JUSTICE

CHAPTER 16

His strength was gone and his knee would no longer support him. When Ceeland collapsed, John couldn't stop himself from falling. Kilund was trying to keep him upright but the appearance of Rualin had surprised them - Ceeland most of all. The young guard's lifeless eyes were staring into space, his blood pouring out of a ragged wound in his chest.

John was worried that the sergeant would be next in the firing line, but Rualin had slammed the door shutting him in. Kilund was now locked in the hole, but John was relieved that at least he was out of harm's way. He had mixed feelings about the dead guard who'd whipped him. It was hard to feel sorry for the guy who'd caused him so much pain, but Ceeland didn't deserve to die. John hoped they didn't meet anyone else. He didn't want any more lives lost because of him.

In agony, every part of his body screamed as Rualin dragged him along keeping the gun pointed at his head. He was shivering, his body shaking, as the fever that started the day before sent beads of sweat trickled down his face, his back and his chest. John moaned as the moisture touched the raw angry wounds and pooled in the ragged lacerations. His chest felt tight, heavy, and he was struggling to get enough air as he pulled in one stuttering breath after another.

The gloomy corridor looked surreal, fuzzy. John knew it was the fever wreaking havoc with his brain making everything appear warped. The images twisting in an out, like he was peering through a distorted lens. If it wasn't for the agonising rhythmic throbs pulsating through his body, his nightmarish journey could almost have been happening to someone else. Except it wasn't. It was him being hauled along like a piece of garbage, and John knew if he was going to survive, he must try to get a grip. Somewhere out there his team were waiting and he sure as hell wasn't going to give up now. It was a simple plan. Stay alive long enough for them to find him.

"So…where are we going?" John panted. Another wave of pain hit but he stifled a groan and did the only thing he could to stay focused - talk. "Oh…I get it. You want to release me yourself. Hey…I appreciate the consideration but you really don't need to bother. I –"

The commander tightened his grip, and John gasped as the rough material of his uniform jacket pulled on his wounds. The spit from Rualin's hot breath sprayed his neck as the Commander whispered in his ear. "The only place you're going is hell."

"Thanks…but I've already been living there for the last month. I'd kinda prefer a change of scene… Somewhere beside the ocean would be good. A place where the surf is good and I can get a cold one…and a nice juicy steak."

Rualin smirked. "Have your pathetic little joke – it's going to be your last."

"Really…You're going to kill me for shooting my mouth off? I get you're the type to hold a grudge, but c'mon – don't you think that's a bit extreme?" John glanced up, but Rualin didn't look at him. The eyes that were focused on the way ahead were filled with rage and something else - pain.

"Jalune was my son…"

"Arrgh…" John screamed as Rualin dropped him on his bum knee. He panted, trembling, and concentrated on not passing out as the intense fiery pain expanded through his leg.

"Sorry…did I hurt you?" Rualin asked smugly. "Don't worry, Sheppard...it will all be over soon."

John could barely focus past the pain that swam and surged through his body. He couldn't suppress a yelp as Rualin yanked him back onto his feet.

He was feeling nauseous and combined with Rualin's tightening grip around his neck, John was starting to choke. The way ahead was wavering in and out, his vision greying at the edges. It was only his determination to survive keeping him lucid. "I'm s…sorry for your loss, but it was a…an accident."

Another tug on his torn chest told him just what Rualin thought about that. He locked eyes with his persecutor and knew the subject was not up for further discussion. John wasn't sorry for taking Jalune down, but to admit it would only hasten his demise. He was playing for time. John hoped his people were close as he was in deep trouble.

"Wha…what's the plan?"

"You're going to die trying to escape." Rualin told him simply. "It's going to be a tragic tale. My report will read I was walking Kilund to the entrance when we heard a commotion coming from the hole. I found you arguing with Ceeland but when I tried to intervene, you grabbed my gun. You kill both men in cold blood then using me as hostage, try to escape…" Rualin gave him a tight smile. "That's when I get to play the hero. At great peril to my own life I overpower you just as we get outside the prison. I get away and shout to the armed guards in the towers to stop you…You're a smart man, Sheppard - you can guess the rest. While the guards end your miserable existence, I'll return to the hole and kill Kilund. Once he's dead, there'll be no witnesses left to what really happened. When your people arrive I'll deny all knowledge of ever receiving your pardon."

"Nice plan, but I'm getting out of here alive."

"Let him go…now!"

John had never been in so much pain but at the sight of Ronon standing there, he couldn't stop smiling. He squinted up at Rualin. The Commander's face was scarlet with rage.

