A/N: Didn't want to leave you clinging to the cliffie, so here's a treat. An early posting! The next chapter, however, still won't pop up until next week, but I may up the updates to two chapters a week rather than one. I feel ahead enough to attempt it. And thanks for the numerous, lovely reviews:) They are keeping the ravenous muses well fed.
Ch. 2
Subterfuge
Rodney looked up at the sky, down at the door shut in their faces, toward the woods, then the field, to Ronon, then to Teyla. Anywhere and everywhere an erak couldn't come into his line of sight.
Don't look, don't look, don't look, don't look... but out of sight, out of mind wasn't going to work, because Rodney could still hear.
The eraks slavered, whined, growled, thumped, snarled - sometimes close, sometimes way too close. Rodney's spine went numb at the feel of fiery hot erak breath soaking through his pant leg and into his skin. Rodney inched his foot to the side, bringing the other foot with it, and did it again, bringing him in closer to the permanently nonchalant Ronon and the lack of any eraks sniffing about his personal space.
" I hate these things!" he hissed.
Ronon sighed, and crossed his arms over his weapon. " But they do seem to love you."
" Fear, Dr. McKay," Teyla said. " They smell your fear. You must relax and they will not bother you."
McKay gulped and took a deep, shuddering breath. But of course, much to his expectations, his heart only picked up a mad-cap pounding. An erak slunk closer, crawling on its belly as though in submission, though things in submission rarely bared their fangs.
" Just whack it on the nose," Ronon growled. " Like this." He didn't so much as whack, but kick, and the erak scurried back with a snarl.
Rodney turned his attention back to the door, grinding his teeth. " What the hell is taking so long? I mean is 'no' really such a hard thing to say? Or listen to? And shouldn't they be getting wasted out here with the rest of us? Where are our drinks?"
Not that Rodney was particularly thirsty, more like increasingly uneasy.
" No, just say no. Everyone on earth knows to just say no. It's like a... not motto... maybe advice, really important advice. When someone you hardly know or don't know at all comes up and offers you something, you just say no. We've had it ingrained in our brains since childhood, and the one time it would actually come in handy for us, and Sheppard had to forget for the sake of 'good manners'. I mean, yeah, Culs is big and a lot scarier than Ronon – no offense..."
Ronon didn't even acknowledge that anything had been said. Rodney knew he was being pointedly ignored, but didn't care.
" But that has yet to be a reason for Sheppard to become all tongue-tied at such a crucial moment when something might be going on..."
" The eraks might have been an incentive," Ronon replied, " for Sheppard to take up Culs' offer."
Rodney opened his mouth for a retort, them grimaced. " Good point. So what's taking so long?" He stepped up to the door and placed his ear against the thick, rough wood. He could hear sounds, mumbling, sometimes increasing in volume. He thought he heard John's voice, and Culs. Was that another voice? Or maybe John again, already altered by drink? Or altered because Culs was beating the snot out of him.
Rodney was tempted to knock, but uncertainty held him back. He was scared, he admitted it, and not of the eraks. The team was nervous, edgy, suspicious with good reason – and when a team made up of a soldier, a fighter, and a warrior leader got nervous, it was time to be exceedingly afraid.
Rodney removed his ear from the door and took a step back. " M-maybe I should knock?" Maybe pound, demanding that John get his butt in gear, and that he could get drunk all he wanted the moment they got home. Even the sake of diplomacy wasn't worth getting inebriated over if something really were going down.
Natural thoughts from an impatient, nerve-rattled mind. But under that visible surface, Rodney knew good and well that John wasn't getting drunk. Rodney would never admit – out loud, even if his life depended on it – that John was anything but stupid. To admit that, he could never call John stupid again, and would need a new way to vent frustration through verbal abuse flung at Sheppard; and he needed that outlet, because John knew how to take it without resorting to physical violence. But admittance aside, Rodney acknowledged that Sheppard was smart in more aspects than just intellectually. He was not, by any means, getting drunk, so that left something else entirely going on behind that door.
Thinking John was getting hammered was less intimidating, so he stuck to it. It was also something to irk John about, should it prove true.
