I'm so sorry for the ridiculously long break in new chapters - I've had way too much personal stuff going on over the last few months and writing hasn't been a high priority. This chapter did not want to come out to play at all, so it's been a labour to say the least. Hope you enjoy it and many thanks if you've stuck around this long.

Chapter 18

Carson trudged through the streets, the guards at his back and the rope biting into his wrists. To add insult to injury, it had started to rain – a relentless drizzle that insinuated itself under the collar of his jacket, tracing a damp trail down his back. The unpaved streets quickly turned slick with mud. His foot hit a particularly slippery patch and he staggered and nearly fell, unable to balance himself with his hands bound.

"Get up!" the guard growled, prodding Carson with the end of a heavy staff.

Coria glanced back at him fearfully. Her hair clung to her forehead, hanging in rat's tails behind her. She looked as miserable as he felt.

"It'll be all right love," he muttered, blinking to try and clear raindrops from his vision. He had no idea how, but he felt the need to reassure Coria and himself.

They were taken to a hall in the centre of the town. This was a much larger version of the one in the village, clearly built to accommodate several hundred people. The space was dim, with a raised platform at the far end. Carson and Coria were marched none too gently towards the stage area. As they approached it, Carson could make out a door in the wall to the left.

"Halt!"

The leader of the guards knocked on the door, paused, then entered. Moments later, he emerged and the prisoners were prodded forward.

This new room seemed to be some sort of office, if the table covered with scrolls was anything to go by. The stocky red-haired man seated at the table seemed more like a warrior than an administrator. Carson would hazard a guess this was the aforementioned Mato, then.

A movement in the corner of the room caught his eye - Vinda sat at a smaller table. She glanced up with an unreadable expression, then ducked back to her papers.

Mato regarded Carson, chin resting on a hand. Carson had a sense of what his lab mice might feel. He met Mato's look head on, trying to muster at least an outward appearance of dignity.

"When I agreed to an alliance between Uldea and Atlantis, it was on the understanding that your people would help us," Mato began.

"Aye, and that's what I was trying to do when myself and the lass were hauled away," Carson replied.

"You've broken one of our most basic rules. You might be excused as an outsider, but she knows better." Mato turned his head to Coria. The girl shrunk back under the scrutiny.

"Would you mind tellin' me just what I'm supposed to have done?" Carson cut in, exasperation overtaking apprehension at this point. Why wouldn't they just bloody tell him what was going on?

"You've been in contact with a plague victim." Mato stated, then glared at Coria. "And you, you've been hiding a victim. You know what the penalty is. You'll join your father in exile."

Coria whimpered slightly, then clamped her mouth shut, setting her jaw. Carson got the distinct impression that showing fear was considered a weakness among Uldeans.

"She's just a child." Vinda spoke up from the corner, voice level.

"Child or not, she has broken the rules," Mato snapped.

There was a sharp knock at the door and another guard entered and bowed hastily. He took deep gulps of air, as if trying get his breath back.

"My lord, scavengers have been reported in the town," the man gasped.

Mato sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Captain, organise your men. Guards, lock these two up. I'll deal with them later."

He rose swiftly from the chair, grabbing a sword and buckling the belt as he followed the captain towards the door. "This isn't over," he warned as he swept out of the room.

SGA

Carson and Coria were herded through the main hall, past groups of damp huddled people, and out into the main square. It was fully dark by now, but torches and braziers burned at points, throwing the shadows into sharp contrast. The market appeared to have been cleared away in preparation for a party, but everyone had left in a hurry. They were given little chance to stare as they were locked into a prison cell facing the area. Clearly public humiliation was a part of the justice system here.

There was a scuffle as half a dozen men were brought into the square, struggling against the guards who frog-marched them.

Mato strode to the front of the line. A guard was sent into the hall and moments later the townspeople filed out of the wide doors. They gathered around, avoiding the cell. Carson had the creeping sense he was about to find out just what happened to law-breakers here.

