In the darkened corners of the room, a wide variety of strange and exotic creatures lurked. In their time in the Pegasus Galaxy, the team had mostly encountered aliens that weren't too alien. It was obvious that the aliens they had encountered came from the same, or at least a similar, gene pool. But the aliens in front of Carson came from a very different gene pool.
In the corner, playing a game that looked suspiciously like poker, were a group of fish! Well that's what it looked like a first glance. Looking closer, Carson realized that they were not actually fish, but they did have a scale-covered skin, which gave them an aquatic look.
The blue-coloured big cats in the corner made him look twice too. As he watched, one hissed and unsheathed it claws. Carson sneezed. It seemed that he was allergic to these cats as well as the domestic variety found on Earth.
Before Carson could look further, Michael pushed him towards a table near the back of the room, behind one of the many pillars. It seemed to be an area where the miasma of smoke seemed at its most dense. Once they reached the table, Michael pushed the doctor in the chest, forcing him to sit down on one of the chairs. The force of the push almost made Carson and the chair topple to the floor, but the Scot managed to grab onto the table to save himself.
"Why have you brought me here?" he asked, as Michael sat opposite him.
"You ask a lot of questions for a prisoner," Michael replied. Just at that moment the bar-tender (well, at least that is what Carson assumed he was) appeared. Without a word, he placed two glasses in front of Carson and Michael, and filled them with a drink. It almost looked like whisky – a good single malt. But Carson knew that was just wishful thinking on his part. Michael, his eyes on Carson, lifted the drink to his mouth and tossed it back in one go. His eyes taunted Carson to do the same. Cautiously, Carson lifted the glass to his lips and took a tentative taste. The bar-tender said something to Michael in a language that Carson couldn't begin to comprehend. They both laughed. Spurred on by the laughter, Carson gulped the drink down, feeling it make its fiery progress down his throat. He spluttered slightly, and then swallowed rapidly to try to ease his burning airway.
Almost immediately, Carson could feel the effects of the drink, or whatever else might have been in the glass. With an almost clinical detachment, he noted as his extremities started to feel strangely detached. He lifted up his hand and looked at it with a puzzled frown. It didn't feel like it belonged to him. He let it drop back onto the table, but made clumsy by the drink, his hand caught the glass and sent it crashing to the floor. He watched it fall with fascinated concentration, then giggled as it shattered on the floor. Michael watched the doctor with a smile on his face. The smile was not one of amusement. It was far too vicious for that. It was the smile of someone enjoying another's misfortune.
oOoOoOo
Teyla sat down beside John, and then glanced cautiously behind them. Confirming that no-one was within earshot, she leaned closer to John.
"Do you think it is wise to have brought Jinto?" she asked. "He is just a boy."
"It's a risk," John agreed. "But I didn't like the idea of having to put Rodney in charge of Chica."
Teyla smiled, but there was still a look of concern in her eyes.
"Look," John continued. "I'd have left him behind if I thought it'd do any good. But I saw the look on his face. He would've found a way to come with us. He's just the age to think this is all one big adventure."
"Some people never grow out of that," Teyla said pointedly. John just grinned in response.
oOoOoOo
Carson felt as if he was floating. His whole body seemed weightless, lighter than air. He started to hum a tune to himself, then stopped, scratching his head. He couldn't remember what the tune was. Then he giggled.
"I'm floating in the air," he sang, his voice still sounding on the edge of laughter. "I'm like the snowman," he shouted, to no-one in particular.
Suddenly realizing that his voice was louder than he intended, Carson looked round guiltily, like a small boy caught shouting in class. But there was no-one there, no-one to hear him. He frowned.
"How did I get here?" he asked himself. "I was in that pub, with Michael. But I don't remember coming here?" He sat down in the corner of the empty room, a puzzled frown now very evident on his face. As he tried to figure things out, a large yawn suddenly over took him. He rubbed at his eyes, then curled up on his side, like a child. Before long, he was snoring gently in his sleep.
oOoOoOo
By the time they arrived at the planet, John was literally chomping at the bit. He hated being inactive, especially when one of his people was in danger. Carson was a friend, but he was more than that. He was one of the people John was duty-bound to protect. And just at that moment, John felt he had failed in that task.
