For the first time in his life, Carson's body reacted faster than his brain. He swung the P90 in front of him like a cricket bat and heard the metallic clink as the sphere made contact. It rolled to a stop at Kiton's feet and immediately began spewing thick yellow smoke. Carson allowed himself a smug grin as the Kalerian soldiers scattered, coughing and swearing.

"What happened?" Rodney demanded.

"They chucked in some sort o' tear gas canister. I chucked it back at 'em. They're getting' a snootful of their own medicine, the gallus choobs."

"Way to go, Braveheart! Hey, maybe you can just yell some Scottish at them and they'll get scared and run off."

"Ah, away an' boil yer head," Carson teased. Smoke continued to fill the little clearing before the jumper, and Kiton's men had pulled back. So far the score was Scotland 1, Kaleria 0, and Carson was feeling vastly cheered by the minor victory.

Twenty minutes passed. The smoke dissipated, but the Kalerian soldiers made no further attempt to approach or communicate.

Carson's adrenaline started to ebb, the buzz from his first successful defense fading in the face of his continuing blood loss. "Rodney, how long do you figure it'd take Ronan to reach the gate?"

"Twenty kilometers? Maybe two hours, give or take. Depends on the terrain and whether the gate's being guarded. How long's he been gone?"

"Hour and a half, thereabouts."

"So we're on our own for a while yet. What do you think our friends out there are waiting for?"

"Doctor Beckett!" called a familiar voice from outside. "Doctor, I'd like to talk to you."

Rodney scooted a little closer to Sheppard, his head cocked like a dog's. "Is that Linel?"

"Aye." The First Minister of Kaleria stood alone in the clearing, his hands laced nervously before him. Carson wiped his sweaty palm on his pants and adjusted his grip on the P90. "I told your man there, and I'll tell you, too. Keep your distance!" he shouted.

Linel shuffled a half-pace backwards but then nervously held his ground. "Please believe me, Doctor. I never wanted it to be this way."

"Oh, I'm certain," Carson sniped, training his weapon on Linel's chest. "Sorry to be such a bother."

"I have a proposition for you. Come back to the city with me, share your knowledge, and your friends will be free to go."

"Is that so?"

"You have my word."

"I see. And after I share my knowledge, what happens to me?"

"You will be adequately compensated and returned to your people."

Carson may not have been a master tactician, but he knew people. Linel's face was dotted with perspiration, and his eyes slid to the left when he spoke. The man was lying. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline. You see, I don't believe you have my best interests at heart. Especially after the tear gas."

Linel gave a tight smile that in no way hid his unease. "You must forgive Major Kiton, Doctor. He had orders to secure your safety, orders which I'm afraid he carried out a bit overzealously. An occupational hazard among the military."

Carson's vision swam without warning and he blinked rapidly trying to focus. Linel's green robes vanished into the surrounding forest. Not that he wanted to shoot anyone in any case, but this was a disturbing development indeed. There was nothing for it but to stall and hope Ronan reached the gate ahead of schedule. Luckily, Mrs. Beckett's baby boy could blether with the best of them. "Let's say I trust you to keep your word," he called. "What sort of compensation did ye have in mind?"

Behind him, Rodney made a choking sound. "What? You can't be serious!" he hissed. "God, didn't you learn anything from Hoff?"

Carson bit his lip against a pain sharp enough to rival the one in his belly. He told himself that Rodney was in pain, under stress and medicated, that he should be used to his friend's thoughtless, hurtful comments. But he couldn't help but wonder if the Canadian really thought so poorly of him.

Linel seemed cautiously relieved. "In exchange for your services, we will be willing to provide enough fruit and grain to sustain your people for one year."

"I didn't study hard all these years to work for fruit, Minister. What else have ye got?" Ignoring Rodney's sputtering and Linel's gaping like a stunned mullet, Carson squinted until he could make out the face of his watch. Ronan had been gone for an hour and forty minutes. Carson shifted and groaned as nausea roiled his gut. Panting quietly, he sent out a heartfelt mental plea to the Satedan – run fast, lad!