"What's happening?" he hissed to Coria.

Despite her fear she flashed him a scornful look that plainly told him she thought he was an idiot. "They're scavengers," she stated - as if that should explain everything.

Mato held up his hands for silence. "These people were caught attempting to steal from us. This cannot be allowed." He glanced around as the crowd shuffled and muttered. "You all know our laws and what must be done."

He turned to the wretched gang. "You have been found guilty of stealing. The sentence is removal of a hand each."

Carson's heart sank into his stomach. He watched in horrified silence as the first man was forced to his knees in front of a large wooden block. It was hard to tell with the shadows, but he was fairly certain the darker patches were dried blood.

"Do you have anything to say in your defence?" Mato went on.

Despite the man's position he glared defiantly at Mato. "I have to feed my people somehow."

"You admit your guilt."

The man continued to glare. Mato nodded. Another guard pulled a large axe from a brazier. They'd grasped the principle of cauterising wounds, then. Small mercies, Carson thought bitterly.

The guard raised the axe and swung it down. Reflexively Carson squeezed his eyes shut, hearing only the dull chop and the choked scream from the man. He opened his eyes, fighting the urge to heave in the corner. Yes, he'd seen blood and gore in his time, but this was bloody barbaric. He had to do something.

"Hey," he shouted through the bars, but no-one paid him any attention; they were too focussed on the grisly scene playing out before them. "Hey," he called again.

He felt a tug on his arm and glanced down at Coria. "Don't interfere, you'll make it worse," she pleaded.

"Is this what'll happen to us?" he asked, fear gripping his stomach at the prospect – how could he continue to practise medicine with one hand? He'd be no use to anyone. And what would Tam think?

"I'll be banished. I don't know what he'll do to you." She threw him a hopeless look, and walked to the pile of blankets. She wrapped one around her shoulders, then slid down the wall, drew her knees to her chest and turned her face into the corner, as if to escape.

Carson could only turn his back to the bars as the remaining men were dealt with.

SGA

The scavengers were pushed into cells next to Carson and Coria. Each of them clutched the ruined stumps where their right hand had been. Even the leader was subdued and pale, shuffling along.

"Let me help them," Carson called to the guard.

The guard glanced at the cell, then at Carson. "Don't much care about that." He shrugged. "Healer'll be along … eventually." He gave a nasty grin and strode off in the direction of the hall.

The drama over, Mato called for the entertainment to begin. Carson couldn't help the resentment that rose. How could they treat prisoners that way, then celebrate? There was no doubt the Uldean's way of life was a tough one.

The party got underway. Though there was eating and drinking, music and entertainment, the mood seemed slightly subdued.

"You shouldn't have had to see that, lass," Carson said to Coria.

She glanced up at him. "It's what happens to thieves. I've seen it before," she replied. Her resigned tone pained him – that one so young could accept such things just seemed entirely wrong.

"Where I come from, people don't get their hands cut off for stealing," he muttered.

"You mean they get another chance to steal?" she asked in surprise.

"The idea is they're given the chance to prove they won't do it again."

She frowned slightly. "That is a strange idea. Scavengers will always take what does not belong to them. It is their way."

Carson sighed – it almost seemed as if Coria were simply quoting something she'd been taught.

Before he could reply, a hooded figure sidled up to the bars. The figure lifted the hood slightly, revealing the lined, bearded face of Trennus. Coria leapt up to meet the healer.

"My father?" she asked quietly.

Trennus nodded slightly. "Is still alive, but will be sent to the village at first light. Dr Beckett, if you have any way to cure him, it must be soon."

"Aye, I'd be glad to help, but …" Carson gestured to the walls surrounding them.

Trennus glanced around the cell before meeting Carson's eyes again. "I will speak with Lady Vinda, she may be able to persuade Mato to reconsider."

"I wish someone would tell me just what I've gotten myself involved with here," Carson said, not bothering to keep the frustration out of his tone.

