JUSTICE

CHAPTER 6

Until he'd come to Atlantis John had never seen cloaking technology before. It was an awesome city whose architecture reflected the wonders it held. When confronted with Ancient tech, John half expected to see some similarities to the home he loved. There was nothing remotely familiar about the building lying ahead. The only thing ancient about it was the stone in it's walls.

He nearly fell when Kilund rode forward, but this time a sharp, painful jerk on his neck kept him upright.

"Watch what you're doing, Sheppard." Kilund hissed out the corner of his mouth. We're being watched. I can't protect you now."

John understood, but he had too many questions to keep silent. "That cloak…the shield that makes the prison invisible. Does it come from the Ancients?"

"Quiet prisoner!" Kilund shouted, and John felt another jerk. He put his head down pretending to be duly chastised. Kilund looked ahead smiled, then whispered out the corner of his mouth. "I don't know why it's so important for you to risk a beating, but yes…it is."

"But the building's old…"

Kilund pretended to cough into his hand. "The story goes they installed it as a gift in return for the prison taking some of their own. Now will you please shut up before we both get into trouble."

It made sense. John had known for a long time that the ancients weren't the be and end all every one had initially thought they were. They'd made mistakes. Huge freaking ones big ones like the Wraith, and the Asurans. It only followed that they weren't immune to committing crime either.

He was curious what some of their citizens had done to earn a stay in Flenda. He also wondered what happened to them. Removed from their home John reckoned they wouldn't have survived long in a place like this. If they had, they would have had plenty of time to meditate and contemplate their crimes. Anyone left behind would have ascended by now. It wasn't a bad idea. The whole ascension thing hadn't held any appeal for him in the sanctuary, however facing a long stretch the idea was growing more attractive by the minute.

"Was the prisoner giving you trouble, Kilund?"

Two men approached holding a set of heavy looking chains. One was tall with sandy hair and looked in his mid twenties. The other was only slightly shorter, with cropped black hair and a rugged complexion. John reckoned he was about Lorne's age. Both of them were wearing the same uniform as Kilund, but neither had stripes.

"Nothing I couldn't handle." Kilund laughed, and gave John's neck another jerk sending him sprawling to the ground. When John looked up, he saw a flash of remorse which the older man quickly concealed.

"Well…we'll take it from here now. Here's your money. By the way, Rualin wants to see you. I think he has another job for you."

The taller of the men threw him a small leather pouch. Kilund looked at it for a moment, then shoved it in his pocket. "Send my apologies to Commander Rualin. Tell him I'm not taking another job for a while. I'm going to take some personal time."

The guards exchanged a look, and John couldn't blame them. He hadn't the pleasure of meeting the guy yet, but from all accounts Rualin wasn't the type to be ignored. He stole a glance at Kilund and raised an eyebrow.

"Look…it's a little embarrassing but I took a tumble the other day. My head's still a little fuzzy so I'm not up to another transport right now."

It seemed to satisfy the guards, but John wasn't fooled. Sure, Kilund had suffered a concussion, but he wasn't the type to let an injury put him off his stride for long. He wondered what was really going on with him. Unfortunately it looked like he wasn't going to get the chance to find out.

As the guard went to take off John's ropes, Kilund slid off his mount. "I'll do that…" At the guard's obvious surprise, he explained. "I tied them. It'll be quicker if I take them off myself."

He carefully untied John's hands without causing him any further pain. When he went to take the rope from his neck Kilund came in close and whispered in his ear. "Good luck, Colonel."

John felt the sergeant's hand squeeze his shoulder, then with a final nod Kilund jumped on his mount and rode back from where they'd come.

While the men were fitting the chains John was afforded his first view of Flenda. There only appeared to be one entrance. It was a stout wooden door split into two and reinforced with wide metal struts. The last of the fading sun glinted off a window. When John had first seen the stark grey high stone walls he hadn't thought there was any. Now he noticed a few barred windows set at the highest level. Although as a solider, what interested him most were the four towers.

There was one at each corner. He could only see the front two clearly. Both had guns trained on him. He didn't doubt the other two positions were similarly manned. From a security point of view he had to hand it to them - it was simplistic but flawless.

The cloak would keep the location hidden, and set in the middle of the desert the guards could see anyone coming for miles around. If you did manage to evade the guards long enough to exit the prison, you'd would be shot within minutes. John wondered if anyone had managed to escape from here. If they did, how long they'd survived afterwards.

