"It's been mighty quiet in here," Jess slurred as he offered a toothy grin, nearly tripping over the lip of the door frame while his comrades surged forward unsteadily and hauled Carson to his feet. "I might wonder if ya'd gotten 'round ta properly enjoyin' the lady's company yet, but I'm afraid there's no more time. The Cap'n is on his way back, so we've got ta stow ya."
Laura did not hesitate in her attempt to quickly join the ladies that were now making their way along the gangway that led off the ship as Carson was literally tossed back into the cubby-hole that was laughingly referred to as a smuggler's hold, but one of the drunken sailors had another idea. He was filthy, skinny, bald, and toothless, and as he smiled at her provocatively, his proximity and open mouth afforded Laura a whiff of the most putrid stench she had ever smelled. It was all she could do to keep herself from gagging in disgust.
Fingering a few coins in a purse that hung heavily from his belt, he took a small step closer, slipping a greedy hand around her waist. "Surely a pretty lady like yerself has a few more minutes ta spare for wealthy sailors like us…"
One of the women who'd come with Laura stopped at the end of the gangplank and looked back at Laura with concern, but was promptly pushed aside by Captain Te'Lan himself, who strode purposefully back to his ship. Laura gave the sailor a stern look as she addressed him, then turned to walk around him. "Not for you, I'm afraid."
The response incensed him, and he snarled grudgingly as he tightened his grip on her waist. "Ungrateful whore! I was about ta pay ya up front!"
Laura promptly thrust her elbow into his gullet, followed by the palm of her hand into his face, then jumped over the gunwalls into the water before the drunken sailors could move far enough to assist their comrade. A round of raucous laughter echoed through the night air as she surfaced and struggled to climb up onto the pier, graciously helped by the woman who'd stayed behind for her.
Captain Te'Lan's jovial face peered down over the ledge at her for a moment, and she could just barely make out his words, wringing the water out of her clothing as she ran.
"Rejected even by a whore; Keilin, boy, ye sure have a bad run o' luck with the ladies."
John sat idly next to Major Lorne on a pallet behind a warehouse of shipped goods as he watched Teyla and Henry rest with their backs against the building. It was cold, the last full day before Captain Te'Lan's deadline was nearing its end, and he felt like he had nothing to show for it. He'd allowed Lt. Cadman to volunteer for what had seemed like a suicide mission, and if by some chance they recognized her, he couldn't help but worry that he might've sent her to meet a horrible death.
Sighing softly, he knew there was nothing more to be done other than to wait. He hated waiting. Ronon hated it as much as he did, and he paced the length of the small alley with the same frustration and impatience that John himself felt.
When the distinct sound of footfalls echoed down the empty street next to the alley once more, John peered around the corner at the makers of the sounds and was relieved to find that it was indeed whom he had hoped. Laura Cadman strode toward them quickly and anxiously, accompanied by the kind and down-on-her-luck woman she had befriended at the brothel.
She took a moment to catch her breath, and then reported. Her companion nodded eagerly in affirmation. "They're on the ship, sir, both of them."
It was exactly what they'd been waiting to hear, and an instant later, Teyla, Ronon, and Henry were all standing at John's side, ready to go.
"Alright," John said with a small smile of approval. "Let's get back down to the docks. Lieutenant, show us the dock where the ship is moored. We've got to rescue Carson and Rodney before those pirates decide to leave the port."
But they had failed to notice the new set of footsteps that had been slowly echoing down the alley, approaching steadily, and when John turned to lead his team out of the alley and toward the docks, he nearly collided with a tall, muscular, and balding man dressed in an alien-looking green uniform and armed with a primitive pistol. John's hands slowly fell away from his weapon, and the rest of his team followed suit.
More men in similar uniforms entered the alley behind and in front of them, and a moment later, one more man stepped from the shadows of the building across the street, strolling casually with a laid-back and unconcerned gait. As he steadily strode closer, John recognized him as the port-master they'd met days ago.
Unfazed by the show of force, John gazed at him indifferently. "What do you want? We're kind of in a hurry."
"You're not in a position to be askin' the questions," the port-master sneered authoritatively, coming to a stop directly in front of John. He was only a couple of inches shorter, but returned his gaze equally as confident. "Word has it that ya've been botherin' good, hard-workin' folk in this port with questions ya shouldn't be askin'. I've even gotten a few complaints."
John tried hard not to roll his eyes with his contempt for the man. "Well, no one else seemed to be bothering to do any investigating into the matter of our missing friends, so I thought we'd do some investigating of our own. It can't be illegal to ask a few people some questions."
"Now that depends on what ya've found," the port-master stated with a greedy smirk. "Me boys here have been followin' ya for a while now, an' they tell me ya been in business with that disreputable house on the west side o' the docks. I think that pretty sum ya paid them was for information. I want Te'Lan. You want yer friends back. Ya don't really think that just the five o' ya can overpower a ship manned with dozens o' seasoned pirates, do ya?"
Ronon grinned happily, grabbing the nearest uniformed henchman by the tunic and disarming him in less than a second. "If they're anything like you, they don't seem so tough to me."