" Think I should knock?" Rodney asked again. No answer. Now it was getting ridiculous. He could handle being purposefully ignored, but not to the extent that even a simple question went disregarded.
" Hey, I asked..." Rodney turned, and his heart shot up into his throat.
Ronon and Teyla were lying sprawled on the ground, arms splayed, weapons lying in nerveless fingers. Rodney gasped, only to choke on his own breath and stumble on whirling back to the door.
" Sheppard!" he cried, pounding on the wood with his palm. Something sharp struck him in the spine. Cold spread along his backbone, flowing into his nerves like a river until ice became the dominant sensation. He gaped like a dieing fish before the world grayed, then blackened, and he felt the sickening rush of decent as he dropped to the ground like a discarded sack of rocks.
SGASGASGA
John's eyes remained fix as though in permanence to Culs. The handler poured an amber liquid smelling faintly of apple and disinfectant into three of the cups. The pressure at his neck was sharp, and hard enough to seem like his neck-bone was pressing up against his esophagus. He swallowed back the sensation of something lodged in his throat.
" My sorrows for this, master Sheppard," Culs said. He stoppered the bottle, placing it and two others back into the cupboard. He then turned, taking up one of the mugs and leaning his back against the wall. " My deep sorrows. But ya can't be faultin' me. It's what ya be desirin'."
" But not in this manner," John tightly replied. His weapon was yanked from his arms, and his 9 mm from its holster around his thigh. The weapons were tossed onto Culs' bed, and following that the painful pressure at John's neck finally relented. John's assailant moved around him toward the table.
The man looked to be around John's age, give or take, and height. The likenesses ended there. The man was broad-shouldered and more thickly built – less than Culs, but definitely more than John. He had blond hair the color of old straw, long enough to stop just above his ears, and his narrow eyes were a kind of storm blue leaning toward gray. His uniform was a green so dark it looked almost black, pants and boots included. The weapon – well – John could only describe it as being utterly 'sci-fi'. Most worlds – for the most part – went as far as weapons akin to a musket or rifle. This looked even more advanced than John's P-90 or a wraith stunner – larger than a 9 mil, with a narrow nozzle. Lazergun; that's what came to mind as Sheppard studied it over before returning his focus back to his captor.
The man wasn't being particularly expressive. Save for a slight rise in his eyebrow as he looked John over, there wasn't much to read in the facial department. The man lifted one of the cups and took a small, deliberate sip.
Then, he smiled. " Master Sheppard. Surprised?"
John lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. " Not really."
" Been expectin' us, then?" His accent wasn't pronounced like Culs' but it was there.
" We've been expecting something, yeah. Glad to see you don't dissapoint."
The man nodded. " You're perceptive. Good trait to have. I'm named Menk, by the way. First Enforcer Menk, but calling me Menk suits me fine enough. You're not from here, so no need for calling me master or enforcer."
" Hadn't planned on it," John said.
Menk took a another sip. " Will you be showing me the same courtesy... John?"
John didn't reply. Menk smirked and took another sip. He then set his cup down and lifted the third, holding it out to John.
" Not thirsty," John shot. Menk shrugged and set the cup back down.
" So be it. But you don't know what you're missin'. Now, on to business, I think? I don't need to tell you who I am."
" Cyladrans."
Menk gave a soft laugh. " Very perceptive." Menk sat on the edge of the table, reclaiming his drink. " Now then, seein' as how your questions were answered in a blink, time for you to answer some questions of my own. What do you want with us?"
" What we're doing now," John replied. " Talking. We just want to talk, get to know you... your likes, dislikes, favorite band, favorite color..."
" Why?"
" We're explorers. It's what we like to do – make friends." John smirked back. " You wanna be our friends?"
Menk laughed again. " You're a funny one, I see."
To which Culs replied, " He is that – if ya get half of what he's sayin'."
Menk nodded. " Good, I like a man with humor. But... Somethin' tells me, John, you're not an easy one to talk to. Now, this is just a personal opinion, maybe a quick assumption, but you are bein' rude. Refusin' drink, not returnin' the favor of first name basis... You wish to talk, that's fine, but you need to express a finer manner than what you're doin' now. You see John, if you want to be our friends, then you have to win our trust."
