Chapter 4

John ran, one hand clasped on the shoulder of Rodney's vest, his mind busily calculating the trajectories of the bullets. He pulled Rodney down a side-alley out of the field of fire and then immediately wondered if he'd made the wrong choice; they would be easy to spot in the narrow channel. Footsteps rang out above and another flurry of shots kicked up sparks behind them.

"In here!" An archway led to a rubbish-filled courtyard.

"Sheppard, it's a dead end! We're trapped!"

"I don't think so!"

John pulled Rodney up a flight of stairs, then around the edge of the courtyard, up another flight, and then spotted a way through, taking them out the far side of the block. They hurtled into the dark passage and then out into dim orange light and across a flying walkway which joined the blocks. Shots came from their left and struck the metal and woodwork around them. Rodney shrieked and John tripped and fell, but stumbled to his feet and dragged Rodney into the shelter of the next block.

"Sheppard! I've been shot! Look, blood!"

John glanced at Rodney's hand and then his face, as they ran.

"Splinters, McKay. They're just cuts. This way!"

John heard Rodney's heavy footfalls behind him as he led him up and down, left and right, through the maze of passages and walkways. Rodney's breathing became laboured and he felt the rasp of his own breath in burning lungs.

"Please!" gasped Rodney. "Sheppard..."

John stopped, pulled Rodney into a doorway and brought his P90 up, scanning their surroundings.

"Have... have we lost them?"

John continued to watch and listen.

"I think so," he said. "You okay?"

"What, you mean other than the blood loss and the fact that my lungs are lodged halfway up my throat? Yes, peachy, thanks!"

John didn't respond. He still felt the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins; he'd better use it to get them to safety.

"C'mon, let's go."

John spotted a stairway. They made their way down to ground level, where a couple of boys were playing ball.

"Which way to Zanta's?"

One of the boys pointed and said, "Two blocks that way."

"C'mon, McKay."

"Sheppard? Who do you think it was? Shooting at us? And why? What's the point? Unless they don't want it to get out that Getters make better cookies than Makers! Seriously, though, do you think it was the Makers? Breckna set the heavies on us? Sheppard?"

"Let's just get to Zanta's, McKay."

John focussed hard on the way ahead, grabbing hold of Rodney's vest once more, determined to get his teammate to safety.

"Sheppard, this way!"

Rodney was tugging him toward the clear blue light of Zanta's sign and then they were through the swing doors and passing, unchallenged, into the bright, welcoming light beyond.

oOo

Teyla received only the harsh crackle of static when she tried her radio, so she and Ronon made their way to Zanta's to wait. The bar was quiet; just a few locals in ones and twos, solitary drinkers and couples lunching on oily-looking soup and chunks of something grey and spongy that was probably supposed to be bread. Ronon was waylaid by the fidgety little man, Friegar, who sat at the bar with an empty glass and a hopeful expression. Ronon obligingly bought him a drink and was copiously rewarded with a rapid patter of conversation. Perhaps he would learn something useful, Teyla hoped.

"Your other boyfriends not with you today?"

Teyla achieved a smile at Zanta's attempt at humour and pulled out the chair next to hers. Perhaps the manageress would be more forthcoming with information, woman-to-woman.

"Please, sit."

Zanta sat, gesturing at the barman.

"I did not mean for you to provide refreshment. I am quite willing to pay!"

Zanta casually waved away Teyla's offer. "Relax! It's rare enough I get company from someone who's... let's say, straight down the line? I think that's safe to say of you and your friends. No hidden agenda, right?"

"We just want to find our lost team, as you know."

The barman set down a tray on the table, which, Teyla was relieved to see, held only tea, rather than anything stronger. Zanta poured the pale green liquid into two glasses and added a pinch of powder from a small bowl.

"Sweetener," she said.

"Oh, I do not usually..."

"Trust me, with this tea, you do."

Teyla took a sip and grimaced her agreement. The tea was extremely bitter and slightly oily.

"Not the most subtle taste, is it? Still, it's full of the good stuff!"

"Vitamin D? Sun, as you say?"

Zanta nodded. "That's right."

Teyla thought of Alsa and her little girl. Such luxury would be far beyond their means.

"So where have you hidden your gallant Colonel and the delicious Dr McKay?"

Teyla explained John's hopes of discovering information amongst the Getters and Makers and was about to add that she was becoming a little concerned at her teammates' lateness, when there was a disturbance at the entrance. She first noticed Rodney, a bloody handkerchief held to one side of his face and a red stain that had run down to his neckline, but then her eyes were drawn to John, his right hand clutching the shoulder of Rodney's tac vest, his P90 dangling, unsupported, from its sling.

