Vital Lies

Chapter 10

Rodney shuffled back on his cot, leaning against the cool wall. So far his stay in prison had been uneventful. From the shuttle into which they'd been herded like animals, arriving at the prison into a hall and split up. Two guards had dragged him into his cell, not bothering to free his ankles or wrists. No one had addressed any of his questions until Elizabeth had arrived. And even then, he hadn't gotten much further than to protest his innocence. The only thing he had learned was that allegedly Yraj had implicated him. If he could believe what Wam Vter; Rodney didn't believe him on the matter of the report, but the report hadn't been written by Wam Vter. If there was an 'official version' being presented to them, then Wam Vter was just the delivery man.
Rodney tried thinking back from the beginning, the terrorist attack on the foreign ministry two months ago and the kidnapping of John and Carson. He could work with that. Independent of whether the terrorists had acted out of xenophobic hate or other unknown motives, the kidnappers had proceeded to interrogate their captives. Rodney cringed at the memory of reading about the torturous interrogations. Next, John and Carson had ended up in stasis, thanks to Sjel, the undercover agent. Then two months later, the Ymanhin had made contact with Atlantis again. So far those were the only events that he knew about or that both reports agreed upon.

And he knew something else. A grin spread over Rodney's face. The situation was far from happy, but he couldn't resist the satisfaction of having figured it out. He didn't have all the answers yet, but he was starting to see what might really be happening.

It had occurred to him that he also knew that there was a traitor on Atlantis. The information on the report Yraj had shown him had come from an insider. It couldn't have been faked. Yraj might have stolen the report as was the apparent accusation, but she couldn't have constructed it. The report Wam Vter had shown him was perfect in every way. It answered all their questions and prevented anyone from probing further into the matter. It established a closed timeline that accounted for the entire time that John and Carson had been missing, shifting the blame to the terrorists who had been acting based on their xenophobic ideology and who would remain at large indefinitely. The two missing Atlantians returned more or less intact. It would have worked. No loose ends, no open questions. That had been the plan. But why? What was the motive and what were they trying to cover up? Who was doing the cover up job?

The 'why' brought him back to Yraj and the report she had given him. Sjel hadn't named the motives of the terrorists, the only clue he had given was that John and Carson had been selected for a reason. Rodney ran through the possibilities. He had done this before, but maybe he had missed something. John had obvious strategic value. Beyond that, he had the gene. Carson and John both had the gene. Possible. The report had only contained the questions John had been asked and none had been related to the ATA gene. The interrogation had been laid out to gain strategic information about Atlantis. John hadn't talked,
Carson, he didn't know. Sjel's mysterious boss had been satisfied at the end of the day. So satisfied that John and Carson had outlived their usefulness. Why the rush?

The only conclusion was that they were never after the information gained in the first place, because then the sensible solution would have been to keep them around, whether or not they had talked. The terrorists hadn't been adverse to techniques of persuasion before, having more days to work on their prisoners would only work to their advantage. If however the terrorists had wanted John or Carson to activate an Ancient device, a day was enough. That scenario was worked. They must have found devices that only needed to be activated and then anyone could use them. All the City's computers had come to life when Atlantis had sensed the presence of a gene carrier and could then be used by anyone.

But it was all speculation. Rodney had constructed a theory but had no proof, not to mention he was stuck in jail. Especially if he was in any way right about what was going on, then there was no way he was going to get out of his cell any time soon. His cell door opened almost as soon as he'd thought it, Rusan entering followed by another guard. Rusan silently walked quickly towards him and before McKay had chance to speak, had him pinned down on the cot. The guard wrapped hands around Rodney's wrists, while the bulk of his weight was resting on the Canadian's legs, keeping him pressed down into the mattress.

Rodney panicked, trying to wriggle free, but Rusan remained solid, tightening his grip. Rodney's eyes darted from Rusan to the other guard and back. This was very bad, very 'prison movie' bad. The nameless guard pulled something from his pocket. Rodney twisted his head to get a better look at the thin, rod shaped object, but before he had the chance to say anything, the guard was pushing up his sleeve. Rodney realized what it was but he was too late. Before he could even shout a word in protest, the needle slid into his arm.
"What are you doing? What is this? You can't do this! You could be killing me! You have no idea what you're doing!" Rodney screamed, panic driving him, already starting to feel woozy.

Rusan smiled and un-cuffed his wrists. Rodney wanted to lash out at him, but his arms were sluggish and weak, rendering his punch ineffectual. The guard didn't even react when McKay's fist made contact. He continued to struggle in vain as the two guards picked him up and dragged him out of his cell. The concrete wall of the corridor seemed to fall inwards as they made countless turns in the maze of the prison complex. Rodney felt dizzy and nauseous by the time he was roughly deposited on a chair in an otherwise bare room.

The room tilted, he gripped tightly onto the chair. Rusan and the other guard stayed by the door while a woman dressed in a uniform similar to the guards stepped in front of him. Rodney hadn't noticed her before, but she must have been there when they'd brought him in. Like everything else, she kept shifting out of focus, but her smile was unmistakable.

"Do you know a woman called Yraj"

The royal palace. Waiting. The assistant. A bow and a smile.

"Yes"

"Have you met her prior to yesterday"

"Yes, at the palace. She was the royal aide." Rodney had trouble forming the words. His brain had taken on a life of its own.

"Have you been giving information about trade negotiations to Yraj"

"No, no." Rodney shook his head vigorously. He knew he was walking a fine line. Whatever drug he had been given had messed with his head, but he was still in control for the moment. So far he had been able to answer the questions truthfully. He would see how well he did when he came to lying.