"It's over Rualin…You can kill me if you want. But if you do my buddy Ronon will return the favor."

John felt the arm around his neck start to loosen and let out a sigh. His relief was short lived, and his heart sank as he saw the bitter Commander raise his gun. John couldn't believe it. The bastard was about to shoot Ronon.

There was no time to think, only to act. Using the last of his strength John elbowed Rualin in the gut. The Commander staggered, but the sound of the shot was already reverberating around the room. As fire ripped through his arm, he heard the sound of Ronon's blaster. John moaned as he crumpled, tumbling to the ground.

"John!" Teyla ran to his side. The Athosian's pale face was filled with concern as she took out a field dressing and wrapped it around the seeping wound.

"S'okay… It's small beans, Teyla, I'm g…good."

Teyla's voice was wavering in and out but John focused when he saw Ronon standing over Rualin's unconscious body. The intent was clear. He'd reset his blaster to kill and Ronon was about to fire.

"No...don't kill him." When the Satedan didn't move John tried to put some authority into his weak voice. "Please…don't force me to make it an order."

"Why the hell not? He deserves to die." Ronon growled. The Satedan looked furious.

Ronon was right, he couldn't deny it. John wanted to kill the bastard himself but face to face so Rualin would know who was ending his life. John knew if his buddy killed him like this, the Satedan would regret it later. Ronon was an honorable man, but sometimes his anger could override his commonsense.

He was beat. So tired that his words came out as a mumble. "He'll pay…I'll make sure of that. Nn…not just for what he's done to me…for how he's treated e…every man in this prison."

John was starting to zone out. His eyes snapped open when he felt a hand take his wrist.

"Easy…Colonel." Carson's blue eyes were filled with anger as they raked up and down his body. "I can see these bastards have had quite a field day, but don't worry, son. We'll soon get you sorted out."

"Carson…There's a prisoner…my friend…Dulane's arm is broken and he's been badly beaten. H…he needs your help."

"And you don't?" Rodney muttered, incredulous.

"Aye, Colonel, Rodney's right." Carson agreed. "Right now you're my priority. Once we get back to Atlantis, I'll send a medical team over. If the state of you is anything to go by I'm guessing we'll have a full ward by the end of the day."

John felt a pinch in his hand and flinched. For once he didn't mind getting stuck with needles. It just felt good being cared for. Damn good being back amongst the friends he'd thought he'd never see again.

The adrenaline that had kept him going had disappeared. John felt the pain notch down as the drugs pulled him under, but there was something nagging at him, a loose end that needed dealt with. He struggled to hang on as he tried to grasp what it was.

He reached out and grabbed Teyla's hand. "Kilund…h…he's locked up in the hole...a cell. You need -"

"I will find him, John. Please…stop worrying. You must lie still and let Doctor Beckett take care of you."

Lorne arrived, and John could see the relief in his XO's face. "It's good to see you, Colonel - I have the prison secured. Kilund got us past the cloak but when you guys didn't appear as arranged, we went with Plan B. We disengaged our cloak...Let's just say when the jumper appeared out of thin air, the guards didn't give us much trouble."

"T…thanks, Major…thanks all of you…."

John's face went slack and his head slumped to the side.

Rodney went as white as a sheet. "Is he…"

Carson shook his head. "No, but he's in a bad way. We need to get him back to Atlantis as soon as possible." The Scot deftly inserted a second IV delivering blood before covering his patient with a blanket. Carson sat back on his heels, and grunted as he clambered to his feet. "Right, that's as much as I can do here. Let's get him home."

It was only a short walk to the jumper. As the stretcher was lifted into the rear, Teyla was about to go in search of Kilund when Ronon stopped her. "I'll go."

"Why? John asked me, Ronon."

Ronon shrugged. "It's better if you stay with Sheppard. You can help Beckett."

Carson turned around with a look of regret. "I'm sorry, Ronon, but I can't afford to wait for you, son. I need to get the Colonel back home."

Ronon nodded. "It's okay. Just care of him, doc. I'll wait for the next transport. Besides, there's something I need to take care of."

ooooOoooo

Carson worked on Sheppard through the night. When the sun rose over Atlantis the next morning, he walked out the O R more angry than exhausted.

There wasn't much that fazed him. Over the years, Carson had treated the worst both Earth and Pegasus could do to a man. Cruelty wasn't new but of everything he dealt with, it sickened him the most. How society could sanction torture was beyond him. Carson was aware whipping had been an acceptable method of punishment in Earth's history. Regrettably it still went on in certain countries today.