Another figure broke off from the crowd, and the healer shot a furtive look over his shoulder. "I will speak with Vinda," he said firmly. He tugged his hood lower and headed off towards the meeting-hall.

Carson let his mind drift.

After a while the party began to wind down, people slipping away in small groups and couples. Someone rattled the bars and pushed a plate of leftovers through the gap. He gently shook Coria, who had fallen asleep in one corner.

"You should try and eat something lass," he said.

"I am not hungry, you have it," she murmured and closed her eyes again.

Carson picked at the bread, but found he could barely taste it and pushed it aside. He was overcome by fatigue, the events of the day finally overtaking him. He knew he probably should try to stay awake, but found he couldn't fight it and he slipped into a restless sleep.

SGA

Carson woke shuddering, heart racing and a stifled cry on his lips. The dream skittered away, as dreams do, half-remembered images already fading. He blinked, disorientated. For a moment, he fought sheer panic before he slowly realised where he was. Imprisoned, yes, but by humans rather than a long-dead hybrid. He rose stiffly to his feet and shuffled to the bars of the cell, peering out into the abandoned square. At least he could see the outdoors, breathe fresh air. Most of his time with Michael had been spent in compounds – underground or enclosed, or on cruisers. Once, the blindfold had slipped during a transfer and he had glimpsed a watery sun, the first natural light he had seen in months. It had given him hope that one day he might see the sun sparkle on the waters of Lantea, and see his friends again.

A soft rustling came from the far corner. He glanced back over his shoulder at Coria as she untangled herself from the thin blanket.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"No, I am usually awake before first light." She shook her head, pushing hair out of her eyes. "They will come for me soon, to leave for the village … I don't want to go. No-one comes back from there."

Boots crunched outside the prison and a staff rattled against the bars. "Wake up!"

"Aye, we're awake," Carson groused, eyeing the guard with distaste.

The guard curled his lip, "Time to go, girl."

Coria shuffled reluctantly across to the door as it was unlocked. She turned back to Carson, a silent plea in her eyes as she was dragged away by the arm.

"I'll try, love," he promised.

Left alone in the cell, he wondered what he could really do. Escape was out of the question – even if by some chance the door was left unlocked, he'd never make it to the Stargate. His only option was to try and talk his way out and hope that he could bring some sense to Mato.

His mind snapped back to Coria's mention of 'the village'. It suggested a place where the outcasts of society were sent and he was reminded of leper colonies on Earth. Were the scavengers connected? Perhaps survivors of the plague?

Sunlight began to touch the thatched roofs opposite the cell, the chilly air seemed to warm a little. An animal bleated in the distance, the voices of early risers reached his ears and the smell of wood ovens and baking bread drifted on the breeze. It was almost idyllic if he ignored the fact he was locked up.

"Doctor, his Lordship wants to see you, now."

Carson's head shot up as he rose stiffly to his feet, hurrying to the bars. To his mild surprise, his rescuer seemed to be some sort of aide instead of a guard. The aide rattled a set of keys and swung the door in. A guard loomed behind the aide, but made no move to restrain Carson. He allowed himself a tiny bit of hope that Trennus had got through to Vinda or Mato. Maybe things were looking up at last.

"Hurry, we mustn't keep him waiting."

The aide ushered Carson around the edge of the square back towards the meeting house. Although he wasn't bound, the guard stuck close with a hand resting on the hilt of a short sword.

They entered the hall once more. A few men and women scurried about with trays and plates setting up the morning meal. Carson wondered where it all came from – especially with that wretched group of raiders still languishing in the other cell.

The aide stopped and knocked at the door of the 'office', listened for a moment, then gestured Carson inside. The guard didn't follow, but presumably would remain outside in case of trouble.

Mato sat at the table, much as before. This time Vinda sat with him and they appeared to be deep in discussion. As far as Carson could tell, the piles of paper hadn't diminished from yesterday. Both Uldeans looked tired and drawn.

Vinda glanced up at Carson with a small smile. "Please sit," she said.