Crap. He has a point. But trust was a two-way street. John pointed at Menk's weapon.
" Not exactly inspiring trust with me, at the moment. Why should I return the favor?"
Menk lifted his gun. " This? Oh, this is just precaution, a kind of stunner, you might say. Totally harmless unlike your projectile weapons. Since you've been seekin' us, I say by right we should be callin' the terms. We'll talk, John, but on our ground. You've got some answerin' to do."
John had kept any reaction under a tight leash, but that leash was starting to strain. " Answering?"
" Yes. You're from the water-city. Rumor's got our ear that... something happened to that city."
John didn't think it possible that the already present bad feeling could get any worse. He hadn't realized until now, but he was nervous, very nervous, and it was increasing.
" What rumor? What are you talking about?"
Menk shook his head. " John, don't play ignorant. Our dirt-scratching brothers may be more naive than babies, but that doesn't mean you should take us for bein' the same. We get round, just like you. We've been places, even if we know how to keep from leavin' tracks. We've seen the aftermath of the culls - barely savin' our people on return – and heard the tales." Menk leaned forward. " Your tale John. But that's premature. We best talk where it's more suitable. The Mykotes, they're not pleased when we pop out of the woods. Not that they can do anything about it, but we don't like them feelin' uncomfortable. We need them, and they're still our folk."
" What tales?" John asked, raising his voice. " What do you know?"
Menk set down his drink and raised his gun. " Not here, John. Not here. Now, turn around. It's best done in the back. More effective and you won't be pukin' your innards out."
John's heart pounded, and his breath increased. " What are you doing? Why like this?"
" We survive on keeping secrets, John, and we can't risk that. Now, turn around."
John took a step back, reaching out behind him for the door handle. A quick enough dash out the entrance, and he just might make it.
He heard a pounding on the door, and the sound of McKay's panicked voice call out his name, only to go quiet in a heartbeat. John shivered in disgust as bile clawed into his throat to burn like acid. " What did you do?" His eyes flicked to his weapons out of reach on the bed.
Menk shrugged. " Necessity John. Culs?"
Culs lunged forward and grabbed John before the Colonel could even grasp the door handle. Culs yanked John around so that he was standing before the big man, his back exposed to Menk. There came no sound, only a sensation like an icicle piercing his spine, spreading frigid poison through his system. He couldn't even curse when his vision grayed, went black, and he crumpled.
SGASGASGASGA
It was almost laughable that there should follow pain after a total bodily shutdown in which every nerve ceased to function. For once, that pain didn't originate from the skull. Sheppard came back into the waking world with a sharp throb in his back, as though the icicle were still lodged snugly between his vertebrae. Following that, the smell of cedar, dirt, and suffocating animal musk. His fingers curled reflexively against the pain, and he felt the hard and gritty floor beneath give way – more dirt.
Sight always came last, because it took a lot of effort for John to peel his eyelids apart. Thankfully for his head – which may not have been aching but still insisted on at least a dull pulsating – no glaring light stabbed into his eyes to tear at his brain. Everything was dim, like dusk, and it took several blinks before John's eyes cleared enough for him to distinguish details.
First he saw, obviously, dirt, overlaid with bits of straw. John rolled his eyes up. Sunlight streamed in thin shafts through chinks in boarded walls. He heard sounds, muffled, distant, and constant; murmuring voices.
Oriented enough as necessity demanded, the events that led up to his current state finally flooded his memory, sending out a surge of adrenaline to finish off the remnant effects of the silent stunner. John bolted upright with a small gasp of alarm, and snapped his head wildly around.
He was in some sort of empty hut, or maybe a large storage shed or – by the smell – a miniature barn. There was a pile of hay in the corner, and that was about it say for John's own presence.
Not a single team member in sight. John's heart jackhammered out of control. Separation was a weakening tactic, especially if one was used as leverage to get the others to cooperate.
John massaged the ache in his back that was gradually melting away to become a tolerable annoyance. He moved deliberately when getting to his feet, grunting when the throb pulsated faster and colder. But once he was up, it diminished even quicker until it was just a memory. He went straight for the door, gripped the handle, and rattled it. It hardly made a sound except for a small creak.