"Sheppard, stop dragging me, we're here!" Rodney took the cloth away from his face to use both hands to pry John's fingers loose, but it wasn't until Teyla stood up and John's eyes fastened on her that he let go and she saw the last colour drain from his already pale face.

Zanta called out sharply, "Dennet!" and the doorman, who had been hovering close behind the pair, pulled out a chair and pushed John into it as he began to collapse. Teyla rushed forward as John sagged onto the table, his left arm dangling limply at his side.

"What? Sheppard? What?" Rodney spluttered.

Teyla crouched down next to John and searched around his sleeve, finding a tear in the back, just below his shoulder. Her hands came away wet with blood and she noticed a red trickle making its way down John's hand and dripping steadily onto the floor.

"What happened, Rodney?" She pulled a pressure bandage from a pocket and, with Zanta's help, tied it tightly around John's arm.

"Someone was shooting at us! Some splinters of wood hit me, but I didn't realise... he didn't say!"

Teyla heard a faint mumbling and saw John's lips move. She leant closer.

"McKay... safe..."

"Yes, John, you are both safe now," she said.

"I'll get Beckett," said Ronon.

"Yes! No! You can't go out there, Ronon, they're probably waiting!" said Rodney.

"Dennet will go with you. Nobody will attack you if they see my man!" said Zanta. "Wait! Dennet, carry Colonel Sheppard up to my office first!"

The huge doorman slipped one muscly arm under John's knees and another round his shoulders and lifted him up without apparent strain. John groaned.

"Careful, Goliath, watch his arm!" Rodney followed behind, directing and admonishing all the way up the stairs and into Zanta's office. Dennet put John down, carefully, on the couch and then, urged on by Rodney's brittle exhortations, departed with Ronon, to request a medical team from Atlantis. Rodney continued to twitch and fuss.

"Rodney, sit down," said Teyla firmly. "I need to assess John's injury and then I will deal with yours!"

"Sit, yes, sit, good idea!" He pulled out the desk chair, sat, stood up, wavered, sat down again and, pulling out a power bar from his pocket, began to eat, rapidly and mechanically, his expression vacant, his eyes moving restlessly.

Teyla didn't know where Zanta had gone, and she could have done with some help, as she struggled to remove John's tac vest. He sat in a miserable slumped heap, shivering with shock, sometimes supporting himself, sometimes letting his weight fall forward onto Teyla's shoulder. She had unwound the bandage and was trying to take off his jacket when Zanta returned with a large case, which she put down on the low table, and a blanket, which she draped round John's shoulders.

"You have medical supplies?"

"Yes, we get a fair few injuries here when fights break out!"

The bitter metallic tang of blood wafted up as Teyla peeled the sleeve of the jacket off over John's wounded arm. He shuddered and his breathing quickened.

"Lie him down," Zanta said. "I'll cut this off." She cut through the sleeve and down the side of John's t-shirt with scissors from her medical kit. Teyla realised that Zanta was wearing thin, transparent gloves of the type she had seen used in the Atlantis infirmary. Zanta looked up. "The bleeding's slowing down. Go and wash your hands and then we'll get him patched up." She nodded toward a door in the corner of the room.

Teyla found a tiny but well-stocked bathroom and scrubbed her hands and arms, using plenty of the pink, scented soap. She tried to push aside her doubts, but there was something wrong here, something that struck a false note in her mind; the rich clothes, the tea, the medical kit. They represented wealth far beyond the dreams of most people on this world; by what means, or by who was Zanta so well supplied?

Teyla emerged to find that Zanta was carefully cleaning John's arm around his injury and Rodney had turned away, squeamishly.

"There're gloves there," Zanta said, absently, concentrating on her work. Teyla put some on. She looked down at John, but his face was pressed into the seat cushions. She could see, now that the surrounding blood had been cleaned away, that there was an entry and an exit wound, so the bullet wasn't lodged inside. She wondered how close it had come to the bone; could the arm be broken? Zanta was preparing an injection.

"What is that?"

"Local anaesthetic."

"Should we not wait for Dr Beckett?"

Zanta paused. "It's up to you. I'm not trained. But I think there's less risk of infection if we do what we can now, and then your doctor can take over when he gets here."

There was a muffled comment from the seat cushions. Teyla knelt.

"John?"

He shifted so that she could see his face, which was shadowed and tense with pain, his normally springy forelocks stuck damply to his forehead.

"Just... just stick me with that stuff and get on with it!" He pressed his face back into the cushions.

They went ahead, and when the anaesthetic had taken effect, the wounds were thoroughly cleaned, sutured and bound and Teyla was thinking it was high time Carson arrived to take over. They managed to arrange John so that he could sit up enough to take some oral painkillers and then lay him back down and covered him with the blanket. Zanta gathered up the bloody swabs and the remains of John's t-shirt and left the room.