To him it was abhorrent. It was a cowardly, brutal, cruel thing to do to someone unable to defend themselves. He couldn't understand how anyone could string up a man and rip the skin from his back in the name of justice. Regardless of the crime it was inhuman treatment. These men who suffered this archaic punishment may have done wrong, but in this regard they were the victims. He was sure the Colonel didn't consider himself in that light, but that's just what he'd been - a victim.

His friend had been a victim of an old man's desire for a quick death. He'd been a victim of a woman's deception. To save her family from disgrace, she'd stayed silent and let him be convicted of a non-existent crime. She'd wickedly allowed him to believe he'd taken an innocent life. It was John who'd been the innocent. A good man who'd accepted a hellish fate to atone for something he didn't even do.

He peeled off his blood stained gloves and fired them in the trash. As the light struck the container, Carson caught a glint off the collar he'd removed from his friend's neck. It made him sick to his stomach. The number burned into John's neck by the sun would fade in time. The lacerations he'd spent hour's debriding and stitching together were another matter. He'd done his best, but he couldn't do the impossible. John's body had been mutilated. His skin would grow back but without intervention, the Colonel would be left badly scarred.

John's knee cap was cracked, and the tendons had been badly torn. He'd repaired the damage. This type of injury always took a long time to heal but Carson was confident with rest then physiotherapy, in this respect at least his patient would make a full recovery.

The bullet had caused some muscle damage which he'd also fixed. It was the same arm where he'd already patched up two previous bullet wounds. He wasn't a betting man, but Carson wondered at the odds of someone taking fire in the same limb three times. There were also cracked ribs, and some old lacerations on his feet. His toes and soles were scorched, and his face, arms and torso had been burned raw by the sun. The peeling skin was testament that the worst of it had faded, but some blisters still remained.

Carson planned to replace the damaged skin on his back and chest, but first he needed to get his patient well enough to undergo the procedure. Decimated by starvation and abuse John was so weak, Carson feared it would be touch and go if he even survived the fever. He knew his friend was a fighter, but even someone with John's fortitude could only survive so much. Right now John was staging his own personal battle in the ICU. Carson prayed it wouldn't be his last.

Out the corner of his eye Carson spotted Sheppard's team in the waiting room. He would go and see them shortly but first he wanted some coffee. Carson would've preferred a single malt to take the bad taste out his mouth, but alcohol was out of the question. He had a patient to take care of, and needed to remain sober.

While he been in surgery, the infirmary had filled up. Men, barely skin and bone lay in every bed. The years of abuse and violence they'd suffered evident in their dead eyes and vacant expressions. From what he could tell they were suffering from malnutrition and dehydration. All of them were scarred in some way. He could tell from the dressings that some of the lacerations were fresh. The old wounds were visible. Scars which had faded into ugly indentations.

The chains of their oppression where piled up against the back wall. He'd seen how badly John's ankles had been abraded, the skin raw from the tight metal bands rubbing against them. His friend had only been there for less than a month, and Carson dreaded to think what some of the longer stay residents had been forced to endure.

"Doctor…This patient would like to speak to you." Marie asked him. She whispered in his ear. "His name is Dulane. He says he's a friend of Colonel Sheppard."

Dulane was so thin he was almost dwarfed in the single bed. There were recent bruises which were now fading to a greenie yellow color. Carson knew that meant they were healing. They only served to make him look worse when contrasted against the brilliant white pillow. He was also wearing a cast on his right forearm. Carson smiled. If John Sheppard called this man a friend, then Dulane was his friend too. "What can I do for you, son?"

Dulane looked anxious. "John…is he…is he still alive?"

"Yes he is. And I intend to keep him that way."

The small man visibly relaxed. "Thank the Gods." Carson swallowed a lump in his throat when he saw tears glistening in his eyes. "The pretty doctor told me if it wasn't for him…I would have lost my arm. But I owe him more than that. We…we all do."

Carson handed him a Kleenex and waited until the man composed himself. "He's going to be fine, Dulane. Do you know he asked about you?" Carson smiled at the man's surprise. "John wanted to make sure you would get proper medical care." He patted Dulane's bony hands. "Now…how about you try to get some sleep, laddie."

He's spoken the words with assurance. Told Dulane what he'd wanted, needed to hear so the sick man could get some rest. The fact was he just didn't know. He'd pulled the Colonel through so much in the past he couldn't, didn't want to believe he would lose him now. Carson said a silent prayer that his confidence wasn't misplaced.

ooooOoooo

TBC.

Rescue has come at last...now all John has to do is survive.

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