"Colonel Sheppard?"
John became slowly aware of the voice calling his name even before he felt the sharp sting of someone slapping his cheek.
"Colonel Sheppard, it's time to answer some questions now. Wake up."
"No…comment," John slurred, still woozy from sleep and the drugs he could feel muddling his brain and slowing his responses. He didn't want to answer any questions. No, he couldn't answer any questions, not if he wanted to stay useful. His mind wandered for a moment, wondering why being useful was actually important. Then he jerked with the jolt of memory. They wanted the address for Atlantis. They wanted to ransom him for weapons. He couldn't answer their questions. But he was so groggy, and his head felt so thick.
"Colonel Sheppard, I need to know the name of your homeworld. What is the 'gate address of your planet?"
"No comment." John felt he should come up with a wittier response, but he was thinking too slowly. If he could just stick with no comment, he'd be OK, he decided, finally. He was less likely to slip up and reveal something that way. He cracked open his eyes, then squinted against the bright glare that still bore down on him above the table he was still strapped to.
"Why were you following those men through our Stargate?"
"No comment."
John finally identified the voice of the man questioning him as the same man who had been with the woman earlier. He looked around blearily. There was no sign of the woman and…yes, the same man as before stood leaning over him, an eager, greedy expression on his face.
"What kind of weapons were you carrying?"
John paused at that question. Yes, the man had mentioned weapons before. "The deadly kind," he answered at last.
"Where did you get them? Do your people make them?"
"No comment."
"How long had you been following the traders?" "Why were you on Gellan?"
And so it went. The man with the deep voice asked his questions over and over, and John replied in a dull monotone until he thought he might scream from the sheer boredom of it. His stubbornness was not without consequence, though. The man grew clearly more and more frustrated until at last he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked, leaning close to John's ear. "You will tell me what I wish to know," the man snarled as John gasped at the pain.
"What are you doing, Niklas?"
The man glared into John's equally determined eyes for a moment longer, then turned to smoothly answer his colleague, "I was questioning him again, trying to find out his homeworld. He tried to head-butt me!" John snorted at the lie and rolled his eyes.
"I would expect no less of him," the woman replied, sounding amused.
"What are you doing next, Mahala?" The man, Niklas, was all calm control again.
"He's due for the last injection. After that, he'll be ready for your department. You can question him all you want, for all the good it will do you…"
"You don't think he'll talk to us, even after all you've done?"
John just caught the woman's shrug out the corner of his eye, "I think this man has been trained to resist interrogation. If he feels threatened, he could probably stonewall you all day. But, yes, maybe after the next injection begins to take effect, he'll see things differently."
"How long before we know if you've gotten the right dosages and he no longer feels threatened?"
"We'll have no real way to tell for several hours. When he starts to talk and stops taking a swing at everyone he sees, we'll know."
"What if he doesn't?"
Mahala sighed, an irritating, false affectation she seemed to use frequently. "Then we try the next series of drugs. I hope it doesn't come to that. They are still in development, and the side-effects are quite uncomfortable."
Niklas just barely grinned and met John's wary eyes with cold sarcasm, "Yes, let's hope it doesn't come to that."
"It doesn't have to come to anything if you just let me go." John finally joined the conversation, irritated that they were talking about him as if he were in another room.
"I'm afraid that's impossible in your condition," the man's deep voice was sickeningly sweet. He turned away and strode purposefully out of the room. John instead looked at the woman who was busying her self around the metal tray again.
"You could – this is just a thought here – you know, stop doing what you're doing and improve my "condition" a great deal."
Mahala smiled, tapped a syringe with a wickedly large needle, then, setting the needle down, began to fiddle with his buckle and the button on his pants. Surprised and embarrassed, John squirmed furiously, but the doctor only leaned an elbow against his side and smirked as he froze when she tweaked the tender spot.
"Not to hurt your feelings or anything," growled John between gasping breaths as she tackled the zipper next, "but we should really get to know each other first…"
The woman just tugged on the pants top, pulling one side down far enough to expose his hip. John cursed like a sailor when the large needle sank deep into muscle, then lay groaning as the spot continued to sting and throb. Mahala neatly tugged his pants back up and refastened his belt.
"There now. All done," she said happily. Hopefully in a little while, you'll feel much more like telling me all about yourself, Colonel. We can do that "getting acquainted" part, then."
Her casual cheerfulness as she blithely reminded him of the interrogation to come was more terrifying than any threat of violence John could imagine. "In that case," he managed to force out, his voice shaking only a tiny bit, "I guess you'll have to start calling me John."
She was smiling as she lifted another needle towards the injection port on his IV bag hanging just above his head.
"Good night, John," she said, and released the liquid into his arm.
John felt the slight temperature change as the cooler medicine flowed into his arm, then the room faded away, and John along with it.
Transcript from the logs of Dr. Elizabeth Weir, July 8
…As if we don't have enough to worry about, there has been a serious terrorist attack on Gellan and the security minister who we have been working with for the last month was taken prisoner – or hostage possibly – by the group Colonel Sheppard was supposedly trailing. I hesitate to speculate on the meaning of the attack, and refuse to accept any explanation but coincidence that this has occurred while Sheppard is still missing.
If there is a small ray of sunshine in the whole mess, it is that the Gellan security forces who have been working with Colonel Sheppard performed extremely well during the attack. Because of their new skills and procedures, the attack, while devastating, could easily have been much worse. Three terrorists were intercepted and stopped before they completed planting explosives that would have caused massive civilian casualties. We are lending assistance where we can, Dr. Beckett has joined the Gellan doctors in treating the casualties they did suffer, and I managed to convince Ronon to return and continue the security training on Sheppard's behalf.
It has now been 20 hours since our last contact with Sheppard. McKay has had some luck with the 'gate addresses gathered at the trading village – apparently only three were unique with the other 47 going back to either Gellan or Gemman. Major Lorne is arranging teams to search two of the three unique addresses, the third belongs to a reclusive colony that we've been advised to approach cautiously. As such, we will send a MALP through to request friendly dialog with their government in 6 hours at their planet's dawn.
Hopefully some sign of John will turn up. If he's in trouble, perhaps someone will have seen him, or be able to point us in the right direction.
I can't imagine that he's not in trouble though. We would have heard something from him even if he were still working covertly. Therefore, as of this moment, I am classifying all efforts to find him as search and rescue.