"Has Yraj at any point asked you for information of any kind"

"No." Another easy one.

"Did Dr. Weir order you to collaborate with Yraj"

"No." The implication made Rodney nervous.

"When did you start collaborating with Yraj"

"No, no." Not good. Rodney didn't manage a full sentence.

"When did you start collaborating with Yraj"

One night, only one night. The thought hammed into his brain. "Once." His voice sounded strangled.
"What information did she give you"

Change of tactics. It's harder to lie when he had to answer in sentences. "No. No information, no...no report." It hurt to stop talking.

The woman just looked at him, waiting him out. Rodney bit his lip, trying to keep the words in. His thoughts pushed to by formed into words.

"Didn't show my anything. No report! She gave it me to read. No, no. It's not true! It was terrible! They tortured him. Then they killed them. Sjel. I don't know anything. No! Please, stop this. Please." Rodney begged, losing the fight against the drugs.

It was disconcerting to say the least. Decades of life were looking back at him; so many years of experience etched on a face that he couldn't remember. The reflection had short dark hair that looked like it hadn't seen water for quite some time. A large part on the left side of his head was covered in a smooth blue material. He raised his hand and gingerly ran fingers over it. It was solid to the touch and just a little bit painful. On the edges of the blue covering, his hair had been shaved and was just beginning to grow back. He frowned and the mirror image did likewise. It annoyed him, the man in the mirror, wasn't him. If it were, he would know it. This stranger was nothing like him, he felt nothing.

But the strange dressing would explain why he couldn't remember anything about himself or his surroundings. He must have hurt his head in an accident. Tired blue eyes looked back when he glanced up at the mirror again. He must have been out for a couple of days judging by the stubble on his face. He should be in a hospital, he thought and images of white corridors appeared in his mind, hospitals at home. The sudden thought entered his mind unbidden. He got the strong feeling that this wasn't his home. Not just this building or this room. It was the same feeling he had had when he'd looked out of the window earlier. He was a stranger here.

There was a click and the sound of the door being opened. He quickly looked around the desolate bathroom; there was nowhere to hide.

"Ah, there you are, feeling better?" A blue skinned man appeared in the open doorway, holding a tray with both hands.

"Come out, I brought food and medicine. You're still hurt." The man sounded more bored than anything else and his offer was tempting, still he felt threatened without knowing why. There was something lurking just beyond his grasp, he could feel it, but couldn't quite reach it.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Now the blue skinned man sounded a bit exasperated.

Maybe he wasn't being fair, after all, he was probably a complete stranger and this man had taken him in and cared for his wounds.

"Yes, I understand your language." He answered, hearing for the first time the sound of his own voice.

"Then come, I haven't got all day." The man replied.

He followed him into the main room where they sat down on the bed, realising how glad he was to finally sit down, standing to long. His host handed him a cup of murky brown liquid, motioning for him to drink it. It tasted bitter and made him think of something called tea.

"Here, take these. They'll take the edge of your headache." His host pushed two white pills into his hand.
He eyed them suspiciously. A headache that had been building steadily and he'd seen evidence of a head injury in the mirror, still part of him was sceptical of accepting drugs from a stranger. He needed to know. He looked up from the pills, straight into the eyes of the blue faced man.

"What happened to me?" He asked, afraid of the answer.

"You were at the wrong end of a gun. But it could have been worse. It was small calibre. I patched you up as good as possible here. I'm the best around." The man said with pride.

His hand went up to his head, feeling the smooth covering. It felt wrong. Somehow it didn't make any sense. He knew he should be dead. The other man interpreted his gesture differently.

"It's not like we're on the homeworld. I don't have the equipment, just some things that I scrounged. You're just going to have to wait for things to finish healing the old fashioned way. You'd obviously gotten some treatment before you were sent off here, though not enough to fix the damage, but enough to keep you from dying. I honestly thought they did better in jail"

"Jail?" He was astounded and scared.

"Everyone here came from the jail. You're no better than the rest of us"

"Do you know who I am?" This was the most difficult question to ask. What did he do to get himself shot?

"Do I look like your mother? I didn't ask any questions when Tyrone showed up on my doorstep with two stasis pods. You don't ask Tyrone questions. Pick a name and be done with it. I need to call you something." The man laughed.

"I don't know any names." he replied helplessly.

"Kijen"

"Huh?" He was confused.

"I'm going to call you Kijen. You aren't going to pass for Ymanhin, but the name is a good start"

"Kijen." He listened to the sound of the word. No, 'Kit' wasn't his name, he was fairly sure of that, but for the moment it would do. It felt good to have a name. Kijen.

"You said there were two stasis pods?" Kijen asked.

"There were. The other alien died. I'm sorry. I figure he was a friend of yours." The man was oddly sympathetic.

"I don't know, I don't remember." Kijen felt oddly detached. He should feel some sort of loss at the news, but there was nothing. If he knew the man, he can't remember; if he was a friend, then the feelings were gone.

Was he injured?" He asked. Maybe he could find out more about what had happened to them.

"No, I don't know what caused his death. He was already close to death when he was put in stasis, I don't think he was expected to survive on Shukur"

"Shukur"

"Here, this planet. It's a penal colony"

Kijen closed his eyes. He had a bullet wound. A gun fight maybe? Had he killed someone? Had it been about money…about revenge?

If handed a weapon would he know how to use it? So many questions all with answers he couldn't remember.

TBC