Thanks again for the reviews, and to all those still following the story.

DAMAGED

CHAPTER 7

Hamlane knew that being a good judge of character wasn't a prerequisite to becoming an effective slave master, although that particular skill had served him well over the years.

Usually, after only a short meeting with one of the master's new acquisitions, he was soon able to tell who would be likely to follow orders without question, but also quickly identify those who might need a little encouragement in order to meet the exacting requirements of the Lord Protector's household. He also prided himself on his ability to match the right person with the right job, so upon meeting the new slave, John, Hamlane soon realised that if the tall, proud man in front of him had ever been a shepherd…then he would be the next master.

The man's air of authority as he came into the office and dared to look him straight in the eye was verging on the belligerent, especially considering he was new here. It was also obvious by the stiff manner in which the slave held himself that he was still in some pain, although concealed it well, barely flinching when, with reluctance almost bordering on insolence, he finally removed his tunic after the second request.

Hamlane didn't need a closer examination to tell him the ragged scars had been caused by a whip. The deep criss crossed lacerations unmistakable, however, he did wonder what this slave had done to deserve such an unusually painful punishment. All of the tears were slashed solely into the more tender chest area rather than his back, some of the wounds still appearing raw, though fortunately from his perspective, the majority had healed.

Streya, the young house maid who had cared for the slave, informed him that the man alleged he'd lost his memory, even now claiming no knowledge of his previous life, before he awoke in the castle. A likely story in his view, but whether or not it was true, or simply a ruse to conceal a troublesome past, Hamlane was determined to find out.

Regardless of his lost memory, there was something about this man that puzzled Hamlane. Over his many years of service, he'd had cause to bring many belligerent slaves into line, some, because they were lazy, others, because they were too stupid to realise, at least to start with, that failure to comply with the Master's rules would not be tolerated. In both cases, a short, uncomfortable stay in the dungeon, or the bite of the whip, was usually enough to rectify the problem. However, he sensed while this man appeared to be intelligent, he also already exhibited a worrying degree of attitude toward his authority, which did not bode well for his future wellbeing.

Despite the nature of his injuries, this man, John, possessed a proud bearing, and his confident, almost arrogant demeanour was unlike any slave he'd ever met. He was also aware that this new acquisition had been found dying in the desert, and purely on the basis of finding a strange metal necklace around his neck was pronounced a slave…but was he? Hamlane harboured doubts, but the Master's instructions were paramount, and at the end of the day it was none of his concern; he had a job to do.

"Good morning, John. My name is Hamlane and I am the Chamberlain here, responsible for all the slaves owned by our Master, The Lord Protector of Estraska," he explained, but the expression from the new slave didn't change - he still looked unimpressed. "I can see that your wounds are healing well, but I understand you still have no memory of when or why you received them?" Hamlane asked, keeping his tone disinterested, as he was irritated at the continued defiant tilt of the stranger's jaw, and the piercing glare he was giving him.

"No…"

"That's a pity, because now you have left me with a dilemma." Hamlane searched the man's face for answers before continuing, trying to decide whether or not he was lying. "Your wounds were caused by a whip, so from that alone, I can only deduce they were inflicted as a punishment - I can't think of any other reason, can you?" he reasoned, but the man's expression remained the same – impassive. Hamlane could only conclude he really had lost his memory. That, or John really was a very good liar.

"I've already told you I don't know," John replied, the quiet tone of his voice sounding no less annoyed for the lack of volume. "But I'll tell you this, regardless of how I was found, or what was around my neck, I cannot and will not believe I was ever a slave."

Hamlane, stood back on his heels for a moment and considered the angry, determined slave glaring at him, trying not to let his own irritation show. "Well, how a man with no memory can be so sure, I don't know," he pointed out. "What I do know is, regardless of what the truth may be, as the Master considers you to be his property, it is my job to make sure you not only understand your role in this household, but also obey the rules." Hamlane reached forward and gripped John's chin firmly in his hand, then glared into his eyes. "Is that understood?"

"Perfectly…" he heard the slave reply. He let go of his face, then the man unexpectedly interrupted. "Perfectly clear that you're not the one in charge here, so I'd like to talk to the Lord Protector if that's okay. Can you organise that for me, chief?" John asked in an impudent tone, while giving him a wry smile, and Hamlane sadly realised that his warning had made no impression, because the defiance was still there…

"Durand," Hamlane turned to his tall, well-built assistant and clicked his fingers. "The bands, please."

Hamlane decided not to grace his insolence with an answer, and saw a flash of anger, almost indignation, as the youth snapped the thick smooth bronze bands around John's wrists and ankles then passed him the last one destined for his neck.

