Sheppard target

by Mission Reporter

Chapter 2: Murder they wrote

(Sheppard's POV)

They wanted to know who had stepped on the damn slug and in their so called words 'murdered' it. Now murder is a pretty harsh word, it usually went with the assumption that it was planned. It spelt trouble with a capital "T". Like I said before, I knew then that we were screwed. But before Ronon could own up (and I could see that he was going to), I stepped forward, folded my arms casually together and gave the natives surrounding us my best charming smile. "I did," I replied, "but it was an accident not murder. By the way, I'm Lt Colonel John Sheppard, that's Ronon, Teyla and Rodney. We're visitors to your world and are keen to form alliances or trade with your people."

Yet, as soon as I admitted the blame, I instantly sensed the big guy with the dreadlocks bristle angrily at me. In fact Ronon even argued the point saying that it was him not me—that I had lied. This of course was not making us look good in front of our hosts; disagreement among our ranks and all that—over who had stepped on that freaking alien slug, no less. However, I pointedly ignored the Satedan except to take one annoyed, sideways glance at him without so much as turning my head. "Ronon... shut up... I'll handle this." I hissed the words in tight warning. It wasn't easy to do especially since I was trying to maintain an attitude of casual friendliness for our non-too friendly hosts. I turned my attention back towards our Fuzzie accuser, the man who had first spoken, the one who clearly represented the horde that surrounded us. I gave him another friendly smile. I was going all out for that Sheppard charm, you know the one, show hostile natives that you were friendly, that you meant them no harm. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I felt that my attempts at first contact was as successful as trying to communicate with an iratus bug to stop sucking the life out of you. It was also similar to hitting my fist at a brick wall and hurting myself in the process. I saw the Fuzzie scowling at us now, clearly doubting my earlier words to him. I cleared my throat slightly, not liking what I saw. "He gets a little confused... sometimes." I explained with a sheepish smile, gesturing towards Ronon.

Another disgruntled growl came from the big guy which I pointedly ignored a second time. I'm sure at this stage I wasn't getting any brownie points from our slug-squashing Satedan. After all, I was literally admitting the blame for something that he had done, and I knew he wasn't ecstatic about that. But I was the leader of this team, therefore the one responsible, so I continued regardless of Ronon's protests. "Look," I said, "Like I said before, it was me. But it was an accident, unintentional, you do understand that, don't you? The slug sort of popped its head right under my foot, and before I could stop myself... well uh... you know the rest... it sorta when splat... Would saying 'sorry' help?"

I locked my gaze onto the stocky Fuzzie who was now glaring at us as if we had committed some terrible mortal atrocity. It didn't look like he bought the whole story of the accident, even though, ironically, it was actually the truth. Of course there was my little white lie about me confessing that I did it instead of Ronon. But sometimes I've got to do that John Sheppard thing... you know, take the blame for one of your team, it comes with the territory of being the team leader, and therefore the one responsible for your team's actions, accident or no. I looked at the Fuzzie before me. I still found it difficult to believe that these guys called themselves Fuzzies. Every time I heard or said the name I was reminded of little furry fuzz balls, like those Tribbles in the original Star Trek TV episode. But names can be deceiving, after all, look at how much trouble the Tribbles caused Captain Kirk and his crew on board Enterprise. Somehow, I felt sure that these Fuzzies were going to be just as much trouble for us, if not, worse, and sad to say I wasn't proven wrong. I just hoped that I would survive the day, be like Kirk, whom McKay always liked to call me, but in a different way, not charming beautiful alien women (hey, I wished it was as easy as that) but rather kicking the bad guys butts and living to fight another day.

Anyhow, the one whom I took for the Fuzzie leader, the one whom I had nicknamed 'Elmo', took another step forward, stopped in front of us to glare at me specifically perhaps because I had addressed them first. He gave me a look of disdain, a heavy scowl forming on his features before he turned to eye the glowering Ronon. But if they insisted on calling themselves Fuzzies, then in the John Sheppard's book of names, their leader got to have a furry bear name too. I knew that he wasn't interested in telling us his name, even after I had introduced mine and the rest of my team. Okay, so polite etiquette wasn't part of their social norm either, that much I had figured out already.

