Taken On Trust
By Ann3
Writer's Note: I must admit that I've re-used a previous idea in this chapter - I hope you'll agree that it works ! And as its title suggests, buyers really should beware... especially when their 'purchase' comes from a certain part of Scotland !
Chapter Three
Caveat Emptor
Even with his state of the art field glasses, John Sheppard still couldn't believe the scene within them. From the moment this nightmare had started, he'd wondered why Carson Beckett had been kidnapped by the very people he'd gone to help. Now, as he stared once more through his binoculars, those reasons outraged John Sheppard as much as they sickened him.
Stripped to the waist, now tied to a roughly hewn pole, their CMO was thankfully easy to pick out – his exposed body confirming John's worst fears of how brutally Carson's resistance had been subdued.
Bruised and bloodied, his friend now hung limply from the ropes that bound his wrists above him. Totally reliant on those bonds to keep him upright, Carson was either unconscious or not far from it.
His eyes, perhaps mercifully for the humiliation of what was now being done to him, were closed – remaining so even as his captor forced his mouth open, running rough fingers along his teeth, before excitedly inviting the crowd around him to do the same.
And it was recognition of where this brutal spectacle was heading that now enraged John Sheppard – a curse of heartfelt fury escaping him, as Carson all but disappeared under a flurry of prodding, probing hands.
"Those bastards…"
Equally horrified, Teyla and Ronon had worked it out too. Perhaps thankfully, Rodney McKay hadn't.
"Who – Who the hell are they…?" he asked at last, still staring at the bizarre sight before him – his best friend, lashed to a pole, surrounded by richly robed figures who found him highly interesting. "Why are they crowding round him like that, poking and prodding him, as if they were going to…?"
McKay then fell silent, his eyes wide, his face visibly paling, as horrified realisation finally dawned.
"Oh, dear God… they're – they're…"
"They're transactors… traders in people and skills…" Ronon finished for him, his tone warningly low. "There was talk about them on Sateda… never seen 'em in action, though…"
Still unused to human tact and diplomacy, he then drove an already obvious point reduntantly home.
"This whole virus thing was a trick… a ruse to get the doc's help so they could…"
"...sell him and his knowledge to the highest bidder…" John cut in softly, radiating the same disgust – furious eyes still watching the sickening sight of human slavery, alive and well in the Pegasus galaxy.
His only comfort, one he swiftly acted upon, was that now, at least, the odds had evened out a little. Yes, their CMO's life still lay under terrifying threat – bartered now into hands other than his own.
But they'd found him, and Carson Beckett was still alive. Now, at least, he could call in the cavalry.
"Lorne, this is Sheppard… we've found him… what's your position…?"
"Half a mile from you, sir… cloaked in a clearing due west of your location… ready to come in…"
"Okay, Lorne, hold position… and keep the door open, 'cos we'll be coming in hot…"
"Roger that, sir, we'll be here… just get our doc back where he belongs, sir… we'll do the rest…"
Breaking the connection, John Sheppard allowed himself just the trace of an approving smile. Like everyone else on Atlantis, his second in command had been incensed by their CMO's abduction. In fact, John could almost picture the queue of furious volunteers lining up with Lorne to get him back
Atlantis took care of her own. Those who dared to threaten any of her number were asking for trouble. And for these ruffians to have snatched one of the most popular people in the city…? Unforgiveable.
Ronon Dex had only been part of that number for a few months, but he'd already proven his worth – his quiet, typically blunt voice dragging John's attention back to the daunting task ahead of them.
"They've agreed a trade for him… if we're to take 'em by surprise…"
Nodding in terse agreement, John Sheppard continued to anxiously scan the clearing below them – breathing a silent sigh of relief that the Vorans still appeared completely oblivious to their presence. Then again, he bitterly reflected, their latest acquisition was, in cruellest irony, proving to be one hell of a useful distraction.
Through the miracle of his uniquely sensitive mind, though, Carson Beckett knew they were there – just the faintest of smiles ghosting across his face as his captors untied him and dragged him behind his new owners
They'd found him. Thank God, they'd found him.
He was still a prisoner, though – being hauled, without a shred of dignity, towards that bloody horse. But this albeit bruised and battered Scottish boy now had a few aces of his own tucked up his sleeve.
After beating it so soundly out of him, Carson doubted whether his captors would expect any further resistance. And he seriously doubted whether many Vorans had experienced a greeting from Glasgow.