JUSTICE

CHAPTER 11

John longed for rest, but couldn't get comfortable. Everywhere hurt. His head was pounding, and he was pretty sure a mini Jalune was driving a pickaxe into his brain. He half expected to feel a warm trickle of blood coming out his ears, but only his back was still bleeding. He cursed the guard for splitting open his old wounds. His torn ragged flesh had only just started to heal before he'd been sent to the hole, now, thanks to that damn strap, several of the lacerations were still seeping blood and sequeous fluid.

The hard wooden bunk wasn't designed for comfort but no matter how he lay, he was in agony. He hadn't been able to lie on his back since the first whipping on Flenda. The kid didn't have Ceeland's expertise, but the punishment had literally left its mark. He'd been in pain ever since. Of course lying on his front was out too - his cracked ribs seen to that. He was no Carson Beckett, but John knew enough to know putting pressure on his chest wouldn't be a smart move. It could also be his last.

That left lying on his side, which wasn't much fun either. Mutt and Jeff had done a thorough job. The raw angry welts covered everywhere, including his sides and legs. From the stinging pain radiating from his back, John was convinced his right kidney was bruised. He had a high tolerance for pain, but usually when he'd been injured he could see an end to the misery in sight. Here there was no chance of that. His sentence already guaranteed a life of discomfort, but with Rualin now on his case John knew things would only get worse.

It wasn't just his battered body that was making him uncomfortable. Ever since he'd been returned to the cell block the other prisoners were treating him like some kind of freaking messiah. John had never been a fan of hero worship, especially if he was the hero in question - it made him embarrassed. Sure he'd admired others. The Wright brothers and Neil Armstrong came to mind, but he'd never been one to put people on pedestals, except maybe his mom.

She was the biggest influence in his life, both then and now. It was her who'd encouraged him to follow his dreams. To stay strong, and not to give up regardless of the obstacles put in his way. To keep the faith even if everyone was against him, even if it seemed hopeless. John knew she hadn't thought he was perfect, but mom accepted him for who he was, and had loved him despite his faults.

In his book shooting off his mouth and getting the crap beaten out of him, didn't make him a hero. Unfortunately, the other prisoners thought differently. When he'd woken up, at first he thought his fever had returned with a vengeance. Then he realized he'd been covered with a mound of blankets. Extra rations had also been piled into his bowl. Unfortunately the concussion was making him nauseous. When he'd tried to force some of it down, he'd felt like a heel when the inevitable happened.

Dulane was now his best bud. The young guy had fought off all comers to take on the mantle of chief care assistant. John couldn't so much as raise his head without a hand at his shoulder helping him sit up. If he so much as coughed, a cup of water was placed to his lips. He was mortified. John had always been uneasy about accepting gratitude. He downright hated being treated as if he was helpless.

He accepted that right now he needed the assist, and as Dulane meant well he didn't say anything. John knew he was being ungrateful, but all the attention made him squirm. He didn't do anything for the glory, and effusive praise made him uncomfortable. Sure, it was nice to be appreciated, but here he hadn't done anything.

The admiration he was getting wasn't deserved. It made him feel edgy, especially as he was just plain old John Sheppard here – prisoner 912. The Colonel had been left behind in Taluna, so he couldn't do anything to help these men. Hell, he couldn't do anything to help himself. On the plus side, at least he didn't feel alone anymore. On the minus, while it was good to hear voices and enjoy the simple act of conversation again, John was concerned about the trouble it could cause.

Yet he didn't have the heart to stop them. In the last few days he'd watched formerly quiet, frightened men if not smile, at least come out of their fugue. The pleasure they gained from the simple act of self-expression could be seen in their faces. In the way they held themselves. He could tell the guards had noticed the change. They were watching the prisoners with curiosity, concern and suspicion. John was worried. He didn't want anyone getting into trouble.

In his new role John warned them to be cautious, and was relieved to see they kept quiet while the guards were about. He really hoped they kept smart, watched their backs, and didn't openly flaunt the rules. When he'd smart mouthed the Commander he hadn't given much thought about what would happen. The prolonged brutal beating was more than he'd bargained for. Several days on, he was still suffering the consequences.

Freedom of speech was important. It was the backbone of democracy, and should be everyone's right. Except these men were far from free, and the commander was not a guy to be messed with. If anyone else got hurt because of what he'd started, John didn't think he could handle the responsibility.

ooooOoooo

"I'm going in there…All I need is one minute alone with him!"

"Shush, Ronon." Teyla put her finger to her lips, and pulled Ronon back from the closed door of the judge's chambers. "I know this has taken longer than we expected, but Mr Woolsey is in there now. It will not help John's cause if you lose your temper."