A tall man, Hamlane was pleased that although he didn't tower over the slave standing before him, he nonetheless had the advantage of slightly looking down upon him as he secured the last metal band around his neck. "With these chains, you are hereby placed into the service of our esteemed master, Garmen, the Lord Protector of Estraska. Bend your knee, slave, and pledge your allegiance to his authority. "

"No," John answered, his face flushed with anger. "I've already told you I'm a free man, so there's no freaking way I'm bending my knee to anyone, let alone a two-bit dictator." Hamlane's eyes flew open, surprised at the vehemence of the slave's response. But as he went to speak, the hostile man continued, although this time his tone was less aggressive, almost as if he was trying to appear more reasonable.

"Look…Hamlane, or Mr Chamberlain, is it?" John continued, his face still looking strained, although the rage of before was now only visible in the heightened flush still lingering across his face. "No offence, but I'm sure this has just been a big misunderstanding, so if you don't have the authority to sort this out just let me speak to the boss. Or even take me back to where I was found, I'm sure that someone there could figure this out."

"Enough!" Furious, Hamlane threw back his arm and slapped the back of his hand hard across his face, watching as the man staggered but didn't fall under the blow, then wiped the trickle of blood running from his mouth.

Though the slave said nothing, his silence spoke volumes, the undisguised loathing seething as if from every pore. It told him this man was going to be a problem, one which in Hamlane's experience would be better dealt with now, before he really got out of hand.

"You would do well to calm down, John, and don't make your situation any more difficult than it has to be," he warned. "In the meantime, until you accept your servitude and give your allegiance to the Master, I have no choice but to keep you locked up. Once you've had some time to consider your circumstances and accept your place, then, and only then, will you be released and assigned suitable duties."

Hamlane was annoyed at himself for losing his temper, even though he'd been provoked. Yet despite John's disrespect, he still disliked having to discipline a slave so soon after arrival. Unfortunately, the new slave's superior attitude could not be tolerated, as if he shared his outrageous views with the others, this well spoken man's influence could easily spread discontent. Therefore, it was imperative John was taught a lesson now…but Hamlane was less than confident a couple of days in the harsh, cold environment of the dungeon would be sufficient to teach the arrogant slave his place.

"I would encourage you to spend your time incarcerated wisely, by learning how to moderate your behaviour." Hamlane pressed the issue, then decided to change tack in an attempt to bring the man round by showing some empathy. "Look, John. I understand with no memory of your previous life, it must be difficult to accept you are not a free man, but once assigned duties, you will be afforded a warm place to sleep, two square meals a day and who knows, if you work hard and prove your loyalty, the master may even find you a suitable female with whom to be joined."

"Think I'll pass on that, thanks," John smirked, but the resentment never left his voice as he shook his head slowly. "I might not remember anything about my past," he said. "But somehow, I don't think I'm the settling down type of guy."

"So, you're a solitary man are you, John?" Hamlane's voice was slightly surprised, but then realised that was hypocritical of him, as while occasionally enjoying the company of the opposite sex, he also felt the same way. "Of course, while I share the sentiment, you should understand that it is not your wishes that count, it is the Master's, so you would do well to remember that." As he spoke, Hamlane signalled to Durand plus another guard standing by the door, knowing that to perform his next act, the new slave would need to be restrained.

For some reason Hamlane couldn't explain, he felt a pang of regret for what he was about to do, as he took a long, smooth controller in his hand and pressed down the oval button in one swift, firm stroke.

"What the hell?" he heard John yelp and protest loudly, as the sharp, tiny needles hidden within the bands pierced into his skin, flooding the powerful liquid restraint into his veins. Hamlane only had to wait a moment, until the drugged man fell helpless to his knees, before he turned to the brazier burning brightly in the corner of the room.

It was clear from the glazed look in his eyes that John could barely focus, but even sedated, Hamlane saw him try to struggle against the strong arms forcing him down. "You know what to do, Durand – place him face down on the floor and secure his right arm straight out to one side. Make sure he can't move. "

As Hamlane eased the thick, suede glove over his hand, he turned to the white hot, oval brand nestling within the brazier's fiery depths and wondered why the young Master had asked for this antiquated seal of ownership to be resurrected. In his view it was both cruel and unnecessary, plus made no sense, especially since the sedation bands were introduced some time ago and already bore the seal of ownership.

