the Chosen."

"Like Quee."

"He's a Chosen One." And a thumb was jerked in Quee's direction.

"Vimmle! Prouse!" Quee hissed. "Enough!"

Sheppard's expression fell. "What do you mean? What's McKay getting himself into? What the hell is this 'Chosen One' crap?"

"This has nothing to do with the outsiders!" Quee stated. "Tell them nothing."

"If McKay is down there messing around," Sheppard started. "You can bet your sweet bippy he's found whatever this thing is, and if someone's going to mess with something, he's going to do it, chosen or not!"

Teyla raised her chin a fraction, wondering what exactly a Bippy was and how one might bet it.

"What does it do?" Sheppard demanded to know.

Kevik looked cross, arms akimbo and sneering a little like Clint in his Dirty Harry days. Quee moved back toward the pit, and stared down into it, his long Kerry-like face getting even longer as he considered the depth. The Kennedy boys looked as if they wanted to say something, but they remained mum. Nader bit his lip. Gopher scuffed his bare feet against the ground. Gimmet pulled at his toes. Jeb and G.W. had faded into the rest of the group.

"Come on!" Sheppard demanded. "Tell me what sort of trouble he's gotten himself into."

"Well," Gimmet, the Perot-ish imp started as he stood. "We don't exactly know."

"We know it's powerful!" Vimmle said, trying to be helpful.

"And it has a seat," Prouse added, knowing even as he spoke that he sounded ridiculous.

Gimmet shook his head at them as he continued, "We do know that the Seat of Power protects itself." Looking self important, he declared, "Only the Chosen Ones might access it. All others will perish." He shifted uncomfortably.

Closing his eyes, Sheppard stated, "So if he goes near this thing, it'll kill him."

Gimmet raised a finger started to talk, then paused, saying, "Not exactly."

"What exactly?" Sheppard asked exasperatedly.

"The Seat of Power once lay on the surface of another planet." The gnome made a fastidious gesture at his hips, to straighten his bit of cloth (thank goodness). "When it was activated, the Seat protected the Chosen One who used it -- would not allow any of the unclean near it."

"So..." Ford put in. "If Doctor McKay has activated it... then..."

"Then he'll be protected if anyone tries to approach him," Teyla surmised.

"Well," Gimmet started and screwed up his face, "In theory..."

And they turned as a whirring hum filled the pit at their feet. Quee was only partially visible, having lowered himself into the opening, intent on dropping to the bottom.

"Oh…" Gimmet started, paused and then added, "…crap."

Sheppard groaned and leapt away from the pit, slamming himself into Teyla and Ford, as a bright beam of light erupted from the ground.

And everyone around them started screaming.

CHAPTER 14: Hum

"Ho'boy," McKay thought as he mentally zoomed in closer. A weapons platform… definitely! It's a weapon's platform! Like the one they'd found orbiting that desert world with the cranky Wraith. Incredible!

Now, let's get a little bit closer and see if I can activate that bad boy… get it up and running. Should be simple. Just… think it on. And nothing. Okay, need to find the proper sequence to bring it online – should be able to find it… and nothing.

It was almost as if a barrier had been thrown up. He could get this close, he could almost put his 'hands' on the controls, but he just couldn't reach. It was cold. It was powerless. It was dead.

DAMN IT!

Damn it! So close… so enticingly… frustratingly close! No power! Just like that platform we discovered. Crap! Well, okay, don't let this irritate you. There's other platforms... let's go try one...

Suddenly, something tugged at him, urging him. An alarm seemed to go off in his head. Something was wrong. He backed off, watching as the stars flew past him at speeds far too fast for any craft. He closed his eyes against the sickening sensation, mentally shutting down the field, closing down the stars.

He had to get out. Something was wrong. He could sense it – it was if the chair itself was telling him – but what? He had to get out of the chair. Had to get out of the room! But how? How do I get out?

He opened his eyes as the star field died away, and something glimmered in the corner of his eye.

Then, there was the hum – a thrumming insidious hum that filled the room, that filled his head. He struggled, wanting to throw himself out of the chair, but his leg refused to move. He glanced to the melon-ator – it glowed – too damn brightly. The chair vibrated beneath him and he felt it… the power… the surging power that was channeling through it.

Crap!

He lurched forward, but couldn't find the leverage he needed.

And his whole world went white.

TBC -Oy! This is trouble... I just know it! Damn.
I guess I subscribe to the "Douglas Adams School of Aliens"... most aliens are obnoxious...as for the technical stuff, I'm crap at that. So, don't be too excited about spotting errors in my explanations. It's rife with them.