"Due process…"Rodney harrumphed. "Right…as if we believe that! How long does it take to sign a piece of paper..." Rodney had been pacing up and down, but stopped and pointed his finger at the door. "That jumped up little dictator has been sitting on this for nearly two weeks. You know why don't you? It wasn't just that we embarrassed his family. Showed them up to be liars…at least his niece anyway. Oh, no, that was bad enough. It was the fact he'd made a mistake about Sheppard. Those wrinkly mean autocratic types always react the same way when they meet him. It's that dumb hair! They take one look at it and think he's trouble…"

At the sound of the creaking door opening Rodney fell quiet. His heart was racing, and he could tell from her anxious expression Teyla felt the same. Ronon just looked pissed. So was he. The fact the old man was letting his niece off with perjury made him seethe, but getting mad wouldn't get the pardon signed. Rodney was impatient to get out of Taluna, release his friend and take him home. He didn't want to think of all the bad things John would have suffered while he'd been inside. Once they got him back to Atlantis, Carson could fix him. At least he hoped so. The most important thing was to get Sheppard out of Flenda, and take him back to Atlantis where he belonged.

Rodney was shocked at the expression on Woolsey's face. He'd never seen the diplomat look so angry. His eyes were dark, like chips of granite. His mouth was a thin tight line on his face. Rodney heard him mutter a terse thanks as he took the other end of the scroll of paper in the judge's hand. It seemed to take forever for the clearly furious old man to let it go.

No sooner had the diplomat walked out, than the door slammed behind him.

"Let's get out of this place." Woolsey instructed, without making eye contact with any of them. Uncharacteristically, he stormed out the room leaving the others in his wake.

Rodney rushed after him. "So you got it then?"

Woolsey let out a long sigh. "Yes…Doctor McKay, as you can clearly see I have it in my hand. What good it will do when we don't know where the prison is located…is another matter entirely."

"What?"

Ronon appeared in front of them wearing a fierce expression. "You mean we've done all this for nothing?" The Satedan growled at Woolsey. His hands formed into fists and he started back towards the Judges' Chambers.

Woolsey called after him. "Go ahead – I'm not going to stop you. But it's not going to make any difference. He doesn't know where Flenda is."

Ronon stopped in his tracks, turned round and glared. If he thought Ronon looked pissed before, his friend's undisguised rage even made Rodney nervous. The Satedan looked at the closed door with disgust then slowly came back towards them. Rodney wasn't ashamed to admit he was disappointed. Except hitting the judge wasn't going to help the situation. Besides, right now he was trying to digest what he'd just heard.

"Excuse me…Did I hear you right? Then how are we supposed to get Sheppard released?"

Woolsey put up his hand. He said nothing until they were outside the court building.

"The judge doesn't know where it is. Apparently no one does. When someone wishes to use their services, they send out a signal and one of their soldiers comes to collect the prisoner. Apparently this was the first time he'd ever contacted the place." Woolsey's face broke into a cynical smile as he held up the scroll. "This was also the first time he'd ever signed a pardon. The judge assures me he will send a message to the prison asking for Colonel Sheppard to be released. However…"

"You don't trust him." Ronon said simply.

Woolsey took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Truthfully, Ronon, I don't know what to think. His behavior so far hasn't encouraged me to have any faith in the man, but I hardly think beating him to a pulp will achieve anything." His eyes twinkled. "It might make us feel a little better but…I would rather you didn't. I'd prefer not have another member of my staff subjected to the justice here."

"So what do we do now, Mr Woolsey? Surely we cannot sit around and do nothing?"

"No, Teyla…of course not. If he keeps his word I am hopeful Colonel Sheppard will make his own way back to Atlantis in the next few days. In the meantime we start looking for the man who was sent to take him there in the first place. His name is Kilund."

ooooOoooo

John yelped as he hit the floor. The fall jolted his healing wounds, aggravating all of his assorted aches, and he lay sprawled on the ground groaning as he tried to focus on the man who'd pushed him out of bed – Jalune.

"Get up, Sheppard. It's time you did some work."

Dulane was in the next bunk. John saw the young prisoner jump to his feet. He threw his new friend a warning look to do nothing and keep quiet. He really hoped Dulane didn't try to be a hero.

Even though the beating was over a week ago, he was still weak and in pain from his wounds. From Jalune's smirk John could tell the bastard was well aware of how he was feeling, but didn't give a shit. When he saw him make a point of placing his hand over his cane John gritted his teeth, and using the wall as support, clumsily struggled to his feet. Dizzy, he staggered slightly. When Dulane rushed to take his arm, the guard shoved the younger man onto his ass.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?" Jalune glared at Dulane who glared back. The guard raised an eyebrow and his mouth broke into a nasty smile. "Well, well…don't tell me the timid little prisoner has developed a back bone…"

Dulane looked furious, and the other prisoners were also gathering round. John could feel the tension mounting, the atmosphere electric as he saw them watching the unfolding scene with undisguised anger. He didn't see any other way out of it. He wasn't in any condition to take more abuse, but knew he needed to say something to diffuse the situation. "I'm fine…really…I don't want any of you getting into trouble because of me."

