Not only was the device not working, it was toast. Rodney sighed, and wiped his hands on a grungy cloth that had been provided by his guide, a man, he realized, who had remained nameless. He frowned down at him. "Who are you?"

"Tiran Clay."

He waved his rag at the device. "Tiran, do you understand anything about this machine?"

"Only that it does what it does."

"I guess that stands to reason or you would have fixed it by now." The rag was slapped onto the side of the strange sausage-shape. Rodney picked up his discarded jacket and pulled out a powerbar, ripping off the outer wrapping with a practiced hand, blind to the sudden look of curiosity in his companion's eyes. He took a bite and talked around it. "This thing normally operates at an EM frequency that is currently being compromised by that." He pointed to a larger piece of machinery, and stared at it, his finger not wavering. "What is that?"

"I don't know. It has been here for as long as I can remember, but it has never been activated."

"Well, it's working now, because it is countermanding the efficiency of this machine, which in return is burning itself out just trying to work. It's like that machine," again he pointed, "sucks the life out of this one," he pointed to his project, "and I don't remember that one," he pointed again, "being here the last time I was. So obviously it hasn't been here for as long as you can remember, unless you have a sadly short memory or the intergalactic version of Alzheimer's."

Tiran looked confused. "I promise you. . .oh! Wait." He walked over to the other side of the small containment area and removed a large blanket. He covered the machine and turned back expectantly.

Rodney raised his chin. "Yes, well. . .that does look familiar, now that you mention it. Wonder how I missed that before." He returned to his work. "Guess I just wanted to get off this god-forsaken world." His hand jerked as the power bar was snatched away. "Hey! HEY! You little thief, get back here!" But the man was gone, and so was his afternoon snack. "Fine! See if I help you now, you ungrateful little troll!" He flung open the flap to the sad excuse for a shelter and walked out, then realized he had no idea where to go. "Crap." He tapped his radio. "Carson?"

The voice that came back sounded weary. "Yes, Rodney?"

"Look can you send someone out here to get me? My elf just ran off with his Christmas present."

"I'm kinda busy right now, Rodney!"

"And I'm kinda stuck in the middle of nowhere! All you have to do is. . ." he stopped as sharp speech cut him off, and he realized Carson wasn't talking to him. "Carson? You okay?"

"Not now, Rodney! I'll call you back when I have a moment!"

Rodney fumed. "Fine! I'll just sit and wait with the wildebeests, shall I?"

"If that suits you. Carson out."

Rodney sputtered. "Wh-what? Carson out? That's it? Of all the. . ." but he realized no one was listening. The area fell silent, except for a faint drone he hadn't noticed before. It grew louder in pitch and volume, and Rodney realized a fraction of a second too late that it came from the larger machine, just before it exploded.

"I said hold him still!" Carson was trying his hardest not to panic. Dammit, he'd walked into this situation blind, he couldn't believe they didn't give him any more information than merely to help cure a sick man. He had brought a rather elaborate assortment of medicines with him, but without more knowledge of the small man's physiology, he was reluctant to give him anything further. The most he had done was to administer a small dose of a very mild painkiller, which had calmed him for a few moments. Now he was in convulsions.

The man near him, his assistant for all he was worth, was standing aside in terror. Carson tried to keep the leader still, inserting a stick between the poor man's clenched teeth to prevent him biting his tongue in two. "I need help here, man! If you're not gonna help, find someone who will!" The man ran out, terrified, and Carson let loose a string of well-thought out, tried and true curses. Two more men entered and bordered them, one on each side. They knelt on the leader, which Carson thought a bit crude, but it got the job done. He prepped a shot, and injected. The leader instantly stilled.

Carson sat back wearily and rubbed at his eyes. What he wouldn't give for a cup of tea. Or coffee. A four hour hike followed by a half hour physical struggle deserved a break.

He stood and nodded his thanks to the men who quickly filed out. They seemed healthier than the others, which made Carson wonder if the illness they were suffering from was genetic. He walked out into the fresh air, glad to be rid of the putrid stench, glad to feel the sun on his face. The faint sound of an explosion jarred his sense of peace, and he puzzled over the sound, until he remembered what Rodney had been up to. . .and that he had been left alone. Accompanied by three bystanders, two of whom had just helped him in the medical situation, he ran towards the sound.

They knew just where to go. It took a good forty minutes by foot, which left Carson so tired he was unable to see straight. The view from the hill showed debris below them. They sprinted down, sliding and slamming into trees and branches. Carson wrapped his arms around a large trunk and swung around it, then skidded to a halt. His eyes surveyed the damage quickly before falling on one black boot sticking out from beneath the rubble. He launched himself toward that boot, cursing himself for not calling Rodney back, or sending out help. The boot wasn't the only body part exposed, Rodney's face and one arm could be seen on the other side of the large chuck of metal that covered his body. "My God. . .Rodney?" Carson knelt beside him, carefully turning his friend's head towards him. The pulse was steady. "Can you hear me? Rodney!" He pushed at the metal, and looked at the three men for help, but they were staring at the space where the sonic device used to be. "I need your help here, I can't move this." He turned back to Rodney, who was starting to moan, then shot a glare at the immobile men. "I said I need your help!" He sighed in frustration and returned his attention to Rodney. "Come on, wake up."

The groan was pitiful, but Carson was glad to hear it. "C'sn?"

"Take it easy. You'll be fine, just relax." He stood and tried once again to shift the metal, but it wasn't budging. He walked over to the men and slapped one of them on the shoulder angrily, then gestured. "Do you mind?"

They seemed to get the hint, and distributed themselves around the pinned man. Carson counted off, and they started to lift when a cry from Rodney stopped them. "What is it?"

"My hand!" He was fully coherent with pain. "God . . . you're tearing off my hand!"

Carson cursed and paused, but was forced to settle the weight back down. "Dammit," he swore softly, and carefully stepped over Rodney's head, leaning down to look underneath the metal. Rodney's hand was near the edge, pierced through by a shard.

Carson sat back and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Okay." He thought for a moment, but couldn't come up with an answer. "I'm calling Atlantis."

"No," came the breathy answer.

"Rodney, you need more help than I can provide, and more than I think these people are capable of!" He shifted and peered underneath once again. That particular side had several pieces that jutted into the ground, which was good, otherwise Rodney would have been crushed. As it was, Carson wasn't sure just how he managed to survive the blast, although by looking at the damage, the blast had been small. What had been machinery was still in large pieces, not blown to bits. Just the same. . .by laying his head right beside Rodney's body he could see how the metal sat across the man's chest, and saw no blood. Good. Crossing to the opposite side, he was able to verify, on a lesser scale, that his legs escaped major injury. So it was just the hand. The only way to release it would be to lift the metal straight up while Rodney did his best to pull down, and Carson could only hope the protruding piece was not jagged. "Rodney, listen to me. This isn't going to be pleasant, okay?" He explained the plan, watching as his friend paled, and hating it. "That's the only way. Now I can call Atlantis and they can probably cut you out. . ." Which brought up another problem, one that he was reluctant to confront Rodney with.

Sheppard was overdue.

Rodney shook his head. "Too long, not like they can just beam in here."

Carson nodded. "Are you ready, then?"

"No. Gimme a minute." The voice was thin, and Carson couldn't blame him.

Time passed. "Now?"

"Another minute."

"Rodney, the rescue team could'a been here by now. . ."

"All right. Do it."

"Right." Carson lay on his belly right beside the stricken man and reached underneath the metal, his hands steadying Rodney's. He nodded at the men, who positioned themselves right over them. "Here we go. Straight up, now!"

The men heaved, and Rodney screamed.