The Cynical Soldier
Chapter 6:
The rain ran down McKay's face, droplets hanging heavy in his lashes. All ignored, all attention focused on the man in his grasp waiting for his answer. The man tried to push away from him, but with the tree at his back he had nowhere to go. "I… I don't know," he stammered, unable to take his eyes away from McKay's.
"You tracked me like an animal for over two weeks and you expect me to believe you don't know who I am?" McKay stated, the anger that was rising evident in his voice.
"I'm only the tracker," the man pleaded, "I was just told to track you, I was just following the orders of my superiors," he stressed, eyes wide with terror.
"Only following orders," McKay sneered. He didn't know why those words just made him angrier, but they did, "You led these soldiers here to kill me," he spat. Hate and disdain warring for precedence over his features. "Do you know anything about me? About the person you led these soldiers here to kill without even asking why?"
"I just know that you escaped from the auction with no control. They… they said you were a danger," he said as his eyes were drawn to his friend Scansa, who was slumped limply against him. Death must have taken him silently while they talked as his eyes were now vacant, nothing left, life gone. The man pushed his head back against the tree with his eyes scrunched shut, "I don't want to die," he said, soft and desperate.
"Auction," McKay stated sternly, ignoring his pleas. "You were going to auction me!?" Indignation tempered the angry tones.
His eyes snapped open, he tried to explain. "It's what they do, they find people and make them new, give them a second chance, like… like Scansa."
Fury threatened to overwhelm McKay as he shouted at the man, "Two months of indescribable pain is making me new?" As he spoke his voice became softer, but somehow more deadly, "Two months of begging them to stop, of pleading to know why, what had I done. Two months of being ignored as if my pain was nothing. They almost broke me. I may not remember, but I know I never asked for that, no one would ever be desperate enough to ask for that," he spat.
Enough, this man knows nothing, McKay thought to himself, but he knew he couldn't leave the man alive, if he got free he could easily beat him back to the town. He needed them to think he was still out here, being tracked. He reached out and clasped his hands around the man's head. He bunched his muscles preparing for the sharp twist. Either that or the look in his eyes must have given him away because the man cried out. "No wait! I can lead you to them."
McKay paused, one hand coming away to tap out his thoughts. The man took this as a reprieve and continued, "I know where they live, where they eat. They can answer your questions," he said. It would be quicker once he reached the town, but he would have to keep him captive and there was always the chance he would escape, also it would slow him down.
He put his hands back on the man's head. "No, wait!" the man cried out. McKay looked into his face, pausing. The man took a ragged breath, now visibly falling apart. His body shaking as it was racked with stifled sobs, "I don't want to die," desperation echoed through him as tears sprang from his closed eyes.
McKay steeled himself against his inner voice as he bunched up his muscles and gave a sharp twist. Just a moment of bones crushing against each other, a moan of pain immediately stifled by death and yet the sounds echoed in the silence of the woods. A last cry against the violence.
"It was you or me, I had to choose me," he said softly as he let his hands fall free to his side, the man's head slumping against his chest as McKay released his grip. The rain ran over them unchecked and silence descended once again. He stood watching the empty shell that used to hold life till he chased it away with his own hands. This man had begged, just as he had once begged to know why, and like those men, McKay had ignored him. He didn't like this feeling inside, but logic left no other option that didn't invite failure, and he wasn't going to fail.
He was going to find the answers. The need was like a physical ache inside and no one was going to stand in his way. He cast a last glance at the dead man before turning and running back into the jungle to start back towards the town. As he jogged through the trees, part of his mind turned inwards. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of man he was before.
Did he always kill this easily? Had he always known how many ways he could take a man's life? The voice from deep inside said differently, but killing came so easily he thought maybe he had always ignored the voice inside. He wondered about who he left behind. No one had come after him that he knew of, did that mean there was no one or that they just didn't care enough to come for him?
He stopped by the cave he had found earlier and collected his meagre belongings. He stood at the entrance; the last time he had stood here three people had been alive, now they were dead and all by his hand. He gave a deep sigh and began his journey. The thoughts turned inwards again, he could never seem to stop his mind from turning.
What kind of man was it that touched no one and killed so easily and so well. There was a third option that filled him with dread, that those that did matter were right here with him. After all, he could walk past his own family and not know it. That he might have left them behind. He would rather think that he had been all alone in the universe than to think he had left someone he cared about in that place.