"Listen to him - he's right. Now get to work all of you or else you'll pay with the skin off your backs." Jalune growled at them in a menacing tone, but it still took several uneasy moments before Dulane moved away, and the crowd dispersed.

Once they were alone he whispered in John's ear. "You just can't keep your big mouth shut...can you Sheppard. You know that speaking without permission is an infraction, but don't worry - I'll make sure the Commander hears about it. The punishment is usually five lashes of the strap. As it's you…he'll probably make it ten."

John wondered what he would get if he punched him out. It was a tempting thought. If he wasn't already so beat up he might have considered it. Maybe when it was Christmas, or his birthday he would treat himself. He smiled, and when he caught Jalune glaring at him it became a grin. His mirth was pissing the guy off, and it felt damn good.

Even when Jalune shoved his tender back John hissed, but kept smiling. He didn't think anything could destroy his mood. When they reached the courtyard and he was pushed towards the wooden frame, his heart sank.

"Not smiling anymore, Sheppard…I wonder why?"

John ignored him stared straight ahead, and kept his fists clenched by his side. It was too soon after the last brutal beating and he wasn't in good shape. Another whipping now could kill him. If they wanted to whip him again he couldn't stop them, but he wasn't going to let them see he was afraid.

"So stoic…but you can relax. You're not getting whipped today. The Commander wants you to scrub the frame. Make it all squeaky clean, and get rid of the dried blood off the platform. You can get the water from the trough over there, and here's the brush." Jalune showed him the small brush, smiled, and let it drop to the ground. "I'll be back to check on you later. And Sheppard…I don't need to tell you the penalty for shoddy work."

John grimaced as the simple action of bending down pulled on his aching back. When he saw the brush, he shook his head in disgust. The flattened, worn bristles were practically non-existent. He didn't know how he was supposed to get the job done using that. Then he realized. That was the point – he wasn't intended to. John was determined he wasn't going to let the lack of proper tools stop him doing the task. At the very least he'd give it a damn good try. If they were going to beat him again, it wouldn't be because he'd failed.

ooooOoooo

Rualin stepped back into his office from the balcony. He had been watching Sheppard for the past hour and despite the man's obvious discomfort, he had to hand it to him, he was doing a good job. It was hot outside, over a hundred degrees and Sheppard was drenched in sweat. The exposed skin on his neck, face and arms were turning raw under the sun's fierce rays, but to his credit, the man didn't stop in his task for a moment.

He admired him. Under different circumstance Lt Colonel Sheppard would have been someone he would have liked to know. John Sheppard the belligerent prisoner was another matter. A brave, intelligent man like him was a dangerous person to have in a prison. Especially one like his.

Already word had reached him of a slight shift in the status quo amongst the inmates. So far there hadn't been any direct breaches of prison rules, but Rualin wasn't happy. No one should have been aware of why Sheppard had been sent to the hole. Now it was becoming clear that the reason for his punishment was common knowledge. From what Jalune had told him it appeared the man was admired by the other prisoners. One had even tried to protect him. It was a disturbing development. The last thing he'd wanted was to create a hero.

He doubted if Sheppard saw himself in that light. He didn't strike him as a man who'd want that kind of attention, so Rualin doubted if he'd revealed any details of their conversation. He wasn't naïve and knew about the prison grapevine. None of his men had said anything to him about that day. Then again, he wouldn't have expected them to. Nor would he expect them to give up one of their own. Nevertheless, it was clear there had been a breach of confidence.

"Come in…"

Corporal Ceeland opened the door and walked into the room. "You wanted to see me, Commander?"

Rualin stood up, slipped off his jacket and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. When he took out a large leather strap, Ceeland's eyes grew wide with fear, and the color drained from his face.

"Strip down to the waist and come over here."

"Sir…"

Rualin took the strap and slammed it down on the desk. "Don't even try to deny what you've done. Consider yourself fortunate I don't drag you down to the frame and flog you in front of the prisoners."

The man bent his head, as he slowly removed his shirt. "I'm sorry, Commander. I had too much to drink and -"

"You spoke out of turn and broke my trust."

Rualin motioned for the soldier to give him his hands, and Ceeland meekly held out his wrists. The young man didn't utter a word as he allowed himself to be tied to the coat hook on the wall. "A breach of confidence cannot be tolerated. You are hereby stripped of your rank and demoted to private." Rualin took the wooden ruler from his desk snapped it, and held out one of the pieces to the man about to be punished. "Bite down on this, and be grateful for the consideration. I'm keeping your disgrace private - at least the prisoners won't be able to hear your screams."

ooooOoooo

TBC.

Many thanks for all the great reviews! I really appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please review - thanks, Joanie.

BTW apologies to those of you on alert that received this twice. I had a lot of trouble loading the chapter last night, and I didn't receive an alert - so I suspect many of you didn't either. I just hope it works the second time!