A/N: Hope you're all enjoying this, folks. I'm really trying to keep the threads of this story organized, and it sure is tough. I'm also trying to keep the team essense of this story in place.
A gunshot sounded from just outside the confines of the small room, and everyone inside froze in place as the scarred man cried out in surprise and shock. Tiny maroon droplets of blood could be seen spattered onto Dr. McKay's face as he was suddenly released and allowed to collapse into a heap on the floor. Slow boot-falls then began to echo along the hull, and the scarred man panicked, fell to his knees, and then scrambled backward, clutching at his right arm as he crawled. Carson could just barely make out that the bullet had passed through the man's flesh and embedded itself in a small crater of wooden slivers in the hull until a shadow suddenly blocked the light shining in through the now wide-open doorway.
"A fine weapon," the silhouette mused with a note of approval, taking another couple of steps closer to Carson as he turned a Beretta handgun over in his fingers. "This is much more accurate and significantly smaller than even our best muskets."
Their side-arms had been taken from them upon arriving, and Carson hadn't really thought about what reason these men could've had for kidnapping them, although obtaining access to their more advanced weaponry was starting to seem like a logical motive. But why would they kidnap him and Rodney, then? Why not try for Colonel Sheppard or Teyla with their powerful P90 machine guns, or try for Ronon with his Satedan stunner weapon? Perhaps he and Rodney had seemed like easier targets.
Hardening his expression into a cold scowl of indignation at the idea, Carson pursed his lips tightly shut, unwilling to give the man brandishing the weapon the benefit of a response.
But it did not seem to bother him, and his deliberate gaze moved slowly from Carson to the scarred man cowering angrily on the floor. His lips curled into a smirk of amusement, and he folded his arms in front of him contemplatively. "Ya weren't about ta disobey a direct order from yer captain just now, were ya Sonnal?"
All eyes shifted toward the scarred man, his face markedly drained of color, and watched as he slowly pushed himself up onto shaky feet. "No, sir. I was just…"
"I don't want ta hear any pathetic excuses. Y'all know what yer duties are, and I'll not tolerate any more foolish outbursts." The voice was calm, but had turned harsh and cold, betraying no hint of disappointment or hesitation. The mere tone of the man's words seemed to drive fear into the men holding Carson, and he began to wonder if it wouldn't be such a bad idea after all to agree to cooperate with his captors. As it was, he did not desire to bring the man's attention back onto himself.
The man's piercing gaze lingered on the scarred man for a few moments before his eyes moved across the room, and his nose wrinkled with disgust as the stench of vomit assaulted his nostrils. He turned to leave, voicing his orders firmly. "Wake that one up and bring 'em both up on deck. And someone clean up that mess."
John's thumb fidgeted, and he placed his other hand over top of it in an effort to continue hiding his impatience for as long as he could, but it was now well past noon and the Gulran port-master had yet to show his face in his own office. He, Henry, Lt. Laura Cadman, and Major Lorne sat in chairs in a small corner of the huge warehouse-like structure, the port-master's office located in a smaller adjoining room, waiting for him to return. The woman sitting at the desk at the front of the building, sitting idly for the most part, had claimed that he would be back soon, but any requests for more information were responded to with the same absently repeated line of excuses every time.
He should have realized that going to the port-master would be a waste of time after Henry had told him that he would be of very little help, but all night searching the docks for signs of Carson and Rodney had turned up nothing. Even with the assistance of all three of the search teams that Dr. Weir had thrown together at the last minute and sent to render assistance, with which Lt. Cadman and Major Lorne had arrived, they hadn't yet searched even half of the ships docked at piers on the dock, and had even managed to anger some of the local fishermen too poor to afford a home anywhere but on their boat.
They were lucky that they hadn't been arrested themselves on complaints, but Henry had assured him that the local constabulary didn't really care and said that no one would accost them over it in the morning. And so, here he was, waiting for the port-master to return in his cavernous office while Ronon and Teyla led the continued the search. It was well after midday when John felt himself get up out of his chair, ready to give up, and a disheveled and unkempt man with long, dark hair suddenly burst through the front door, walked past the front desk, and stormed into the port-master's office.
With a questioning look directed toward the woman at the desk, she met his gaze, cocked her head, and nodded tersely before returning to her idleness. John had had enough of this and deliberately stood and strode into the port-master's office without waiting for an invitation, Lorne and Cadman in tow. The man inside didn't bother to even meet his eye as he came in, much less offer a greeting.
"What do you want?" the man John presumed was the port-master asked after taking a moment to rearrange the paperwork that littered the desk, then sat down heavily in the chair. "I'm a very busy man and I have a lot of work to do, as you can see."
John seethed. It was one thing to be too busy and not have time for new complaints, but this guy just didn't seem to care and actually had the gall to pretend that he ever bothered to do any real work at all. Biting back his flaring temper, John at least tried to be civil.
He forced himself to speak evenly and calmly. "Two friends of mine were kidnapped last night, and we've been told that they were taken toward the docks."
The port-master simply leaned back in his chair and looked up at him with a tedious expression, not bothering to attempt to stifle his yawn. "And…?"
Trying to reason with men like this often tried his patience. "And, I'd like some help getting them back and finding the perpetrators."
The man laughed mockingly, which was followed by a loud belch, much to John's chagrin. "What makes you think I have the manpower, the money, the time, or the inclination to help you?"
John ground his teeth with annoyance. "Someone said that they recognized the gang that kidnapped my friends as being in the employment of someone named Te'Lan."