However, although unhappy with what he was about to do, Hamlane was all too aware he was as much a slave as the man before him, therefore just as liable to punishment if he failed to do the Master's wishes. So flinching from the heat, he ignored the loud, piercing scream as he thrust the searing hot brand against the healthy pink skin till it did its job, and tried not to gag at the rancid smell of burning flesh as it assaulted not just his nose, but also his conscience.

ooooOoooo

The frame where the vicious assault took place had been dismantled, gone without a trace, and even the so-called circle of light, the ring of pebbles where John was confined for nearly a day, had completely vanished. If not for the horrific memories, it almost seemed to Teyla as if the events of ten days ago had never happened, and were just a cruel figment of her imagination.

Teyla was aware that neither Mr Woolsey nor Carson, wanted her to be part of the delegation investigating John's disappearance - but she needed to come. She knew it was necessary to revisit the place where it had all happened, partly, if she was honest, to confront the waking nightmares that haunted her ever since her return, but also because she was desperate to remind herself why she'd started this chain of events in the first place.

Despite what everyone told her, Teyla was burdened with guilt, acutely aware that every horrific thing that happened to John, including his subsequent disappearance, was all down to her. She was the one who had pleaded with him to save the child while he was still in the infirmary. So John had done as she'd asked, though unfit to suffer the agonies necessary to secure the boy's freedom. Now he was missing, and the blame was entirely hers.

Teyla blinked, blinded by the glare of the midday sun, but when she cast her eyes down saw it glint off the empty collar where only a short time ago Elient had once been chained like an animal. As a mother herself, she found it impossible to understand how anyone could abuse a child the way they had, yet now it was good to see that even in a short space of time, treated with love and care, Elient was a different child.

With the grime washed off, his hair was more light brown than black, and with a few wholesome meals in his small belly he was becoming a real heartbreaker, although still nervous and slow to trust those who were trying to help him. Yet, as Carson rightly said, a major city was not built in a day, a place called 'Rome', she believed he called it. Though sometimes the way the boy glanced over at the door, she was almost positive he was waiting for John to enter the room.

Teyla knew John would be happy to see the difference in the boy, and she was still convinced it had been right to bring Elient's plight to his attention. Despite everything, knowing John the way she did, she believed that even if he'd know the way things were going to turn out, he would still have volunteered to take the test.

Nonetheless, even gaining some amount of closure with that sudden revelation, she still couldn't be at peace. Her conscience pricked, preying on her every waking moment for abandoning her friend when he was so badly hurt. Teyla only hoped and prayed this distasteful visit would glean some information that would help them with their search, since it was clear now that John wasn't on the planet, and according to Rodney, could be held at any of the sixty-nine locations retrieved from the DHD.

A rustle of canvas made her swing round as a grim-faced Lorne stormed out the tent. "Insufferable, jumped up…" Lorne muttered under his breath.

"I believe that was Colonel Sheppard's opinion of Chief Falack too, Major," Teyla interrupted with a wry smile. "Did you manage to find out anything about who could have taken him?" she asked, her voice laced with desperation.

Lorne shook his head. "No…But I have a feeling he knows something, he just doesn't want to share it with us," he replied, clearly frustrated, with a cynical expression on his face.

Ronon's face contorted with anger. "Just give me a few minutes with him…"

"No!" Teyla and Lorne called out in unison.

"That is not the way, Ronon," she said, turning to face him and placing her hand on his arm. "I want John to be found as much as anyone, more perhaps. Yet, we all know he would not condone that type of action. Besides, knowing Falack, it could be true that he actually doesn't know anything, and is just playing with us. Still, there is someone else I could ask," Teyla mumbled, as she started to look around and scan the compound, "but I don't see him here today."

"Yeah…suppose...but it would have made me feel better," Ronon replied, then thumped his fist against his blaster and glared at the chief's tent one more time, before storming away.

Lorne wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, then motioned toward Ronon's back. "C'mon, Teyla. Let's get the hell out of this place and head home…maybe Doctor McKay will have some better news for us."

Teyla saw her despair mirrored on his face, but no words were spoken as they fell into step and made their way towards the jumper. She considered the man by her side and knew it was unusual for the major to display his feelings, as he, just like John, normally wore a bland mask concealing how he really felt.

In some ways, she supposed being able to hide your feelings was quite a good skill to have, and wondered if it was something they taught in the military, along with weapons training and hand-to-hand combat. One skill though, she would never be able to acquire, as Teyla realised just like Ronon, she too on occasion was inclined to be headstrong.

Aware though, that John had an unhappy knack of getting under people's skin, because he was often confrontational, and she knew not everyone appreciated the Sheppard brand of humour. Teyla thought of her friend and worried about him, wondering where he could be, praying someone was taking good care of him, and that just for once, he managed to keep out of trouble long enough, until they could find him and bring him home…

ooooOoooo

TBC

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please review.