Abandoning that, he rapped his knuckles on the gray but solid wood. He kicked at it, even bashed his shoulder against it (big mistake) but the wood was as hard as brick.
John swallowed against a dry throat and coughed. Dust swirled and writhed like smoke in the thin streams of light through the cracks. Add to that an increase of the heat, and Sheppard would start having a nice little reminisce of his Afghanistan days – especially when he took cover in a building unnervingly similar to this one. Except this one didn't sport the moisture-sucking inferno of air that had nearly killed him.
In situations like this, John had two options; sit quietly and wait to be retrieved, or try to speed things along. He immediately opted for the latter, since in situations like this he wasn't a patient man, and he had the condition of his team to determine.
John stepped back and gave another more massive kick to the door. " Hey! Anyone out there! It's dry in here, Menk, so how about that drink? Or food? What's a prisoner gotta do to get some food? Anyone! Hey, I know someone's out there!"
There came no reply; no harsh snap to be quiet, shifting of weight, or otherwise. John hadn't been expecting any less, just as long as it was made known that he was awake.
He did another kick at the door for good measure, then began to pace the misty confines.
A drink. They were captured and contained because John had given in to the king of all ruses – a drink. And John hadn't even been thirsty.
So why did he go? Not for diplomatic purposes, that was for sure. Because Culs was – had been – a nice guy? Maybe. Because Culs and his hell hounds were scary? He would admit to that. Watching an erak attack was like watching a shark feeding frenzy. The monsters moved as one, and didn't stop until the pray was dead, even if one of their own number was lost in the process.
Okay, then – by that logic, and Culs' absolute and solitary control of the most dangerous animals on this planet - they'd been taken even before the drink was offered. They'd been taken the moment they stepped into the village.
John was grudgingly impressed. Now that was subtlety. The Cys were good, three steps ahead good, and that made John's insides shrivel. If these people wanted something, they could probably get it before John even knew what it was.
John gave another bone-rattling kick to the door. " Life's too short for this bull!" Team separation and solitary confinement were also a mind-altering strategy. Make them wait, sweat, wait some more, then pop up when it was least expected. John turned his back on the door and resumed pacing. With nothing to do but think, his mind inadvertently wandered.
Young Goodman Brown, that's what all this felt like. John had read that story in high school, and only now remembered it. A guy thinking all was right in the world takes a little stroll through the woods, only to come upon his entire village – pastor and wife included – doing some hard-core devil worshiping.
Granted there was no devil worshiping going on as far as John could tell, and this wasn't exactly colonial America, but deception was rampant. You think you know a place, have it pegged, then wham-bam thank you ma'am it drives the icy knife of shock into your brain and leaves you staggering from the blow.
Except Sheppard wasn't staggering, he was stewing, both in anger and unease. That was the difference between him and good 'ole Brown – John hadn't been naïve. He'd been expecting this because all the signs had been there. But had it helped at all? Hell no. They were still screwed.
Unless John was looking at the situation all wrong. Maybe this was just a trust issue after all, and things would start looking up once the Cys knew the Lanteans weren't a threat.
And the wraiths'll sign a peace treaty and go vegan.
John halted in pacing when he heard mumbles increasing in volume, and the thud of heavy footfalls.
" Stand down," someone said, which answered the question of whether any guards were present. John whirled at the rattle of keys then the thunk of a lock being removed. The door creaked open, light pouring in like a blinding flood. John squinted and blink against the brightness. It was momentarily blocked when someone stepped through, a shadow against the blaze.
" Glad to see the stun didn't have any ill effect."
John glared narrow-eyed at the silhouette of Menk. He stepped to the side, just enough for the glare of the outside to diminish. Spots danced in John's vision so that even in the tolerable light, he still couldn't see the man's face all that well.
" It's not exactly something I'm not used to," John replied. " I'd take a stun to a bullet any day."
" And a bullet to a cull?"
" Definitely."
Menk nodded, then snapped his fingers. A man dressed in the same dark green uniform as Menk and hefting a sophisticated looking rifle on his shoulder handed Menk a wooden stool. Menk moved a few steps further into the shed, setting the stool in the center, but keeping close to the door. John was glad to see he inspired at least a small twinge of malaise.