Carson seated himself in the wooden chair opposite the desk. Definitely a change from yesterday.

Mato stifled a yawn, then met Carson's eyes. "I think perhaps we met under difficult circumstances yesterday."

"Aye, you could say that."

"Between the scavengers, the plague and my duties, I am afraid my patience is stretched thinly these days. I hope you can understand my first priority is to protect my people," Mato sighed.

Carson considered this for a moment. "I understand there was a very sick man that needed help – not something I could do when dragged away. And what'll happen to the young lady?"

"They'll be heading to the village as we speak," Mato replied matter-of-factly.

"Coria mentioned the village. What is it? Some kind of concentration camp?"

Mato scowled. Vinda placed a calming hand on her son's arm, then turned to Carson. "I do not know this word, but the village is a place where those that cannot or will not be healed are sent."

"They're banished?" he asked.

"We cannot risk others becoming ill," she replied.

"And what if those that recover want to come back?" Carson realised he might be poking a hornet's nest here as Mato's scowl deepened.

"We have no way of knowing who is cured or whether the infection would spread to others," Mato growled, shaking off Vinda's touch.

"And that's where Atlantis can help; we have medicines, testing equipment. We could work out what's going on with this plague and hopefully beat it," Carson said, praying he could deliver on his promise.

Mato's expression softened from grim to a mix of surprise and hope. "You would share this with us?"

"Of course, if you're willing to accept our help. Isn't that part of our agreement?" Carson smiled – it seemed he was finally getting through to the surly leader.

Mato glanced thoughtfully at the table. "Perhaps it would solve the problems with the scavengers," he murmured, half to himself.

Carson held up a hand. "Now wait a minute, I'm not suggesting that I can cure everything overnight, but I do want to help. I'd need to contact Atlantis for support, then visit the village to get an idea of the situation."

Mato met Carson's eyes. "I will not stop you, Doctor Beckett, but you risk your own life if you do," he warned.

Carson smiled ruefully. "I'm immune, as far as I know. It's a long story."

Mato and Vinda stood up from their chairs and conferred quietly in the corner for a few minutes. Shortly, they both turned to face Carson.

It was Mato who spoke. "Very well, Doctor, we will accept your help. I will have transport ready for you as soon as possible."

SGA

The journey back to the Stargate by not-llama cart took most of the day. Carson dialled, explaining his situation to Woolsey.

"The Wraith have become especially active at the moment – they've increased cullings, but we're unable to establish the reason at present," Woolsey replied.

"I can spare you some equipment, but we're stretched pretty thin personnel wise," Keller added.

"Think we might be able to send you a corpsman and a jumper, but that's about the best I can do for now," Sheppard chipped in.

"Whatever you've got will be much appreciated." Carson signed off and settled in the grass to wait for a jumper.

Half an hour later, the Stargate activated. Carson had never been happier to see a Puddlejumper as the odd-shaped craft emerged from the event horizon and landed a short distance away. The rear hatch lowered to the ground and Carson hurried towards it, hoping he wasn't getting into even more trouble.

SGA

Corpsman Pink brought the jumper around to land in a copse of trees a distance away from the village. She and Carson exited the craft, cloaking it as they did so.

"Stick close to me, Doctor. I know these people are supposed to be sick, but who knows what state they're in."

Carson nodded grimly.

The ground sloped gently down as they made their way towards a collection of ramshackle huts. Someone had made an attempt to clear areas for crops, with scraggly leaves arranged in rows. A small heap of rags suddenly moved, revealing itself to be a small child who fled at the sight of them.

"Hey, wait up!" Pink called out. The child only sped up, disappearing amongst the huts. Moments later, a woman and a man appeared around the corner, both brandishing spears, though neither looked like trained soldiers.

"Who are you?" the man called.

Carson glanced at Pink before answering. "I'm Doctor Beckett, this is Corpsman Pink. We're just here to help – we're from Atlantis."

"Atlantis? It is real?" The woman spoke this time.

