The morning dawned suddenly, and loudly. Rodney bolted upright at the odd sound of a thwaang against the door. He moaned and practically fell out of the bed, and shuffled carefully across the uneven floor. The door opened to reveal a knife embedded in the rough wood. There was a message fixed to it. Rodney couldn't remove the knife, so he tore off the message and shut the door. "We've got mail." He let the absurdity of the situation pass over him. Preservation of sanity and all that.
John rolled over sleepily. "Morning honey."
"Don't start." Rodney was frowning at the unfolded sheet in his hand.
John rose slowly and stretched. "What's it say?"
"No clue." Rodney's head snapped up, and he thrust the paper at John before walking to the window. "Wonder if this place has coffee." A thought occurred to him, a sort of tugged-at memory, and he went back to the door, opened it, and looked down. He returned carrying a breakfast tray.
John was sitting on the bed. "Doesn't look too bad, really. I mean, insofar as raiding a palace goes."
"Pl'ce?" Rodney mumbled around a mouth full of . . .something sweet. "How big?"
"Big enough."
He swallowed as he raised his cup. "What are they doing there?" The drink was rancid, but had a kick to it.
"Don't know. Doesn't say."
"Figures. How do we know where in the palace to look?"
"Could be here." John flipped the map around and pointed to a large "X".
Rodney chewed as he leaned in to examine the mark. "You know, pretty soon I'm going to get very weirded out about this place."
"You mean how everything sets up to be so difficult, then turns out to be too easy?"
"Yeah."
"I think you'll find," said a voice from the door, "that most beings set things up to be difficult when in fact they are very easy to accomplish."
Both men had spun as one. The man who had visited them the previous night was standing there.
"Can't you knock?" Rodney gasped. "You did last night!"
"And ruin a dramatic entrance? Destroy a perfect setup? Nah." He walked in, pulling his long coat around him.
"Sound like maybe you don't believe what you just said," John said, the remark about a dramatic entrance stuck in his mind.
"That dribble? Nah. And thank you for ruining the moment as well." The man soured, and snatched the map away to look at it. "This, is in fact, exceedingly difficult."
"Look, who are you?" John asked.
The man wiped his hand on his pants and held it out. "Alistar Lumley, at your service."
John took the hand, noticing how firm the grip was, like a salesman. "Colonel John Sheppard," he pointed, "Dr. Rodney McKay." Rodney pulled his posture up proud, his chin raised, like the reminder that he was in fact a doctor of physics had some sort of hold over his self-esteem. Which it had, actually.
"Pleased to meet you both." The man sat on the bed. "So, which planet are you from?"
"Excuse me?" John asked.
"What makes you think we aren't from around here?" Rodney seemed disappointed that their ruse didn't work.
"As I said, I've talked to your men."
John winced, hoping Lorne wasn't too forthcoming. "I see. And you're going to help us?"
"I already said, I'm not going near the place. But I'll take you to the area."
Rodney was puzzling over something. "Look, why didn't you just bring us this map yourself instead of fixing it to the door with a knife?"
"I had to throw it from below. It was the only way to get it up there, you ever try just throwing a paper from the bottom of the stairs to a door on a landing? You need a counterweight."
John smiled at the way the physicist's mouth worked before shutting completely. He turned large, distressed eyes to the colonel. "So, when do we go?" he asked weakly. The less time on this planet, the better.
"Now," Alistar replied, "if you are ready. But I wouldn't wear the robes. And you do realize that shirt is too small for you." As he spoke he removed his jacket, and pulled off his own shirt. He tossed it to Rodney, pulled a piece of material from his jacket, flapped it in the air, and pulled it on. "I always carry a spare."
"Don't suppose you could have given me the spare," Rodney muttered, putting the shirt to his nose and giving a sniff. It didn't smell bad, rather herb-like. He thrust his arms into the short sleeves, pulled the neck hole over his head, and tugged the material down over his chest and stomach. Perfect fit.
Of course it was.
John nodded in approval. "Looks better, actually."
"Feels better." Rodney rolled his shoulders. "So, we going or not?"
"Sit. Finish your food while I tell you a tale. You'll need the information before going out." They sat, each feeling like they had been thrown head first into a play, and Alistar started his story.
"First of all, you should understand that we are used to off-worlders. They don't bother us, we don't bother them, most of our trade transactions are with lesser accountable places of business. That's where we do the trade stock. Planets can't afford us, so they trade us their people. It works out rather well, really, we provide these planets with the stocks they need, such as food and spices and hardware. On a good day we trade space craft, but those days are few and far between.