Thoughts go through his mind, trying to second guess answers he has no way of knowing and worrying because he's becoming suspicious of words that appear in his mind from nowhere. Are they his thoughts…or theirs? Are you reacting as you or as the person they made you to be? His mind asks. Can you even trust yourself?
He remembers when he first escaped, how the soldier hadn't even raised his gun. Had just ordered him back into his cell and had expected him to obey. The initial confusion when he just kept on advancing. The fear in the guard's eyes as he realised, too late, that he wasn't obeying. He thinks that's the scariest thing so far, the absolute faith the guard had that he would just obey without question. That he was meant to obey without question, to return to a life of pain because a stranger ordered him to.
He runs at a steady pace till nightfall. It took nearly two weeks to get here but by taking a direct route he can get back faster. He doesn't have to worry about being followed this time either, but even so, it will still take him a week to get back.
He knows the face he needs to find, it's etched into his brain with hate. He doesn't remember anything before, his first memory is waking up to pain with that face looking down at him, impassive and indifferent. The only sounds were his own screams, his pleas for a reprieve from the pain, all unheeded. Not denied, just ignored.
He sets some basic traps around him, he won't take any chances on his freedom now that he has it. He bunks down for the night, looking for an early start. Maybe, once he is out of the woods, he can travel longer into the night to get back quicker. He falls asleep with the beginnings of a plan in his mind, and maybe the odd indulgent dream of vengeance.
*********************
They sat around the table in the briefing room. "Colonel?" Weir said, in effect handing the meeting over to him.
"Elizabeth," he acknowledged with a nod as turned to look around the table at Zelenka, Carson, Ronon, Teyla and Lorne, who were also present. "We will have two cloaked jumpers, fully manned, to accompany us. I will go through first, Lorne and then Markham will follow, cloaking immediately on arrival." Sheppard returned his gaze to Elizabeth as he continued.
"Once through they will land by the gate until I have reached the town. By then Zelenka should have initiated the ATA sensors and then Lorne's shuttle, with Zelenka aboard, will begin scanning for McKay in a spiral pattern towards the town. Markham's jumper stays at the gate as back up. The jumpers will be fully manned but, given their ground troops, I want to avoid fighting on the ground, and it will be a last resort only. However, I am hoping that if we are able to flood a small area it will give us an advantage at the point of extraction."
Sheppard held himself upright and no smile graced his face. His sense of humour had long since deserted him. All thoughts bent towards bringing Rodney home. He turned to Zelenka, "How are you getting on with the ATA Tracker?"
"We should have a working prototype within days, if I could ask for your time again this afternoon for some more trials, Colonel?" Radek queried.
"Anything you need. Radio me when you're ready." He nodded to Zelenka who nodded back in return. Sheppard turned to Elizabeth, who smiled at them all.
"Mission approved. Let's bring Rodney home."
Sheppard and his team hadbeen trying to keep themselves occupied. They left the briefing room heading for different areas. Sheppard went with Lorne to finalise some details while Ronon and Teyla went to the gym together. Ronon spent day after day in the gym or running round the city. Teyla, with her thoughts constantly turning to Rodney, had found that meditating was unusually beyond her right now and had taken to joining him. When Sheppard wasn't working with Zelenka on the ATA Gene Tracker,
he also joined them.
During this time, Sheppard explained brain washing and the Stockholm syndrome and the procedures used to undermine them; trying to stimulate the strongest memories. How paranoia could become a major factor, and trust. Most of all they had to ensure that Rodney trusted them.
The days dragged, but eventually there was just one week to go. Sheppard was useless now, all thoughts inward looking for anything he might have overlooked. He ran with Teyla and Ronon, sparred with Teyla and Ronon, ate with Teyla and Ronon.
All his powers of denial concentrating on not letting that single thought in his head, that thought that could break him at any time with just the mere possibility. What if we fail? What if he dies again? Because the first time nearly broke him, he knows he won't survive that again.
The night before the mission, his team sat in the deserted mess in the early morning when Teyla had finally asked the question that kept them all awake at nights. "What if we fail, John?" her voice hesitant and her eyes moist as she looked up at him.
"We can't fail," Sheppard had replied sternly. "We won't… I…" he swallowed thickly. "We won't fail," Sheppard had continued voice swamped with emotion. I can't watch him die a second time, he thought, I couldn't, not again.
"You are correct, John. We will not fail," Teyla repeated with false determination in her watery brown eyes.
Sheppard looked from Teyla to Ronon, "Whatever the cost," he said.
"Whatever the cost," they intoned together.