"Aye, real enough."

The woman eyed him suspiciously. "How do I know you speak the truth?"

Carson raised his hands in a universal gesture of peace. "I promise we're just here to help," he said.

The man chose that moment to break into a coughing fit, dropping the tip of his spear to the ground and leaning heavily on it as his body shook with each bark.

Carson dashed forward to support the man. "You should be resting with a cough like that son, not wandering around waving spears at folk."

"It is not so bad as it sounds," the man wheezed, brown eyes watering with the effort of supressing his ailments.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Carson replied firmly.

"He is correct – the cough only takes him now and again. He is much better than he was," the woman cut in.

"Are you a healer? You've been treating him?"

She gave a bitter laugh. "I am the healer for these people – no-one else would come. And yes, I've been doing what I can for Vassu and the others here." She threw him a shrewd glance. "If you are truly a healer, then I suppose it would do no harm to let you see the others. Follow me."

The four made their way into the village, passing more huts, a few with people seated outside. Vassu seemed to have regained some of his strength, though Carson could still hear the mans' laboured breaths.

"In here," the woman gestured to a hut. Carson stepped towards it, but stopped when Pink edged her way in front. "Best let me check it out first, Sir," she murmured, then ducked inside. A moment later she emerged, with a small nod.

Carson entered, having to lower his head under the roof edge. Inside, four people lay on makeshift pallets, one was asleep, the other three awake, but all were listless and pale, struggling for breath.

"May I examine them?" he asked.

"If you wish," the healer replied. She hovered near the back of the hut, her body language not openly hostile, but still watchful and wary. He could understand how it must look to her – strangers claiming to be from the city of the Ancestors, just strolling into her territory and expecting to take over. He would have to show her that her trust wasn't misplaced.

"Thank you. I won't take long," he said, offering what he hoped was his most reassuring smile. The healer said nothing, simply crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the rough wall behind her.

Carson carefully examined the four patients, checking vitals and symptoms. As he suspected, they were all in the early stages of Hoffan plague. He sat back on his heels, thinking for a moment.

"Are there any more people with these symptoms?" he asked.

"At least a dozen in this condition – most of the rest of the villagers are nearly recovered from the illness."

"And you've been caring for them by yourself?"

"Mostly, yes. Some of the survivors help with basic care, those that can." She nodded to a woman bathing the face of one of the patients.

"I'd say you've been doing an admirable job, considering the circumstances." Carson smiled again. "I'm sorry love, I didn't catch your name."

The healer uncrossed her arms and inclined her head just a little towards Carson. "I am Deieda," she replied.

Another woman ducked into the hut, carrying a tray of what looked like soup in mismatched earthenware bowls. She held a brief conversation with Deieda, then distributed the bowls among the patients.

"I'm afraid we do not have much to offer, but you're welcome to join us for the evening meal."

Deieda led Carson and Pink to a central area with logs arranged around a fire, then hurried away.

Not wanting to deplete the apparently meagre food supplies, they tried to decline, pulling MREs out of their packs. This seemed to cause some offense to the woman serving the stew, so they quickly accepted two bowls with somewhat exaggerated thanks and praise. With the woman placated, they retreated to a spare log and tucked in. The stew turned out to be surprisingly hearty and tasty, ideal for recuperating patients. It struck Carson that the meat couldn't have come from the village itself as there didn't appear to be any livestock nearby – it had to be either stolen or smuggled in by someone defying the rules about contact with victims.

A while later, Deieda returned with her own bowl of stew. She sat down heavily on the log and began spooning stew into her mouth whilst staring into the fire. She seemed not to want to make conversation for the moment, so Carson let her be, despite his mind itching to know more about the situation. He couldn't ignore the fact that the Uldeans seemed to have higher survival rates than the rest of the galaxy and he was determined to find out why.

After several spoonfuls, Deida hitched her shoulders and turned to Carson. "I imagine you wish to know what happened to my people?"