"As a world's population grows, there are times when their trading resources are used up. Rather than go into debt, they trade off their people, which actually solves two problems at once. One, you have pay to service the people on your planet, and two, there are less people on the planet to service. You see? Excellent idea, really. This planet's a hub."
Rodney stared. "You trade in . . . people?"
"Very profitable. We use the stragglers from other worlds to colonize new worlds, and they are sucked into the game. We service them, we eventually get their stragglers for a price, and the cycle starts over again. With a huge profit margin, mind you."
"It's Ellis Island meets Wall Street," John muttered in amazement. "What about those people that McKay were with? Those that were tied up? If this is a fair trade, it seems you'd treat your stock with a little more care."
"Ah, but it isn't always a fair trade, nor a fair business. What business do you know of that is really fair? What of your world? Do your people deal justly and truthfully?"
" . . .no . . .not really."
"Then you understand."
" . . .no . . .not really."
Alistar sighed and leaned in. "We pull these people from the most destitute of situations. We promise them a better life. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes they don't want to leave, but they want to do right by their civilization. Sometimes they want nothing more than to destroy their civilization, which is why they were sent away, which is why they were chained. These people usually go for cheap and work in the mines, or in business retail."
Rodney pinned John with a stare. "Seventy-five," he said blankly.
"Good thing I didn't say fifteen, isn't it?" John leaned forward. "What does this have to do with my men?"
"Your men were in a holding pattern. There are two military factions that are squabbling over them, each wanting their skills. Since they are opposing tribes in a civil war, it is understandable that they each want the best, and neither are willing to negotiate."
John turned his ear slightly toward Alistar as if he hadn't heard. His eyes narrowed. "Wait. You're telling me, you've captured my men to sell them to fight in a war they have nothing to do with?"
The stranger held his hands up defensively. "Okay, first of all, I'm not the one selling. I brought you a map, see? Second, what does it matter if they have something to do with it or not? If the price is good, and it will be, there will be a sale."
"This is insane!" Rodney exploded. "You're talking about men here, not weapons!"
Alistar turned to him. "Is there a difference in war?" he asked. "Besides, it doesn't matter. Neither side has them, though they are still squabbling. No, they have another use now, and the price is much higher."
"What other use?"
Alistar merely beckoned, and they stood at the window. "Three streets down. Meet me there." He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, and left as suddenly as he had appeared.
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People could be seen in the far distance at the tents; lined up, heads down, hands bound. Rodney watched them from their second story window with a measure of disgust. "Seems to be a lot of discontent in the area."
"Hmm." John was sitting at the table, head propped on one hand, deep in thought.
"I mean, he said only those that want to destroy their civilization are bound. There's a lot of bound men out there."
"Hmm."
"You don't care, do you?"
"I'm surprised you do."
Rodney pressed his lips in a thin line and turned back to the view. "You pain me, you know that?"
"I live for it." John rose and joined his friend, standing shoulder to shoulder. "There are a lot of them, aren't there?"
"Wonder what their crimes are."
"No telling. Could be spitting on the sidewalk for all we know."
"Yeah, that's just it, we don't know." Rodney followed John's retreat with his eyes. "Look, let's just find Lorne and his men and get the hell outta here, huh? I've no interest in becoming somebody's bitch, and if I stick around here with you for much longer I'm not sure I'll be able to avoid the possibility."
"Last resort. You got your things?"
"Yes."
"Then let's go. We're supposed to meet Alistar in ten."
The alleyway was dark, as promised in the note, and nasty, as to be expected, and oddly crowded. Alistar met up with them quickly, and instantly pulled the two men down behind a barrel. "You came. Good."
John looked around him. "I thought this area was supposed to be secluded?"
Alistar snorted. "And they said you're a military man. Saints above. Don't you know that the first place they'll look is in a lonely, dark alley? This is the ITA. Everyone comes here."
"The what?"
"Illegal Transactions Association. Put all of us together and we look like we are going on about our own business, and we're not bothered. Stick two people in a corner and they pounce."
"Who are 'they'?"
"Trust me, you're better off not knowing." He darted his head up, and ducked back down. John noticed that while there were a lot of people in the alley, none could actually be seen. All were hidden behind barrels, with heads occasionally popping up to survey the area around them, much like a whack-a-mole game. John found that he desperately wanted a mallet.