His restlessness was obvious to the others in the Puddle Jumper with him. He fidgeted with his jacket, pulling it down every few minutes. However, being the consummate pilot, his agitation did not show in his piloting.
As they went into orbit above the planet, Rodney sat in the co-pilot's seat, his eyes alight with interest. All around them was a vast array of ships, of all shapes and sizes. Most of them looked like they'd been cobbled together from a variety of other ships.
"Most of these look Ancient in design," he said, after studying them closely. "Even though they look like they've been customized almost beyond recognition, they're definitely Ancient parts to them. I wonder where they got them from."
"Stole them," Ronon said, succinctly. "The types you meet on this planet don't buy things. If they see a shiny new toy they steal it."
"Charming," Rodney replied.
"When will they contact us?" John asked Ronon. Before they'd arrived, the Satedan had explained they would be contacted from the planet and given co-ordinates for landing.
Before Ronon could reply, a disembodied voice reverberated round the Jumper.
"Alien craft, please identify yourself," the strangely accented voice said.
"Since when do you care for identities?" Ronon responded sharply.
Jinto looked at the big man, a look of frightened amazement on his face. But Ronon just gave him a grin, and winked at the boy, who managed a smile in return.
"Do you think it's a good idea to antagonize the locals?" Rodney asked.
"Wait 'n' see," Ronon responded.
The voice returned. "You are cleared to land," the voice said, then reeled off the co-ordinates for landing.
Ronon turned to Rodney, his eyebrows raised. He didn't need to say "I told you so." His body language said it for him.
"Jinto," John said, turning to the boy. "You stay close to Ronon. Okay?"
The boy nodded and turned to look at the Runner. Ronon put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and Jinto grinned. The chicu, who was perched on Jinto's other shoulder, started chattering, very pointedly at Ronon. Ronon took out one of his knives, and ran his finger along the blade. Jada watched him, squeaked once, and then hid its face in Jinto's neck.
"And no-one is to wander off on their own," John continued, looking directly at Rodney as he spoke.
"Pick on me, why don't you," Rodney muttered.
John ignored him, and continued. "We need to find out if Carson has been here, and if anyone has any idea where he is now."
"Don't be too obvious," Ronon added. "And don't be too polite. People here are suspicious if anyone's too nice."
"Okay," John said. "Let's go and see if we can find Carson, and bring him home."
oOoOoOo
Michael had been monitoring the traffic to and from the planet. He knew that John Sheppard would not leave the doctor behind. So it was only a matter of time before they came for him.
Although this planet was frequented by criminals who were paranoid about security, it was also frequented by others who were very good at breaking all those security measures – for a price, of course. However, Michael had found that death was an effective means of payment. A dead man couldn't hound you for an unpaid debt.
As he entered the room, Carson looked up at him with unfocused eyes. A puzzled frown creased the Scot's brow and he looked at the Wraith quizzically.
"Are you okay, lad?" he asked. "You look like you've been in a fight with a fire."
Michael snarled at him. Compassion from the doctor, even when he was out of his mind with the potent drug the Wraith had fed him, made Michael's skin crawl. He did not need compassion from this man, or any other man for that matter. All he needed from a man was his source of life. That was all that men were good for.
"I am fine," the Wraith growled. "But you are not, and soon your friends will not be either."
"What do you mean, lad?" Carson asked, his befuddled brain not comprehending the words, or the threat behind them.
"That drug, which makes you feel so good, is slowly killing you," Michael said with a note of triumph in his voice. "It makes you pliable, and easy to manipulate. But once you stop taking it . . . . Well, let's just say, your body will react rather violently, and painfully."
"And my friends?" Carson asked, still not fully understanding the Wraith's words.
"They will have to watch you die, slowly," Michael said.