Menk dropped onto the stool with a contented sigh as though he'd been on his feet all day. " I'd offer you one, John," he said, " but somethin' tells me you wouldn't take it."
" And whatever's telling you that... would be right." John's eyes adjusted from the blinding assault enough to make out Menk's smirk. They fell into nerve-shredding silence, initiating a contest of wills to see who would break it first. But John wasn't going to waste time sucking up to his own pride.
" Where are we?" John asked.
" An outpost, one of many. We're a people on the move, John, and keepin' on the move can be taxing. These outposts are our respite, not to mention our holds when the wraith come to cull."
John furrowed his brow at this. " What, is it some kind of facility? I'm mean obviously we aren't underground..."
" No, just in an old village."
John waited for an elucidation, but Menk went mute. He was baiting John to ask questions, forcing him to dredge information from Menk by Menk's choice, and so forcing on John the fact that Menk was in absolute control.
John was fine with that – for now – as long as it brought him some answers.
" And how, exactly, does an old village offer protection against a wraith beam?"
Menk smiled and planted his hands firmly on his own knees. " The answer to that – Master Sheppard - would be the very reason you've been seekin' us out." He then pulled his stunner from the holster at his waist. " Devices – or technology, as you call it. We've collected quite a bit. Not anythin' that would turn a wraith horde, but enough to keep them circlin' like eraks chasin' their tails. They're not a joy to procure, but they're worth the price. Especially what we got protectin' this village. Kind of like a shield, but not like a shield. It's this generator, you might call it. It creates an illusion, hides us. You set it up in the center of the outpost, and it creates a wall of invisibility around us for as far as needed. It's not a guarantee, just better than nothin'. It lasts a good couple of weeks, then needs time to recharge. By the time it's ready, we're at another outpost. Do you understand the cycle we live, John? It's kept us alive for centuries. Kept the Mykotes alive. You'd be surprised how open minded they get when it comes to wraith culls. We wouldn't give them much mind, but we need them, need their skills at farming, raising animals. We give a little, they give a little, and that's the way we are."
" Until, what?" John said. " We came along and started asking for you?"
Menk chuckled. " Please, John, everyone comes askin' for us. It's an appealin' life, being able to out think the wraith. Having devices they don't even know exist, let alone could ever dream up. We don't give an erak's hind that we're sought out. It's flatterin', really. And you should be flattered we answered your call. Not many get to set eyes on us Cys."
Menk, still grinning like a hyena, went quiet again, waiting for John's next obvious question. John chose that moment to give into silence as well. Now felt as good a time as any to throw Menk's game back in his own face. Seconds ticked like water drops resounding in John's skull. His heart took up the rhythm, or seemed to, and the only sound came from his own breathing and the roar of blood pounding through his ears.
Menk didn't even twitch a facial muscle, but something changed. It came about in the eyes, the draining away of all amusement. But it wasn't like Menk had become suddenly pissed. He was still smiling, even if it wasn't as genuine as before. They had reached the meat of the conversation – the truth, whatever it was. Whatever the answer to John's unasked question - why are we so special? - it was going to be major, and possibly something neither of them liked.
John had definitely picked the right time to keep his mouth shut. If there was a chance Menk would never talk to uphold this competition, a part of John was all for it.
" You took something from us."
It was a statement, one that made John flinch despite being utterly confused.
" Huh?"
" You took something from us, John. Now, I'm not just talkin' Cys. Everyone, you took something from all the worlds."
John swallowed, hoping Menk didn't see it. The first thought to pop into his head was peace of mind; peace of mind knowing that the wraith wouldn't awaken for a long time. And John wouldn't blame them for that.
" You come from the water city, the home of the Ancestors. Now, tales have it; that city isn't much of a look-at these days, thanks to your folk."
Definitely the right time to keep his mouth shut.
Menk stood, abruptly, and John went rigid. His eyes flicked from Menk's unreadable face to the stunner held loosely in his hand.
" That city was to be ours, John. Men have gone to grave having spent their entires lives searching for the keys to unlock the ring-door leading to that city. We've got text that speak of it, and a promise made by our forefathers that whoever found the city would have right to claim it. It was to be their legacy to us, and our destiny to be its keepers."