"Aye, it would help me get a better idea of how I might be able to help," he replied.

She sighed softly. "About six summers ago, people started becoming ill. We had no idea what caused it or how the illness spread. Some believed it was a curse – punishment for not following the Ancestors, others like myself believed it must be a physical infection. Some villages were decimated or abandoned, like this one. We lost so many…" Deida paused and glanced into the fire again. For a moment the flames cast shadows that highlighted the weariness in her face. She turned back to Carson. "This time seems different – most people survive, though some are left with lasting effects as you saw." She waved a hand in the general direction of the village.

"Is this all of the survivors?"

"No. There are more villages like this, I'm told, though I do not know exactly how many. Survivors are cast out and not allowed to return."

"That's kinda harsh," Pink cut in.

Deida regarded the younger woman. "Harsh, yes, but necessary; we have no way of knowing if they will pass on the disease." She bit her lip for a moment. "Falling ill is seen as a weakness by some of my people – if you cannot contribute in some way or have family to look after you, you are no longer useful."

Carson thought for a moment – it certainly explained some of Mato's attitude.

"Not all of us think this way – some of us believe survival is a strength," Deieda continued.

"I take it you're one of the latter?"

Deida smiled softly. "Of course, Dr Beckett. Or I would be following the wrong path, would I not? Now, if you wish to stay here tonight, there are plenty of empty buildings you may use."

On the way back to the jumper to collect more supplies, Pink expressed her concern over the arrangements.

"I didn't want to say anything in front of the healer, but we'd be safer sleeping in the jumper," she began.

"I don't think we'll be in any danger from the residents and we'll be nearer if we're needed," he argued.

"It's not the residents I'm concerned about," she muttered.

Carson gave her a steady look.

"Fine, but I'm setting a watch as soon as we get back. I'll go first," she replied, her tone suggesting there was no point in him arguing further.

Once they returned to the village and set up camp in an abandoned hut, Carson nodded a good night to Pink, removed his boots and jacket and settled into his sleeping bag. It hadn't escaped his notice that she kept her P90 within easy reach.

He tried to sleep, but his mind kept turning over everything he'd learned. Deieda might not know how the plague was spreading, but he had a pretty good idea.

Even if the Wraith as a species had never visited Uldea, it was still possible that Michael, with his network of spies, had found the planet and had the food and water infected. But that didn't make any sense, did it? Why would he infect a world that the others would probably never visit? No, it had to be something else – contaminated food or water from a trading partner maybe? If he could identify the source and find out why the plague affected the Uldeans differently, it could be a step towards eradicating the plague entirely. But it would take co-operation form the locals and a full research team – more than he had available to him right now. Eventually, he slipped into sleep, still worrying how he would not fail anyone else.

SGA

Three days later, Carson was no nearer to finding the source of the plague. With only very basic equipment, a limited study group and no baseline readings for the Uldeans, he was coming to the reluctant conclusion that the scale of the problem was beyond what he could achieve alone. Pink was an excellent medic, but she herself admitted she had few research skills to speak of. He would have to put forward a proposal to Mr Woolsey for a full-scale investigation requiring more resources and personnel.

A knock on the door frame roused him from his thoughts, as Pink ducked through the door. She looked flushed and slightly out of breath, as if she'd been running. She'd flown the Jumper to the Stargate for the daily check-in, but this couldn't be good news.

"Doc, you need to pack up and get back to the jumper as soon as you can. We're being re-called to Atlantis."

"Why, what's happening?"

"The Wraith are culling like the galaxy's an all-you-can-eat buffet; they're hitting every planet they can. Atlantis needs us back."

Carson frowned at her words.

"I'm quoting Colonel Sheppard," she replied, moving across to the makeshift study area Carson had set up. "I'll help you pack."

It took nearly an hour to carefully pack the equipment, and after a promise to Deieda that they would return as soon as they could, they headed back to the Jumper and Atlantis. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, Carson thought to himself as the 'gate splashed into life ahead of the windscreen.