"Is he okay?"

"Yes, for now at least," she said, checking John's pulse, "but I will be glad when Dr Beckett arrives." Rodney didn't respond and Teyla looked up, noticing the drooping mouth, frowning brows, and above all, the lack of complaint, which told her that all was not well with her teammate. "I will attend to you now, Rodney."

"Oh. Yes."

Teyla gathered some tweezers and more cleaning supplies and arranged the desk lamp so that it shone strongly on Rodney's face.

"I feel like I'm about to be interrogated," he said, nervously. Teyla raised the tweezers, but he put a hand on her arm, stopping her. "See, you're going to need me to sit still and not talk, or emit any manly expressions of agony or anything, aren't you? So, can I just say, in advance, for the record, 'ow', to the power of at least seventeen!"

"I will try not to hurt you, Rodney."

"I know you'll try not to. Oh, just go ahead."

Rodney scrunched his eyes tightly shut and clenched his fists and Teyla, as quickly as she could, withdrew all the chips and splinters of wood, cleaned the cuts and stuck band-aids over the worst of them.

"It is finished. You can relax now."

"Oh." Rodney opened his eyes and blinked. "Well. That wasn't too bad." He put a hand up to touch his face and hastily dropped it under Teyla's glare. "I wonder if there's any food going."

Teyla smiled at Rodney's predictable reaction.

"I will go and see."

oOo

Rodney turned his head to one side to view the pattern of band-aids that Teyla had applied to his face. He'd have to grow a beard, he thought. Or half a beard. Or just shave around the band-aids. He squinted at the mirror; the pattern was a little like one of the constellations he could see from his quarters on Atlantis. He shrugged, opened the bathroom door and flicked off the light.

Teyla had left just the desk lamp on, and angled it towards the window so that the couch, facing away from Rodney, was in shadow. Rodney could see John's feet poking over the end, which he didn't think could be particularly comfortable. Where had Carson had got to? Was there a problem on Atlantis? And where was his food? He could go and look, but Teyla probably wouldn't be happy if he left John alone. He perched on the edge of the desk, drummed his fingers against the wood and sighed heavily. There was a rustling sound and a wince, followed by a croak. Rodney turn the desk lamp round and peered over the back of the couch. Another croak and a weak twitch of a hand and Rodney caught on.

"Oh, yes, water." There was a glass and a jug on the table. He poured some and held it out. John's face, already revealing his pain in compressed lips and lined brow, took on an extra layer of irritation. Rodney put down the glass and wondered how to help John sit up without hurting him, which resulted in ineffectual hand-flapping on Rodney's part, and a cross growling sound from John. John held up his uninjured arm, his fingers flicking impatiently. Rodney took it and John pulled himself up and round, moaned through gritted teeth and arranged his limp left arm to rest across his lap. He let his head flop against the back of the couch, closed his eyes and thrust out his right hand. Rodney put the glass in it. John drank, thirstily, water overflowing and running down his chin and splashing onto his chest.

"Shouldn't you slow down?"

John grunted out two indistinct syllables between gulps and the middle finger of his left hand twitched. Rodney took the hint, and when the glass was held out, swiftly refilled it. He sat down on the table.

"It could have been me," he said, abruptly. "Or you. Well, it was you, but I mean more terminally."

John stopped drinking and rested the glass against his thigh.

"What?"

"If we'd been a fraction of a second faster. Or slower. It could have been either of us."

"Huh?"

"God, what do they put in the local painkillers? You were dragging me along, as usual, which, by the way, isn't conducive to a good running style." He paused. "Although, thank you, for the life saving."

"Welcome."

"So, your arm was stuck out behind you, between us. See?" Rodney demonstrated. "If we'd been an instant faster, that's me 'kablooey!' for want of a better word." He mimed his head exploding. "Or an instant slower, then you, ditto the kablooey."

John shook his head, drowsily. "You're thinkin' melons arncha?" he slurred.

"Melons? What? Oh, you mean 'The Day of the Jackal'? The watermelon?"

"Yeah, but wrong type of round. No kablooey."

"Well, regardless of the kablooey factor, Sheppard, my point stands!"

"No. Doesn't. You're here. I'm here." John's fingers relaxed and Rodney caught the water glass before it fell. He lifted John's legs up and put them on the coffee table, regretting the absence of coffee, and pulled the blanket back over his friend.

"Right, that's it," he muttered. "If Carson's not here yet, I want to know why not!"

oOo

"Gate's dead," said Ronon succinctly.

"Dead? What? What do you mean, dead?" Ronon braced himself. He had been hoping to tell Teyla on her own and leave her to break the news to McKay, but he found himself the target of the flapping scientist, who hurtled down the stairs and across the bar toward him. "Are you sure you dialled the right address? Did you try a different address? Did you check the crystals? Not that you'd know what to look for, you barbarian!"