Holding out a hand in an attempt to urge Ronon to restrain himself, John considered the port-master's words suspiciously. "And if we tell you what we know, what then?"
The port-master grinned, baring his crooked and missing teeth. "With yer advanced weapons an' the man-power at my disposal, we can both have what we want. So, what do ya say? Shall we work together?"
John watched the port-master outstretched his hand to shake on the deal, but Ronon promptly pulled him aside to whisper in his ear. "I don't trust him. We don't need them."
"Normally, I'd tend to agree," he replied softly so as not to be heard by anyone else. "But if we don't give him Te'Lan, I think they'll be seriously unhappy with us. Who knows what they'd do just out of spite."
The team watched as John slowly reached out to grasp the port-master's hand. His team watched as the two leaders sealed the deal with the handshake, and they were unanimously and unarguably positive that it may very well be the biggest mistake they'd ever made.
Rodney had managed to calm down a bit since Carson had been tossed back inside the hold with him, but the waves of panic and the spikes of adrenaline coursing through his veins didn't cease. They could hear the repairs to the ship being completed, could hear board planks being put into place and nails being hammered, and with each cessation of noise, they knew that they were one task closer to leaving the port once more.
Carson had told him in a hushed tone of his visit with Laura and how she was going to try to summon some help for them, but even that wasn't enough to completely deter Rodney's anxiety. Claustrophobia was just one of those irrational fears that were too stubborn to be rid of easily.
Time passed slowly, and after what Carson was positive had been at least two hours, the anxiously stressed shouting voices rose louder over the noises of the work that was being done on the ship. Attempting to peer through a tiny crack in the door panel at what was going on, Carson thought he saw the slightest hints of light streaking across the dark violet night sky and saw sailors hurriedly drawing lines and rigging, preparing the ship to depart the port.
His heart sank. They were making the ship ready to leave already! Where was the help that Laura had promised would come?
"What's going on?" Rodney whispered softly, anxiously trying futilely to find a crack of his own to peer through. "I can't see anything."
"They're makin' the ship ready ta sail," Carson replied lowly, unable to keep the fear and disappointment from his voice completely. "I cannae hear what they're sayin'."
Just as Carson caught a glimpse of the sail being raised up the new jury-rigged mast, men ran to and fro across his narrow field of vision and a body suddenly slammed against the wall of the compartment they were being kept in, startling them. Rodney was so surprised that he hit the crown of his head against the short ceiling of the hold. Clutching at his head and trying to rub away some of the sting, Rodney began to bang at the panel of the door again with panic.
Carson didn't try to stop him and instead tried to focus on identifying the person who'd just collapsed. The man was wearing a green uniform, not dissimilar in design to the uniforms of the sailors in blue that had attacked the ship while they'd been at sea. He could only surmise that it was another enemy attack. Could this be the rescue that Laura had promised?
A pool of dark blood that had formed next to the dead man began to trickle under the door onto the low floor of the smuggler's hold, and Rodney shrank back into the corner, gagging and coughing with disgust and fear. Sailors who had been tightening and tying off rigging began to draw swords, pistols, and belaying pins to defend the ship from the attackers as the ship itself slowly began to move.
The resounding noise of the gangplank falling away from the ship into the water echoed through the compartment while Carson struggled to see more. But seconds stretched into minutes, and the sounds of fighting, shouting, firing, and the clanging of swords faded. The moans of wounded men and the sickeningly sweet smell of blood leeched through the panel.
The latch was then unexpectedly unlocked, and the two prisoners were hauled out. The ropes binding their wrists behind them were cut, and then Carson and Rodney were fully exposed to the gruesome sight that lay before them. Disemboweled men in green uniforms and pirate clothing alike littered the decks, along with sliced limbs and the scattered remains of their entrails. A few bloodied crewmen moaned with the pain of their injuries, and Rodney once more flung himself over to the gunwalls to empty what bile remained in his stomach.
The port in which their rescue was supposed to have occurred was far away on the distant horizon and in mere moments would be completely gone from sight. Rodney sighed, sinking to his knees on the deck, and nearly cried with frustration while Carson silently retrieved alcohol, the fresh supply of linen bandages, and the set of surgeon's knives from the space in which they'd been stowed in the crew cabin, then solemnly went to work patching up the men that he could save from a gruesome death at sea.
Captain Te'Lan had stayed this time, though, and hovered warily behind Carson while he worked. Carson said nothing, not even a word of thanks when the captain moved to help restrain a few of the men who were delirious with pain. Carson moved with the efficiency and competency with which he'd been trained, but without emotion or the aura of compassion and sympathy that usually came so naturally to him.
He simply could not bear the void of darkness that grew in his heart when he thought about the men he was treating. Forcing himself not to feel compassion for the patients he was treating was one of the most horrible things he'd ever been expected to do during his time as CMO of Atlantis. If there was one aspect of his duty that he found hard to bear, it was that.
Sneaking a glance over at Rodney, Carson paused for a moment and then looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood, his patient's blood, and he knew the man would die if he did not continue. But there was one thing that Carson valued more than his duty or his guilt or even his own life, and that was Rodney's life. He would not be a man who let his friend down, not at any cost.