Menk's smile faded, matching what John could only assume was the spark of anger in his eyes. He moved toward John, methodical as a snake coming up behind a mouse. John held his ground, meeting Menk's darkened gaze.
Menk kept his voice level, unaltered, as though what was expressed in his features wasn't really what he was feeling.
" Then you come. You 'Lanteans'. But you're not really from there, or anywhere. Not in this galaxy. You're strangers in every possible way, say that you somehow knew of the Ancestors and their city. So you come here, and take what isn't even yours, what rightfully belongs to us... And you lose it? Let it be destroyed?"
" It would have happened," John replied, just as levelly, " no matter who had the city. It's power was low, it had no shields. It would have fallen no matter who had control of it."
" Yeah, but we had the means to hide it," Menk said. He reached down to his side, and slid a silver knife with a bone-handle from a leather sheath. " Devices are our game, John," he tapped the tip of the knife against John's sternum, " and devices were how we were going to protect that important city. You and your people should have left well enough alone. It'd still be around if you had. We would have let you visit, we're no sticks. We share when it suits the purpose. You ruined everything, John. You and you 'Lanteans'. Shred it, John, you erak bait don't even deserve to be called that. You're not from here... You don't belong here. The city belongs to the natives, John, and we're the natives. And I have to tell you, it doesn't sit too well with us, what you've done."
Menk moved fast, so fast there wasn't time to react. Dropping his stunner, grabbing John by the shoulder, Menk whipped round him, moving simultaneously to kick John in the back of the leg to drive him to his knees, while digging his fingers into John's hair and pulling his neck back until the vertebrae felt folded in half. One foot was pressed on John's calf and the point of the knife pricked John's spine.
" There's to be some payback for it. There has to be. You've ruined everything, for everyone. It's fair-play that you should pay."
Ah hell. Panting, John swallowed. It was times like these when all thoughts of self were chucked out the window.
" Then I'm the one who needs to pay," he said, gasping when the point dug deeper. " I'm serious! Okay, so my people claimed the city, fine. But... Guess what..." He knew he was going to regret this with every fiber of his being, but didn't care in the immediate if it meant his team getting out near to unscathed. " I woke up the wraith. I'm the one who cut their hibernation short. They took some of our people, and I went to get them – kind of pissed off the entire hive and they came after us looking for a little revenge. In terms of meeting out punishment, you can't get much better than me. The rest of my team – Ronon and Teyla especially – you can't even fault them for the loss of Atlantis. Rodney, he's just a scientist, not a soldier. He deals with technology – devices! He's the kind of guy you want sticking around. Hell, he's the kind of guy you want on your side."
Menk jerked John's head back, and the knife dug deeper. John grimaced from the pain and the grate of the knife tip against bone with gritted teeth.
" Son of a...! Crap! Come on! You wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at me all you want! I freakin' deserve it and you know it. The rest of my team doesn't. They're innocent!"
John was looking up involuntarily at Menk's coldly impassive face. A slow smile crept on Menk's lips, one that made John's heart drop into his stomach.
" You're a noble one. 'Take me and spare the rest', I like that in a fellow. Means they know what's important. I may take you up on it. Or I may not. It's all for me to say, John, not really you, but you've made upstanding points and I can't disregard that. We're not lookin' for blood-spill, since that usually leads to war and we're not too bright on havin' to defend ourselves from anything but the wraith. Still, there's been a crime, and we've got the right to see fit justice performed. If death's involved, it's on Lantean heads, not ours. You can't come to a strangers domain, take what you will, and think nothin' of it. You've robbed us of our destiny, and that isn't right."
Menk released John with another jerk of the head, following it up with a shove to the ground by bashing his booted foot into John's back between the shoulder blades. He then walked around John, grabbing the stool on his way out.
" We'll bring by water. You'll eat tomorrow," he said. The door creaked closed, the lock thunked into place, and dusk settled back in the shed.
John lifted his head, spitting out dust. He reached out behind to touch the burning spot on his back. He pulled his hand away to find blood smeared on his finger-tips.
His assumptions of the situation had been right the first time.
TBC...