Ronon merely waited silently, knowing it to be an effective technique when dealing with a frustrated Rodney.

"Welcome to another 'McKay saves the day' scenario! It's all 'don't steal the cookies', 'don't be rude to little old ladies or receptionists or local business magnates' until something goes wrong, and then suddenly we're back to, 'fix the Gate', or, more usually, 'save us from our own stupidity!' Well? Let's go! Mr Fix-it is waiting!"

Ronon returned Rodney's finger-snapping impatience with his usual cool, steady regard.

"Crystals are gone."

The snapping fingers faltered.

"Gone? As in 'all'?"

"DHD's empty."

"Oh. Oh, well, that's... um... We're stuck here, then!"

"The Daedalus will come, Rodney," said Teyla.

"Yes, eventually! And they might even be able to beam us off this rock if we can find a way out of it first and if Sheppard doesn't die of infection in the meantime! And if we're happy to just abandon our missing team!"

"Find who's taken the crystals. Get 'em back."

"Nice summary, Conon. Perhaps you could whip out a whiteboard and some coloured markers and we'll brainstorm how exactly we're going to achieve those things!" Ronon wisely let the sarcasm wash over him without reacting and Rodney slumped onto a chair and rested his head in his hands. "Great. Just great. And I still haven't even had lunch."

"Did I hear a hungry scientist calling?"

Zanta deposited a tray on the table. Ronon's stomach growled in anticipation.

"Is that fish? You haven't put lemon on it, have you? No, of course not, no lemons here! Hey, Conon, trust you to grab the biggest piece! With your hands, I might add!"

Holding his fish in both hands, Ronon bit through its crisp coating and into the soft flesh beneath. It was oily and tasty and a bit bony, but Ronon didn't care; he just crunched it up and swallowed the lot. Teyla ate decorously, with a knife and fork and McKay was pretending to use his fork, but mostly popping chunks into his mouth with his fingers.

"This is very good fish," remarked Teyla. Her flickering glance caught Ronon's eye and she looked around subtly at other, less fortunate diners. Ronon followed her gaze and saw several envious expressions directed their way.

"I have my contacts amongst the Fisher Clan," smiled Zanta. "But Dennet tells me the Gate's out of action. And you can't bring your doctor through?"

"It appears that the Gate crystals have been removed," replied Teyla.

"The Getters probably took them out. They usually control Gate access, as I told you."

"Doubt it," said Rodney, chewing his fish. "There was no-one giving orders when we went to their place."

"Nevertheless. I'll send one of the boys to find out."

"Thank you, Zanta," said Teyla. "Is there a doctor here who can help us?"

"No, I'm sorry. There's a couple of medics that tend to the Miners," she said doubtfully, "but they're pretty rough and ready. Specialise in amputations."

"We don't want them!" Rodney exclaimed.

"I am surprised that there has never been somebody sent off-world to train," Teyla said.

Zanta looked increasingly uncomfortable. "The clan chiefs won't allow it," she said, and continued, with a sigh. "If we're to remain hidden we have to limit our off-world activity. And also... it's a form of population control." She sounded ashamed.

"You allow your people to die who could be helped?" Teyla said, with restrained disbelief.

"It's not my choice!" Zanta said, hotly. "If it were up to me things would be very different! But it isn't, and the leaders say we don't have the resources to let the population grow. Which is true. You must have seen the overcrowding, the people fighting over any scrap of sun?"

"Huh. I bet the bosses get a doctor when they need one." Ronon let his disgust show in his voice. Zanta merely shrugged, helplessly.

"Then we'll just have to go to our friend Breckna for help," said Rodney. "Although it was probably the Makers shooting at us. Sheppard's going to need antibiotics."

"It is true that the Makers are likely culprits," agreed Teyla. "We found a witness who thought that they saw Makers carrying off two of our missing team."

"Oh, I'm sure that can't be right!" exclaimed Zanta.

"Why not? Breckna seemed like a nasty piece of work to me! And as for his cookies..."

Zanta ignored Rodney. "There's no need to go to Mr Breckna. I have anti-infective medicine."

"That is a great relief!" said Teyla.

"Only if it's any good," said Rodney. "And we still need the Gate working. So, what's our plan? A team to be found, crystals to track down, a Colonel to be looked after?"

"You should stay here tonight," said Zanta. "Work the bar for information and follow any leads tomorrow."

"You have guest rooms?" asked Teyla.

"Not on a regular basis, no. But there are my rooms, and the boys'll double up if I tell them to. Not there," said Zanta, seeing Teyla look up at the doors along from the office. "That's just storage rooms."

"There is another level above?"

Zanta smiled. "In this place, there's always another level, til you hit rock."