He grabbed Alistar's arm before he could pop up again. "This isn't going to be stupidly suicidal, is it?"
The man gave him a level gaze. "If it is, you won't be alive to regret it, now will you?"
"Oh, I will SO come back to haunt your ass," Rodney muttered.
"Already been done. Let's go." Alistar jumped up and walked, whistling innocently. John and Rodney followed, trying to look as nonchalant as a bizarre situation would allow.
They passed people covered in robes, gesturing grandly. Trinkets seemed to flow through the air like wind, passing from one hand to another with astonishing speed. A gold band was passed to Alistar, who passed it to John, who jumped and passed it to Rodney like a hot potato, who gulped and handed it off to a large man behind him. The man yelled out for someone and took a silver-looking box while handing off the band.
"This where you transact business?" John yelled over the din.
"This is where we view the goods. The transactions take place over there." He pointed to a row of men dressed in black, holding clipboards and standing perfectly still.
Rodney snatched a jeweled crown off his head and passed it on. "This the way to the palace?"
"In a around about sort of way, yes."
John snatched Alistar to a standstill. "How round about?"
"Round about there." He pointed to a large hill in the distance. Atop stood a large fortress.
"Oh," Rodney said weakly. "Piece of cake."
"My suggestion," Alistar said, "would be to go to the gate with an offering." He looked at Rodney.
Who paled. "Not again."
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"They too tight?"
"Would you care?"
"No."
Rodney tested the shackles. "Why'd you keep these things anyway?"
"Thought they might come in handy."
"You have kinks I need to know about?"
"I can safely say I have kinks that you do not need to know about." He turned Rodney to face him. "There you go."
"Hit him." Alistar said promptly.
Rodney jerked around. "What?"
"You have to look like you struggled, or they're never going to buy it." He looked at John. "Now hit him."
"You hit him!" John exclaimed.
And Alistar did.
Rodney coughed from his curled position on the ground.
John could only turn and put his head in his hands, doing his best to gather his thoughts.
Alistar pulled Rodney to his feet, examining the cut on his lip and the thin trail of blood that dripped from it. "Not great, but good enough I suppose." He looked at John. "Should I try it again?"
"NO!" both men yelled, and Rodney yanked away.
"Good enough it is, then." Alistar produced a pack, which he swung to John. He caught it one-handed. "Food and water. That place is further than it looks. Oh, and you'll have to hurry. If the proprietor gets too nervous, he moves it."
"How?" Rodney asked, incredulous.
"Some things are better left unseen, especially the sight of a fortress."
"You don't know, do you?"
"Haven't the foggiest." Alistar saluted the men. "Good luck. Call me if you need me. I won't come, but feel free to call anyway."
"Thanks," Sheppard muttered, and again took Rodney gently by the elbow. They headed toward the east gate, with the fortress looming in the distance.
"This sucks." Rodney shrugged off John's offer of help. "Why couldn't you have waited to cuff me?"
"In case someone is watching from above."
Rodney managed to get to his feet after another rather nasty fall. "I mean, come on. There could at least be some thunder and lightning over that thing, something to enhance the feeling of gloom and doom. I feel like I'm hiking to the Emerald City."
It did look a bit like the Emerald City. The sky had darkened to an eerie grey-ish green, and it reflected off of the gunmetal grey towers. What was left of the sunlight bounced from one tower to the other, making the building appear to glow. "Granted," Rodney continued, "it's a rather sickly Emerald City. I was hoping for a dungeon-like atmosphere. But no! Flowers! There are flowers on the path!"
"Maybe that's what they do."
"Who?"
"Lorne and their men. Maybe they're gardeners."
Rodney stopped cold. He didn't move, even when John hiked a good ten meters ahead. Twenty, and he finally looked back. "What?"
"Gardeners?"
"Just come on!"
They continued to walk, or in Rodney's case, trudge. The sun had long set by the time they stopped, sitting on the ground and unloading their packs. "Almost there," John said, uncapping the water bottle and holding it to Rodney's lips.
He drank gratefully, heaving a sigh as the water was pulled away. "You could uncuff me so I can eat, at least."
"Too risky."
Rodney looked up. "What, for you, me, or them?"
John glanced about. "I don't know, maybe for a moment . . ."
"No, I mean them." His eyes were fastened to the tree across from them, where three men stood.
John opened his mouth, and remembered nothing else.