So Elmo it was, and the name actually suited the guy for he was wearing a heavily dyed red fur jacket over a bright purple tunic, but the jacket was exactly the same colour as Sesame Street's Elmo. As the brute continued to glare hostilely at us, I noticed that except for the colour of the red jacket, the similarities with the real Elmo ended there. In actual fact, Fuzzie Elmo looked more like a badly done up version of Grizzly Adams with his giant frame and his scruffy longish hair and beard; but a psycho Grizzly Adams on a 'fashion gone berserk' kind of day. Why? Do I hear you ask? Cos this guy had bad, and I mean really bad taste in putting together colour coordinated clothing, not that I knew much about the fashion industry. After all, hey, I'm the guy who gets hassled about his hair; I still can't believe that even that sniveling, insidious Lucius had the nerve to mention my hair to me: such a pretentious, trouble-causing weasel whom I was trying hard to forget. The thought of everyone in Atlantis fawning over him was enough to make me want to puke. It was almost as bad as the thought of me fawning over Rodney and cleaning up his quarters for him. When the effects of that drug had worn off, I took my damn sweet revenge on one Dr Rodney McKay afterwards. But that's another tale, I'm currently telling you about this one, how I became target practice to a group of natives called Fuzzies. Damn, how I've come to hate that name.

But back to my original topic at hand, being in the US Air Force, you don't have much choice in what you wear because basically you wore dress uniforms, or BDUs, and they worked just fine for me. However when off duty, even I knew enough not to wear stark gaudy colours that consisted of a red fur jacket, bright purple tunic, neon lemon green coloured leather leggings and blue dyed boots. If those weren't bad enough, to top it off, the thick gold chain with various jagged teeth hanging from around his thick brutish neck certainly didn't compliment the rest of the Fuzzie's looks. I can now truly appreciate the term 'eyesore', cos Elmo there fitted the bill nicely. In fact, if I hadn't thought up of the name Elmo, I would have probably called the guy Ronald McDonald, cos the term 'clown' seemed appropriate. But then clowns scare the hell out of me; ever since I was a kid I hated them. No, if I had to face this guy, I'd rather call him Elmo rather than that of a clown.

But as McKay would point out to me, I digress and even though Elmo might dress like a clown, he certainly didn't act like one; or maybe he did, at least to me, for like I said before, clowns were scary. From his body language, I sensed that Elmo had in fact believed Ronon's words as his gaze flitted back to the Satedan for two heart beats and then back to me again. My stomach twisted in a knot and I feared for Ronon's life in what I saw in Elmo's eyes. I knew then, that I couldn't allow him to punish Ronon especially over an accident that really wasn't his fault. So, ignoring Ronon's disapproving gaze, I once again said that it was my fault, to which Ronon stubbornly growled back that it wasn't. Some time in the near future, I needed to sit the big guy down and explain to him about the necessity of keeping quiet especially when your commanding officer ordered you to. But as it was, I ignored Ronon and had a glare-down battle with Elmo instead. Rodney tells me that I can do a pretty good Ronon-imitation glare, which I can only take as a compliment.

I saw no point in Ronon being made a scape goat for something that wasn't his fault. I was blaming the damn stupid slug for its own demise, although in the ironic world that we lived it, I was the one admitting to the accident. But you never leave your people behind, that was my motto, and I wasn't about to change it. If I had let Ronon admit to squashing the slug, I had a feeling that I would have to leave Ronon behind whether I liked it or not. It was something that I couldn't do. Not again. Not after Ronon had practically risked his life a few weeks back to ensure that Teyla and I were set free after we were captured by those natives whom Ronon knew during his time as a runner. You know the rest, by the time I had returned to the planet with reinforcements, it was too late, the village had been destroyed and Ronon had been captured by the Wraith again. We were damned lucky to get him back alive from Sateda, but still, I shall never forget how I felt as Teyla and I headed for the Stargate without Ronon. We had left one of our own behind that day. And I swore to myself that I would never do it again.

I heard struggles sounding from behind me. Turning around, I saw that Ronon was being being held back by four warrior goons who must have seen the big guy make a threatening move. It didn't surprise me that it took that much men to restrain our friendly Satedan. When Ronon saw me looking at him, he gave me a death glare and said furiously through gritted teeth, "Sheppard! Tell them the truth! I did it! It wasn't you but me!" He reminded me of an angry dragon and I could almost imagine puffs of smoke emanating from his heated nostrils.

I gave Ronon an apologetic look and prayed that he would forgive me some day. "Sorry, Ronon, but I can't let you take the fall for this. Not this time." I turned back to meet Elmo's gaze. I think Elmo recognised that I was the leader, and therefore, like any true leader, I was accountable for my team's actions. He gave me a brief nod and a feral grin: I knew then that he would accept me to take Ronon's place for whatever punishment they decided to merit out.

But I had no intention of being a Fuzzie sacrifice, more so over the fact that they were called Fuzzies. I did not want my epitaph to read "Killed by a Fuzzie". No, that would not do, not even with my unique sense of Sheppard humour. After all, I valued my life just as much as the next guy in a flak jacket. Despite what others might think, I am not suicidal, there are always reasons for my actions, and I do not make sacrifices lightly, only when there is no other choice left open to me. If my actions could save the lives of those whom I cared about, then it was my duty as a soldier to do so. I would not falter from the path no matter how difficult it might be. So I tried to explain to Elmo, as politely and diplomatically as I could once again, that it was an accident, that we had no intention of harming or stepping on their sacred blue slug.