***************
McKay had been in town for two days and three nights. He didn't know if his face had been circulated so he kept out of sight, moving through the streets like a breeze.
He had found the auction complex on his first day and managed to locate a flat roof that overlooked the entrance all the employees used. He had food, drink and shelter and a good high view.
He watched the employees come and go and after three days he still wasn't used to the sight. He had expected these people to be hard faced and walking alone, shunned by others, for the monsters inside to be visible. But, these people left laughing and joking, belying the pain they inflicted, the poor souls they left behind as they joked and laughed their way home.
The first time he saw a wife and her children run to kiss and hold a man as husband and father he actually recoiled, taking a physical step back, unable to fathom anybody being that close to these people and not seeing the darkness inside. Yet, he couldn't take his eyes from the man's hand as it rested gently on the fragile face of the blonde haired child as they smiled at each other.
Suddenly he could feel the phantom weight of hands on him again, see the hard indifference in their eyes as they hurt him again and again. In the end he had to turn away, he pulled his arms around himself as he sank to the floor, shaking with emotions. Never again - Never again would they lay a hand on him. He stared ahead as his face became grim and his eyes shone like diamonds, every fibre tense in anger and hatred. Never again.
He was starting to consider that the man was not at work or that he slept inside as he watched the workers arrive for another morning. Then he saw a face in the crowd. The face disappeared and reappeared amongst the others, but McKay's eyes never left him, eyes like gimlets, he tracked the face in the crowd as if all others had faded away.
If he was going to succeed he couldn't let his emotions get the better of him, but even he wasn't prepared for the fury that consumed him. It was fortunate he had chosen to watch the workers from a height because he was sure if he had been on ground level no force on earth would have been able to stop him from walking up to the man and killing him where he stood. Rage burned through him as he felt the same feelings of helplessness and pain this man had inflicted resurface.
He knew he couldn't follow the man inside the building and that he would have to wait for him, but this was a good thing. It would give him time to become master of his emotions again. He could not allow anger to get the better of him.
He would wait and follow the man home where he would have all night to get his answers and his revenge. He hoped the man lived alone, a prospect that had not even occurred to him before he saw the family greeting yesterday, convinced no one would willingly share their lives with these people. He would just have to take this one step at a time and hope events played out in his favour.
He spent the day controlling his emotions and towards the end of the day he made his way down to ground level. He embraced the shadows, watching and waiting. As the man left he smiled and waved farewell to a co-worker before going separate ways. McKay, dressed in clothes he had stolen, mingled with the workers, keeping his head down but never taking his eyes from the man in front of him.
He watched the man's back as he followed him through the streets, thinking how easy it would be to end it all here. He could just walk up behind him and whisper coldly in his ear, "I came back," before he slipped a knife between his ribs and another across his throat. The images ran through his hate filled mind in glorious Technicolor, but he needed the answers to those questions that burned inside him, the need to know overrode even his hatred, so he followed, silently, and played out many deaths in his head.
On the outskirts of the town the man stopped at a white bungalow, sat in a small plot of land and surrounded by trees and bushes. McKay watched him enter and waited for the sounds of conversation. When he heard nothing, he checked the street was empty before moving into the garden and stood amongst the trees watching.
As night came, lights burned in the houses around them. McKay stood in the dark at the edge of the light as it spilled from the bungalow. He watched the man move around his house and as the man settled down to do some reading McKay moved out. Silently and deadly he moved through the garden and into the house without a sound to betray him. He actually stood behind the man, watching him pour over the papers in front of him. He moved his foot so it scuffed on the patterned carpet.
The man looked up, startled at the noise. His eyes widened and McKay saw fear in them as he moved round to face him. At last a reaction, he smiled slowly. "Who am I?" he said softly and deadly.
The man swallowed hard and then with false cheer, he exclaimed, "Thank god, you came back to us." He stood, putting a hand on McKay's shoulder, leading him to the sofa, "we were so worried about you."
"Take you hands of me," McKay stated, hard as steel and just as sharp. The man lifted his hands immediately and sat down on the sofa. "Please, sit down."
He was so confused by the unexpected greeting he was already sitting down before he came to his senses. "So worried you sent men to kill me?" McKay asked as he turned to face the man on the sofa.
"Not to kill you, to bring you back where you'd be safe," the man said with an easy smile. "How much do you remember?" he asked.
"I remember pain," he replied, and as his voice dropped heavier, "I remember your face."