"Te'Lan?" the port-master asked curiously, leaning forward and gazing at him with squinting, suspicious eyes. The name had obviously garnered some interest. "And you know which pier his ship is docked at?"
"Well, no, I don't," John answered honestly with some confusion. "But we've been searching ships on the docks all night, and we haven't had much cooperation from the locals."
The port-master scowled and scoffed, waving a hand at John in dismissal. "There are a lot of piers on this island. If you don't know which one his ship is docked at, you can be of no assistance to me in apprehending him. If this happened last night, his ship has likely already departed the dock anyway. I suggest you forget about any debts that your 'friends' might have owed you and move on."
John stared incredulously, dumbstruck by the man's blatant disregard for common decency and the lack of any compassion whatsoever. Leaning over the desk angrily, he stared down at the port-master, who was, unfortunately, not overly intimidated. "You're supposed to be in charge of law and order on these docks, damn it! And you can just sit there and smugly tell me to move on while in the meantime only God knows what is happening to my friends?"
The tedious look on the port-master's face was changing to one of annoyance. "Go away before I cite you with trespassing."
About to lose himself to his outrage, the only thing that saved the port-master from a swift right hook to his infuriatingly smug jaw was the quick hand that Lorne had placed on John's shoulder.
"Let's go, Sir," Lorne whispered softly. "The others are going to need all the help they can get searching the rest of the docks."
John still fumed. "I'm not leaving until—"
A sudden knock at the door interrupted John's protest before he could finish voicing it. A young boy stood at the door, holding an envelope and looking terrified. He slowly held the envelope up, gazing in terror at the port-master, who sighed and stood to take it from him. The mail for the port-master's office didn't usually come that late in the afternoon, and was usually left with the woman at the front desk. The moment the envelope touched the port-master's fingers, the boy dashed away, leaving the office's occupants staring after him curiously.
Choosing to ignore the visitors to his office further, the port-master returned to his chair and began to remove the seal on the envelope. Upon reading its contents, however, a rather shocked and confused expression was predominant on his features. When John had collected himself enough to swallow his pride and bury his anger, the port-master suddenly rose from his chair as John turned to leave.
"Wait," he called firmly, holding up the letter for them to see. "I think this message is meant for you. I certainly have no vested interest in it."
John took the letter from him, but as he examined it, he could not interpret the symbols scribed on its surface. He instead passed the letter to Henry.
"What does it say?" John asked Henry eagerly.
A few moments after Henry began to read, his eyes went wide with worry, and his hands began to tremble. "It's a ransom note… and a death threat."
John stared at him, aghast with shock. "What do they want?"
"They want more of your weapons," he stated plainly, then held up the letter for John to see. "You see that smudge of ink near the corner? It's a death threat. The letter was worded politely, but I firmly believe that they will kill your friends if you don't give them what they want within six days time."
John gulped hard, turning to leave the office as quickly as possible. There was no time to lose. If that pompous ass of a port-master would do no more to help them, he was going to make damn sure that not another moment was wasted in the search for a lead.
Carson had been cruelly dragged outside into the blinding light, his eyes beginning to fill with tears against the sudden sunlight and chilly air, and was forced to watch as Rodney was kicked repeatedly in the ribs and a bucket of freezing cold sea water was dumped on his head. Rodney had stirred and opened his eyes with a groan of protest at the sensation caused by the frigid water, and he shivered uncontrollably as he was hauled up to his feet. Carson's eyes began to clear as they dragged him and Rodney towards the main deck of the ship.
It was a bright and sunny day, despite the chill in the air, and a stiff breeze blew over surface the sea, coming in gusts that made the sails of the ship on which they were standing whip about strongly with the currents of the wind. Swells of water broke against the bow, occasionally spraying sea water over the gunwalls onto the crewmen that toiled on the decks of the ship. Sea birds cawed over their heads, seeming as though they were being drawn by the clink of the chains and shackles that the two men still wore. They trudged forward towards the center of the deck until rough hands pulled them to a halt.
It was just now that Carson recognized the man that had been holding the Beretta, and now, as he stood by the gunwalls looking out at the blue-black sea, Carson saw that it was the same man that had approached their table back in the tavern. The long coat he wore was the same, as was the greasy, but combed gray-flecked dark hair and beard. And now, as the sun had sunk just low enough to glint off the smooth facets of the ocean that stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see, he gazed lovingly at the sea, the bright emerald green color of his eyes vivid in the afternoon light.
"I'm Captain Te'Lan, the Emerald Wanderer," he introduced himself humbly before turning his serene emerald gaze on them. "You lads got names?"
Rodney rubbed absently at his aching head, but neither he nor Carson answered, choosing instead to remain silent.
"If ya knew who I was, you'd probably not choose to defy me," Te'Lan reasoned curiously, as if no one had ever before dared not to answer him when asked a direct question. But his lips curled into a haughty smile and he laughed loudly, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet. The crew had paused in their work to see what he was laughing at, and most of them were now gazing at the interchange curiously. "I suppose I'll have ta be workin' to improve my reputation then. They call me the Scourge o' the Eastern Midway. I'm a well-respected an' battle-hardened Privateer in some lands, an' I'm considered a pirate in others."
He paused for a few moments while the significance of his words sank in for his prisoners, then continued.
"You're probably wonderin' why I brought ye here," he began lightly, smiling amiably and speaking as if he had done Carson and Rodney a favor by kidnapping them. "Ta be blunt, I intend ta ransom ya both. If yer friends don't pay up, I may be forced ta kill ye. For yer sakes an' mine, I certainly hope it won't come ta that. Yer friends seemed smart 'nuff to know better than ta doubt my sincerity when I make a threat."