It was a chilling thought. Not for the first time he hoped no one in Atlantis would be dumb enough to attempt a rescue. An escort home after an early release would be another matter. John wondered how his appeal was going.

His wrists were now encased in thick metal bands. There were only a few links separating his hands. The few inches gave just enough room for a long linked chain to be attached from between his wrists, to the chain separating the bands around his feet. They were heavy suckers, and he could barely move.

A hard shove propelled him forward. "What's taking you so long – pick up the pace, prisoner!"

John stumbled, and heard a whooshing noise before a thud pushed him onto the ground. A fierce stinging pain spread across his back.

"Get up!"

He didn't move fast enough, and another vicious strike followed. John gritted his teeth, but couldn't suppress a hiss as the sharp burning blow set the wounds on his back alight. Through glazed eyes he looked at what the guard was holding. It was a long thick cane.

"That's an infraction prisoner, but I don't have time to deal with your disobedience." John was hauled to his feet. He was half walked, half dragged the rest of the way inside.

Dusk was upon them and already there was a chill in the air, but his feet were red hot again. John looked down and saw why. They were in a large open courtyard, and the stones he was standing on were covered in shiny black paint. He inwardly groaned. John now knew what Kilund had meant when he'd talked about the alcohol toughening up his feet. This courtyard would get damned hot during the day, and the paint would ensure the stones keep in the heat. He had to hand it to the genius who'd thought up this little gem. It was both brilliant and sadistic.

In the lengthening shadows, John saw a wooden frame in the shape of a 'Y' positioned at one end. His heart sank. It didn't take McKay's smarts to figure out what it was for. With the amount of corporal punishment he was due, John reckoned he and the frame would be good friends by the time the year was out. Set at the other end of the courtyard were two curved doorways hewn out the stone. He was pulled through the one on the left.

John guessed it was another ten minutes, and several flights of stairs downward later before he arrived at his destination. There was a bald man sitting at a counter reading a book. He was wearing sergeant's stripes and looked a similar age to Kilund. He immediately put it down and looked him over.

"Finally…I can maybe get to bed now." He lifted up a flap, and came round the counter. "Sheppard…welcome to Flenda. All new prisoners get to spend their first couple of days in the hole, but don't take this as a punishment. Think of it as an adjustment period to get used to life inside. Trust me…if you're sent here as punishment, you'll know it."

"He's already committed one infraction."

The sergeant was a big man, and towered over the young guard who'd made the comment. "Oh…and what was that for?"

"He was dragging his feet. Then when he fell, he disobeyed an order to get up."

"Is that so…" The older man slowly dragged his eyes from the chains around John's feet to the now red-faced guard. His expression spoke volumes. "Well you see, son, given the prisoner hasn't been told the rules yet, I don't think that'll count." He put his hand on John's back and it came away red. "Anyway…I can see you've already disciplined him, so I think we'll just leave it at that."

"But…"

"Goodnight, Jalune."

John couldn't suppress a smirk as the sergeant turned his back on the protesting guard, and guided him into a small corridor beside the cells. When he pulled up his tunic to inspect the damage, John flinched.

"It's only a small cut. Once you get cleaned up, it shouldn't cause you any problems." He put down the shirt and came round to face him. "Jalune may be a little over zealous, but I'm warning you – lose the attitude, boy. If I ever…and I mean ever, see you looking at him or any other guard like that again. I won't need orders from the Commander to give you a thrashing. Do I make myself clear?"

John nodded, but when the guy continued to glare at him he knew he expected an answer. "Yes…Sir."

They locked eyes, and for a minute John thought he was going to hit him. Instead the powerful man grabbed his arm and pushed him towards the nearest cell. The metal door was opened to reveal a small five by ten foot space. There was no window, no light and no bedding of any kind. Even from the doorway the stench of urine was overpowering. As he didn't want to annoy the guy any more, he shuffled inside without being told.

Any hopes he would lose the chains were dashed as a slops bucket was thrown in after him. Just when he expected the door shut in his face the guy appeared with a hose.

John's look of disbelieve was met with a smile as the guy turned on the jet. He gasped as the freezing water drenched him from head to toe, nearly falling as he slid on the now slippery stone floor. The soaking was methodical as the sergeant took special care with his feet and back. When he was done, John was met with a wide grin as the door was slammed leaving him in total darkness. Unable to see, John carefully edged his way to the corner. There he stood shivering, waiting for the water to disperse from the cell so he could sit down. The guard in Taluna had been right. He was in hell.

ooooOoooo

Rodney skulked around the corner and looked furtively at the entrance to his lab. There was no one about but the moment he peered inside, Radek came to stand in front of him. The scientist looked irritated.

"Why are you doing this to yourself, Rodney? You know Doctor Keller has forbidden you to return to work until the end of the week. I'm sorry…but I have my orders. You are not getting in."

He knew he'd been busted, but Rodney decided to try another tack. "Duh…of course I know that. Although I find it insulting, not to mention a little hurtful you'd think I'd even try something so devious."

Radek stared at him over his spectacles. "Then I apologise. So…what do you want?"

He wasn't prepared for such a blunt answer, but he wasn't about to give in now. "My mug," he peered over the Czech's shoulder, "I can see it right over there…"

As he started to squeeze past, Radek put his hand on the doorframe blocking his path.

"Mica, will you bring Doctor McKay his mug please?" The Czech took it from the smiling tech, and handed it over. "There you are. Good evening, Rodney, I'll see you on Friday." He gave Rodney a tight smile then closed the door.

If it hadn't been a present from Madison he would have thrown it against the wall. He didn't even like the dumb thing. Rodney hated the garish purple colour and worse still, it didn't even keep the coffee hot. When he'd promised the kid he'd use it, he thought it would have broken by now. That was two years ago.

Fed up, he silently fumed all the way to the mess. He really wasn't in the mood for company but when Teyla waved him over, he reluctantly joined her and Ronon at their usual table.

"How is your hand today, Rodney?"

He flexed his hand and winced. "Sore."

Teyla was clearly waiting for him to say more, but Rodney couldn't be bothered making conversation. He felt a little guilty when she looked from him to Ronon for some kind of response. She got none. The Satedan, who'd grunted an unintelligible greeting when he'd came over, had returned to staring out the window.

The Athosian looked hurt, so he reluctantly tried to make an effort. "So…how is Torren?"

"He is doing well, thank you." She smiled. "He is already saying quite a number of words. Mamma, papa, and when he saw a picture of the Colonel he clearly said John."

Ronon thumped his fist on the table knocking over Rodney's cup, and spilling the contents onto the floor.

Teyla rounded on him. "I am not going to stop talking about John, just because it makes you feel uncomfortable, Ronon. I am just as upset as either of you, but to leave him out of our everyday conversation is to deny his existence. Whether he comes home tomorrow, or how ever long it takes for him to return, he will need our support. John has been and will always be part of our lives. We are not just his team, we are his friends. I have not given up on him – have you?"

The Athosian's voice had got higher and louder with every word. By the time she scraped back her chair everyone in the mess was staring at them. Rodney could see the glint of unshed tears in her eyes.

When she went to leave, Ronon grabbed her arm. "Teyla…I'm sorry."

"Me too…" Rodney started mopping up the spilled coffee with his napkin. "It's just that…"

"Excuse me…Forgive me for interrupting your lunch, but I wanted to have a few words with you. All of you…but especially Ronon."

Rodney had never seen Woolsey look ill at ease before. The self-assured man always exuded a quiet, almost smug confidence. Today he looked worn out, frustrated and there was something in his eyes he hadn't seen before - anger.

"Before you ask how it went in Taluna's – don't. The talks failed…miserably. In fact…" Woolsey took a drink of Teyla's tea, and winced, "they had the audacity to say they'd accept the package as compensation for the family! What farmers would want with a hospital I can only guess...And I foolishly believed corruption was purely an Earth phenomenon." He muttered the last part under his breath.

"Mr Woolsey…"

"Sorry. My apologies for ranting, Teyla, but it's been a very long few days." Despite the grimace of before Woolsey sipped more tea before continuing. He looked at the dark brew surprised. "This is an unusual taste, but it definitely grows on you."

"Woolsey. Sorry…Mr Woosley," Rodney rolled his eyes, not even bothering to hide his frustration, "what was it you wanted to speak to us about?"

"The thing is, Doctor McKay, regardless of the consequences, I cannot in good conscience allow Colonel Sheppard to suffer such a cruel fate." He turned to the Satedan. "Ronon…I understand you knew someone who'd been sent to Flenda. I need you to tell me everything you know about the place." Woolsey's gaze took in all of them. "Whether Colonel Sheppard wants it or not, I intend getting him out of there."

ooooOoooo

TBC

Thanks again for all of the reviews - I really appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And please review.