"Well, you knew about the pain when you asked me to help you, but I don't suppose you remember that, now why don't I…."
"Who am I?" McKay interrupted sternly.
"What?" the man asked.
"My name, Goddammit. What is my name?" He snarled as he snaked a hand out to rest against the man's neck, running a thumb heavily down his throat, over his adam's apple, the threat obvious.
"Tomas," the man said quickly, his voice pitched high in fright. He swallowed before expanding, "Tomas Retterick." McKay could feel the pulse point behind his ear beating fast. He turned the name around in his mind. Nothing.
"Tell me about myself. Why did I ask for this? Where am I from?" He leant in a little closer. "Tell me everything." He kept his voice level, tried not to think about how easy it would be to just tighten his grip.
"It's a long story, why don't I…." the man started as he began to stand up. McKay applied pressure to bring him back down onto the settee as he spoke.
"I don't think so. We have all night so why don't you start at the beginning?"
The man nodded, "Sure Tomas, anything you say. You come from the Adzere region to the South." He looked hesitantly at McKay. "You killed some people there in an accident and you felt guilty so you came to us. We're able to write over memories and we will find you work that put's money back into the social structure of our society. You wanted to pay penance, but the guilt held you back. This procedure is normally only for criminals, you begged me to put you into the program. I told you about the pain, you said it would be your penance.
"You were taking the treatment perfectly, one of the best in our history. You soaked up the new information like a stoarka and took commands well. You were going to be our most prized, but then the commands stopped taking effect and you became confused and disorientated. We thought we had fixed the problem when you broke out. I'm afraid you killed again, Tomas."
"That name means nothing to me," Rodney said.
"No, Tomas. It's all or nothing," the man said easily. "Given time your memories would surface again without further treatment and you will need the final process to contain them completely. I can't stress how much you wanted this, how much you wanted to forget. It's still not too late, I think we can still help you."
Rodney had been hoping for more. He had thought his name was important enough to him, that it would be the key to open the doors to the places he couldn't reach. He had imagined a flood of memories at the sound of his name, things slotting into place, finally knowing who he was.
He wasn't sure if he believed this man or not, but he hoped even if he was lying there would be a basis of truth hidden amongst the lies, so he pushed for more. "So, I came here alone? There is no one I know here as well?" he asked.
"No, Tomas. You came to us alone, you never mentioned anyone," came the quiet reply.
Relief flooded through his system. He had not realised to what degree he had dreaded leaving someone behind. "Tell me about the accident, about the one I caused that killed people."
"Tomas," the man said gently.
"Tell me," Rodney said, soft and deadly.
The man shrugged slightly, encumbered still by Rodney's hand resting on his shoulder and around his throat. "I only know what you told me. You were a soldier and there was an explosion that you had caused. The other soldiers with you were killed. Out of your whole team only you alone survived and it ate away at you until you had to do something about it."
He had lots of images of explosions in his head, but who knew if any of those were the one he spoke of or just an image linked to the word explosion. But when the man said 'team' he got flashes, a man in black with black hair, a man in leather with dreadlocks, a pretty redhead, the images flashing so fast that he couldn't even see their faces and couldn't bring them back no matter how hard he tried.
"You okay, Tomas?" the man asked gently.
"What's your name?" Rodney said, glaring at him.
"Milton," he said. "Milton Letts," he expanded.
Nothing. No flashes, no sounds, no memories.
"One of the men in the woods said you were going to auction me off," McKay said.
"Yes Tomas. All the information we gave to you is so we can place you in the auction. We were training you to be a bodyguard. You said serving the rest of your life protecting someone would be appropriate." The man's voice sounding patient.
Rodney knew he could see fear underneath the smiles, feel his pulse beating under his thumb, but that didn't mean the man wasn't telling the truth. Even if they used to be the best of friends, this man knew that McKay did not know that and that he had been trained to kill. Even if he was telling the truth a part of him would still be scared by the situation. McKay just didn't know.
The voice inside was shouting go, go, go but he had ignored it before. He still didn't know who to trust more, the man or the voice inside.
"Whens the auction?" he asked.
"Tomorrow afternoon," the man said. "We can still help you, if you will let us, Tomas." He stressed with a pleading voice, "Let us help you to forget, Tomas, let me help you to pay penance for those who died."
Rodney couldn't help but feel a sense of rightness about that. Pay penance for those who have died. Something about that did seem to connect somewhere in the darkness where he couldn't go. Maybe, just maybe, that is what he had wanted all along.
TBC.