Teyla at this stage also kindly chipped in, explaining the situation in that calm, self-assured, diplomatic style of hers; I knew then that she was more skilled at it than I'll ever be. You see diplomacy isn't really my strong suit; flying, now that's another matter; but trade negotiations were best left in the expert hands of Teyla or Elizabeth. I freely admit it that I pretty much suck at it. After all, looked what happened when I first tried to cut a deal with the Genii. Even though I was grateful for Teyla's help, at the end of the day, it made no difference to the outcome, the Fuzzies wanted blood and no amount of rational explanation or convincing could change their minds from the matter.

However, McKay had even less tact than I on the diplomacy front, and who could blame him? Perhaps that was the reason why I had him on my team; if he didn't like you, he'd tell you straight in the face that he didn't like you. So far, he hadn't told me that, and despite his many faults (and believe me there are many), we've formed some kind of mutual friendship. Okay, I admit it, I respected and trusted the guy for his scientific genius, and I also enjoyed our acerbic moments of bantering. I can't believe I'm saying this, but while McKay can really get on your nerves sometimes, he also grows on you, and you soon get used to his over inflated ego and lovely sarcastic personality. Not to mention, he also saved my ass and the city of Atlantis on a number of occasions. You're not likely to easily forget stuff like that anytime soon. So yeah, we're friends, perhaps good friends, perhaps even best friends. But don't tell him that I said that, cos it might go to his head, and you all know what McKay's like when he gets a big head.

But that said, most of the time Rodney lives up to his reputation of being a genius. Notice how I used the word 'most' and not 'always'? Because like all of us, he's human and he's entitled to make a mistake or two. However, one thing I learned about Dr Rodney McKay, he doesn't do things by halves. When he succeeds, he succeeds big time, like saving the day and all our collective asses along with it. But when he stumbles from his 'I'm always right' pedestal, he plummets hard and falls with a big bang... literally. The Doranda incident really put a strain on our friendship. It took me a long time to trust him again, but ask me now and I can firmly say that I'll trust him with my life. In fact, since then, I already had on a number of occasions. After all, I'm still here, aren't I? So, when we were confronted by Elmo who was accusing us of killing their blasted blue slug on purpose, I knew that I could count on McKay to tell the damn Fuzzies straight out how he saw it. That it was all their fault in the first place; that they should have placed up signs to warn visitors about the slugs in the field; that they should have built an enclosure around the field; that if they were too dumb to build anything, they should have placed men near the field to inform outsiders about the slugs... He went on...

I must admit, I agreed whole heartedly with Rodney's reasoning and ranting then. If I could have cheered the guy on loudly without further offending Elmo and his armed horde, I would have gladly done so. As it was, I only managed to give the scientist an approving look and while he was still half-way speaking, I cut him off. I needed to do that before he made matters worse and the natives decided to punish him as well. "Thanks, Rodney, I think they got the message. But you might want to shut it now or you might get us all killed..." See, there's a thing between telling someone off, and insulting that person, and I was afraid that if I let McKay continue with his rant, he would reach that insulting bit. After all, in that last bit of Rodney's tirade, I had noticed he used the word 'dumb', I only hoped that the Fuzzies didn't. At my words, McKay looked up at me surprised, uttered the word "Oh" and kept silent after that. It left me regretting my harsh words to the guy, but I promised to make it up to him, that is, if I got out of my current predicament alive.

Ronon however reacted differently. Through out my entire exchange with Elmo, he still glared at us, occasionally growling out the words "I did it, not Sheppard." But this time, it wasn't to me that he spoke to but to Elmo. He knew now that I wasn't about to change my mind, that he needed to convince Elmo somehow. I prayed silently that he wouldn't succeed. I didn't know who he was angrier with—me for owning up for his mistake, or Elmo for threatening us with harm. I actually felt a tinge of pity for Dex. I knew how he felt and how he hated me for doing what I did. But if the choice came to putting his life on the line or mine, I would rather it be mine. Ronon Dex would just have to live with that.

On Sateda, in spite of what my gut was telling me to do, I had held back, I had not killed that damn Wraith that was beating Ronon to a pulp. Why? Because I had given my word as a friend to Ronon and he trusted me. If a soldier couldn't live by his word, then you were not a man but a liar who couldn't be trusted. But Ronon had also threatened to kill me if I intervened, not that I feared that part, for I was sure that the big guy wouldn't have carried out his threat (at least I hoped he wouldn't), but as Teyla had so eloquently reminded me, Ronon would have never forgiven me if I had shot that Wraith. I knew how important trust was between friends. This time however, I had made no such deal with Ronon. This time I had my way, and while I knew that he would be mad at me, I also knew that he would forgive me. However, looking at the rage in his eyes, I felt a tinge of nervousness, and I wasn't so sure anymore. So I did what any intelligent colonel would do—I did not look into his eyes.

