New Fic: To Market, To Market... Part VI of VI
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Ten days later
“Cut that out before you tip over and break your neck, or worse, damage this station,” McKay snapped.
Naked toes, shaded purple with sickly greenish and yellowish streaks continued to wave in the air.
“You’re just jealous ‘cause you can’t do this,” Sheppard teased, smiling smugly. His hands lightly gripped the rim of the large tires on the wheelchair, continually moving and adjusting the chair just enough to keep his seat tilted at a precarious forty-five degree angle.
In answer, McKay pulled a Snickers bar from a pocket. He took his time opening the wrapper, holding it clumsily in his casted right hand. As he slowly pulled back the wrapping, he raised his eyes to be sure Sheppard was watching. Locking eyes with the glowering lt. colonel he raised the candy bar to his nose. He took an exaggerated sniff down its entire length, paused to smile and give a contented sigh and then took a large bite.
“Bastard,” