JUSTICE

CHAPTER 7

Time lost all meaning in the small dark cell. The only guide to mark the passage was the daily delivery of bread and water. It was such a cliché. A throw back to the black and white horror films he'd watched as a kid, but this wasn't a movie. This nightmare was real, and he was living slap bang in the middle of it.

John tried to take his mind to a happier place. He tried not to think about the heavy chains that weighed him down, biting into his skin. He tried to ignore the nauseating smell and the impenetrable darkness that blanked out everything, even the hand in front of his face.

He even managed it for a while. Memories of laugher with his friends, flying into the blue, the feeling he still got when he sat in an aircraft – especially a jumper. Then he remembered he probably wouldn't see them again. He wouldn't experience the thrill of guiding an aircraft into the cloudless skies for a long time. And he would never enjoy the exhilaration of flying a jumper over Atlantis ever again.

Part of him knew he was only feeling low because of the total isolation. It was a common torture technique. The purpose of which was to oppress, control and demoralize. He'd been taught to deal with it in training, however nothing prepared you for the real thing. The hunger was making him weak. The freezing cold of the first horrific night had given way to a stifling heat. He'd expected to be incarcerated, but the way he'd been treated was inhuman. By his reckoning he'd been there for over three days, but John didn't think they would risk starving him for too long. It wasn't their intention to kill him. After all, he still had his sentence to serve.

John knew if he was going to survive he needed to focus, get a grip and take a day at a time. He couldn't think about the years that lay ahead. Instead he needed to put a positive spin on his situation. Make plans for when he got released.

He had money. Lot's of it. Besides, fifty-nine wasn't old these days. His own father had taken Sheppard Industries into the FTSE top ten when he was sixty. He didn't have such grand plans. John reckoned he'd be happy just starting up his own business when he got out. He'd always wanted to design his own craft, and although he'd lost his military career, he still had a pilot's license. He'd still be able to fly.

John heard the sound of the bolt unlocking, and fumbling, used the wall to struggle to his feet. He made a point of being upright when the guard put in his meal. The bastards probably didn't give it a thought, but it mattered to him. It showed he wasn't beaten. As the door was flung open the outside light blinded him. He raised his bound hands to filter the light.

"Out!"

He shuffled forward, glad that at least his prolonged incarceration had given his feet time to heal. The throbbing of before was gone. Now his soles just felt a little tight where the cuts had knitted together.

"I'm leaving? Shame…I quite liked it in there. It was starting to feel like home. So...where are we going now guys?"

"Quiet! We're the ones giving the orders. Anyway…you'll soon find out."

Two guards were waiting for him, but it was Jalune who answered. John was going to say something else, but when he saw the cane attached to his belt thought better of it. He was in their sand box now, playing by their rules. To avoid a repeat performance of the day he'd arrived, he moved as quickly as the chains would allow. Days held in a confined space had made him stiff, and he tripped. John waited for the blow to come. Instead he was hauled to his feet without comment and guided back to the courtyard.

Outside the sun was glaring. The sweltering heat was already baking hot even though it was early in the day. He winced as his soles made contact with the painted stone. John had assumed he'd been going to see the Commander. When he saw the men waiting by the frame his heart sank.

One was baldy, the man who'd hosed him down. The other guard he hadn't seen before. He was a big guy, almost as large as Ronon, and John could tell he was already prepared for the task. His muscular arms were bulging under his short sleeved tee, and he was wearing tight leather fingerless gloves on his hands.

He saw the whip and his heart started to race. He recognized it. The nine long strands of knotted cord were unmistakable - cat-o-nine tails. The weapon had been a popular form of punishment with sailing ships, prisons, and sadistic bastards all through Earth's history. He could now add the Pegasus Galaxy to the list.

John knew what his punishment was, knew it would begin sometime. What he hadn't bargained on, and the last thing he'd expected was for it to start today. He wasn't prepared for it. It was so soon after the last whipping. From the look on the water boy's face his opinion didn't come into it. It was going to happen. He was going to get flogged. The only question was how many strokes he would have to endure this time.

The bands were removed from his wrists, including the length of chain attached to his feet.

"Take off your tunic."

There was no point in protesting so he did as he was told, letting it fall to the ground.

His arms were tightly gripped as the bald man read from a sheet. "Prisoner…you have been sentenced to three hundred and eighty lashes of the whip. Today you will receive the first thirty. Prepare yourself for punishment."

John wanted to ask what kind of moron he was. Couldn't he see he'd already received ten lashes? Or maybe he just couldn't count? Then he realized the guy didn't give a shit. None of them did. These so called military men had no concept of honor. To them he was just a number. A lump of walking talking flesh, that was there to be beaten and abused. There was no justice here, no mercy, and he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of asking for any. No matter how bad it got.

"I'm real sorry to interrupt. Thing is I already know what my punishment is, but as you can see I've already taken ten strokes back in Taluna." John resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he turned round to show baldy his back.

The sergeant came over, glanced at his back and smirked. "Is that so…well I don't call a few torn bits of skin a whipping."

Baldy glanced up at a balcony. It looked like he was seeking approval. John hadn't noticed it when he'd come out. Couldn't see it clearly with the sun shining in his eyes, but he could just about make out the shape of a man watching proceedings.

The sergeant nodded at the unseen stranger then turned back to him with a glint in his eye. "Sorry prisoner… but a few teeny weenie cuts don't count. You're a military man – or were. So I'm sure you'll agree that if a job's worth doing…"

John glared at him.

Baldy came towards him, and John could feel the spit in his breath as he whispered angrily in his ear. "Listen to me…boy. You haven't met the Commander yet so you don't know the rules. If you had, you'd be getting another ten of the strap on top of the whipping. There's only two, so a smart man like you should be able to remember them. One - you don't speak without permission. Not even to the other prisoners. And two - you do what you're told when you're told. Any infractions will be punished – severely."

John clenched his jaw and tried to keep the fear out his eyes, as he was pushed against the rough wooden frame. His arms were stretched out to either side and secured with rope. When they were yanked above his head he grunted, as the skin on his back was pulled taut until only the balls of his feet stood burning on the stones beneath. His back was still tender from the last assault, the healing wounds already starting to split under the strain. Trickles of blood were already starting to run down his back, and they hadn't even started whipping him yet.

He didn't want to look, but couldn't take his eyes off the guard as he splayed the whip through his fingers. The man took pride in his work, separating the cords one by one in preparation for the first strike. It looked heavy. He soon found out just how heavy it was.

"Lay on!"

The command given, John closed his eyes and lent his head against the frame. He took slow deep breaths knowing nothing could prepare him for the first strike.

Instead of a crack, the thick heavy whip made a whooshing sound as it flew through the air. A loud thud reverberated around the stone walls as the heavy cords made contact with his exposed skin. His head snapped back, and the sheer force pushed the air from his lungs as the powerful whip slammed his shackled body forward. The explosion of pain that followed was sharp and immediate. It took only seconds for the stinging sensation to grow into a searing pain that ripped through his body.

There was a pause before the second blow came. It gave time for the pain to build up on his back. Time in which his mouth went dry as the terror grew in anticipation of what lay ahead. He wanted it over with, but they were in no hurry. It almost came as a relief when he heard the sound of the whip flying through the air.

John grasped the ropes binding him to the frame, but the action afforded no relief. The blow came from the other side this time, and he gasped as the whip crisscrossed the raw wounds made by the first strike. He was already in agony when two of the cords caught round his waist and stuck in his side. He panicked. The guard pulled. The pain was excruciating as his skin was ripped apart. John clenched his jaw trying to stifle a cry, but a groan escaped his lips.

This time there was no delay, no time to prepare as the whip tore a ragged trail from his right shoulder down to his waist. He yelped as the knotted cord caught yet more skin. It dragged rather than tore his flesh apart, releasing a trail of blood from the wound.

John tried to focus. Regain some kind of control. Tried to find some way to cope before the next strike came. He failed. He didn't want to cry out. Didn't want the bastards to hear his pain, but his resolve to stay silent was weakened as the guard was getting into his stride. The guy was getting stronger as he was getting weaker, and each agonizing lash was more powerful than the last.

John clenched his jaw and bit down, but his tears betrayed him. The overwhelming pain of the relentless brutal punishment was wearing him down, shrouding him like a fog. He was in agony. His body quivered as the whip flayed open his skin again and again, mutilating his body, tearing fresh wounds apart as the screams died in his throat.

He tried to zone out. Pretend it wasn't his body getting ripped apart - then the next lash came. Rubber legs collapsed beneath him, but the punishment didn't stop. He didn't know how many he'd endured before the scream was ripped from his throat...

ooooOoooo

The man writhed under the lash. To begin with he grunted as each bloody line was torn into his flesh. Then came the high pitched yelps as he stifled his cries of pain. To his merit, the prisoner managed to hold back his screams until the twelfth strike.

Rualin was enjoying himself. There was nothing quite like sitting in the early morning sun, enjoying his first coffee of the day, and watching a convicted felon getting the punishment he deserved.

He had to admit this new prisoner – Sheppard – was taking it well. He was clearly a brave man who, despite being weakened in the hole was still strong. Even now, after nearly twenty painful lashes he was still conscious. Certainly his could see his knees were sagging, his legs trembling under the strain of trying to stand. Rualin admired his pathetic attempt to keep upright. It was a noble gesture. Almost as if he was trying to defy them. Show that he couldn't be broken. But he would be. Even the strongest bowed to his will eventually.

His back was a bloody mess, torn to shreds by the whip. His attempts to regain some composure, pitiful. The man was hanging from the frame. It was only the ropes that were keeping him from falling. Rualin recognized the signs. While Sheppard may take longer to break than most, at the moment it wouldn't be long before he succumbed to his punishment.

Rualin wanted to make sure he felt every blow, so held up his hand for them to stop. A break would give the prisoner time to recover, and the guard a chance to rest their arms. An hour should do it, maybe two. That would give him time to attend some pressing paperwork. Then he could enjoy his mid-morning break watching the rest of the show.

He smiled when he caught the sergeant's eye, Mallend didn't look happy. Privately, he thought gambling was a foolish past time, but condoned it. His men needed something other than work to amuse them, so he turned a blind eye to their stupid bets. However Mallend was obviously regretting the wager he'd put on Sheppard. A little birdie had told him his custody sergeant had bet against the new inmate. He'd put a weeks' wages on Sheppard passing out before the fifteenth strike. Rualin laughed to himself. He suspected that's why Mallend had confined him in the hole so long.

A bucket of water was thrown over the prisoner's head, and his head snapped back throwing spray into the air. Rualin heard his groan, saw him blink, his body tremble, and his feet try to gain some purchase on the ground. From the way the prisoner was shifting his feet, he could tell Sheppard's toes were burning on the stones. He was glad. That's why he'd had the courtyard painted. Every painful step the prisoners took during their incarceration should remind them they were here to be punished.

The courtyard was awash with blood as the rest of the prisoners came out to do their daily exercises. He could see them looking at the man on the frame with sympathy. They would feel his pain. They all knew the agony he was going through. Every man who came here had been whipped, and all continued to receive punishment as and when necessary.

He was glad Sheppard was still tied to the frame. The deep welts and raw ragged crimson stripes torn into his back would serve as a deterrent against infractions of the prison rules. To others, it would be an unwelcome reminder of what they would still have to face.

Content his prison was running smoothly, Rualin rose from his chair, left the balcony and made his way inside. He looked at the papers piled on his desk and frowned. Eleven o'clock couldn't come quickly enough.

ooooOoooo

Carson stepped through the 'gate and felt the familiar hum as the city welcomed one of her own. He'd enjoyed his vacation on Palumda. Its towering mountains reminded him of the Highlands, and their people were almost as friendly as his native Scots. As for the fishing, it had been second to none. At first he hadn't been too sure of the purple beastie that had taken his bait, but it had tasted wonderful. Served with some tatties and a little butter it had slid down a treat. Still, he was glad to be home. His holiday had done him the world of good but he'd missed Atlantis. Missed his friends. He'd even missed Rodney's constant whinging.

"Good to have you back, Doctor Beckett."

Chuck waved over and Carson smiled. It faded when he realized that apart from the 'gate crew, he was alone. He wasn't a vain man, and certainly hadn't been expecting a brass band to greet his return. He was however a wee bit miffed none of his friends were there to greet him.

Carson picked up his bag and walked towards the 'gate tech. "Where is everyone?"

Just as the words left his mouth he saw Rodney, Teyla and Ronon in Woolsey's office. It didn't take his friend's genius to know whatever they were discussing, wasn't going well.

Even from this distance he could feel the tension. Rodney looked agitated. While that was nothing knew, he could also see something else in his expression – fear. Teyla wasn't visibly anxious but he knew the lassie well. There was a mix of barely suppressed frustration and anger just beneath the surface. When Ronon suddenly banged the glass door, everyone looked up as the noise echoed around the 'gate room. When the Satedan saw him standing there, their eyes locked. Carson felt his felt his blood run cold, as he knew something was very, very wrong.

ooooOoooo

TBC.

Many thanks for all the reviews so far - your support is amazing! I would love to answer them all, but unfortunately FF doesn't allow me to answer those readers without accounts. They are still very much appreciated - so thank you.

As for this chapter. I hope you 'enjoyed' (if that's the right word!) the whump. And please review - Joanie.