Unfortunately for us, more accurately, mainly me, Elmo was not interested in any of our explanations. According to Fuzzie law (pun not intended despite the similar pronunciation), the transgression had been committed, and there was only one solution to it. Death, namely mine. I was sentenced without a trial, right there and then, standing under the shade of the forest trees next to the wide open field of the blue slugs. I heard my team protest loudly, Rodney and Ronon's voices almost drowning out Teyla's softer toned one. Demanding even pleading with Elmo to change his mind, perhaps we could provide them with another item of payment, some sort of trade, medical supplies, farming resources, whatever he wished for. I could have told them to save their breaths, for in meeting Elmo I knew his kind, and I knew instinctively that the man before me wanted my blood: there would be nothing that we could do that could change his mind. Way to go John, sometimes the Sheppard charm just rubs people off the wrong way. I never quite figured that one out yet.

But what I didn't expect was for all three members of my team to start protesting and volunteering to take my place instead. Even Rodney, scared, panicky Rodney. It touched me deeply, for never have I felt so close to Teyla, Ronon and Rodney as I did then; to know that they were willing to trade their lives for mine, as I would have gladly done for them. It was then that I truly came to realise how much of a family we had become. We had started out in the Pegasus galaxy as strangers, but over a short span of a few years (less so with Ronon), we somehow became a family. But it was not something that I could allow them to do—to trade their lives for mine. And I think they knew it too, for I read frustration, anger and despair in their faces. Anyway, it would defeat the purpose of why I had accepted the blame for Ronon in the first place. It was my right to do this, and I silenced them with a firm "No." I also told them that under no circumstances were they to do such a trade. I made the deal and I would have to accept the consequences of it. But that didn't mean that I wouldn't go down fighting. I wasn't ready to die, no way in hell, not anytime soon.

Elmo watched all our interaction in silence, I wondered what he thought of us then. He turned and gave me another feral grin, nodding towards his warriors to take me away. However, as they nudged me away, Rodney called out, stopping them with a question. "Wait! What are you going to do with him?" His anxious blue gaze drifted in my direction, locking onto my gaze for a heart beat, before moving on to Elmo. I have never seen him looking so worried as he did then. I saw horror and despair written in his eyes. While I knew that I would miss my stick fighting sessions with Teyla, running and hand to hand combat training with Ronon, I think I shall miss my banter sessions with Rodney the most. I looked calmly at the rest of my team..., my family... and I bid them goodbye with my eyes. I had no words for them, none was needed; they all knew what was in my heart. Yet, at the same time I tried to convey the message that I wasn't ready to give up hope yet. That if there was a way to get out of this mess, I would find it somehow.

"He will be set free on the Deathlands to be used as target practice for my warriors." I heard Elmo reply.

I was surprised by this statement, I had expected a quick death by execution with my hands tied behind my back or something similar. If I was to be set free somewhere else, then hunted down, being like some kind of Sheppard target, there was a possibility that I might be able to escape, or at least hold on long enough until Elizabeth sent reinforcements through the Stargate. This at least gave me a fighting chance. Better yet, perhaps the hunted could become the hunter; I knew that I was pretty good at survival training 101. If I could defeat the Genii when they invaded Atlantis, I should be able to handle this.

I turned back towards Elmo, locking my gaze onto the Fuzzie leader. If I were to forfeit my life, I had to be sure that my sacrifice would not be in vain, that the rest of my team would be safe. "And you will let the rest of my team go?" I asked the man.

Again another feral smile appeared, there was a gleeful look in Elmo's dark eyes as he studied me intensively. I think he knew then that I was a soldier, a fighter, that I would not go down easily. But in his eyes, I knew that I would not like the answer.

"When you are dead, your team will be released. Until then, they will follow us and watch your progress as my warriors hunt and track you down. You will be the hunted, the one whom we will use for target practice. But be warned, should you fight back and kill any of my warriors, I will claim that life for the life of one of your team, starting with that one." Elmo then pointed towards McKay, who instinctively blanched at his threatening words. I knew that Elmo had picked on Rodney because he was the one who had asked the question.

"Now, that's not playing very fair is it?" I replied as I cursed silently to myself. This left me in a catch twenty-two situation; my team would not be safe until I was dead. However, at least I still had one other option available to me: I had to stay alive long enough until a rescue team arrived. I looked at my watch noting that I had five hours before our next check in time. Five hours before reinforcements arrived. Okay, I could do this. Somehow, I had to find a way to evade getting myself killed for five hours. Little did I know then that it was going to be more easily said than done. Little did I know that before the time was up, I would be fighting for my life with an arrow in my chest.

-xo0ox-

TBC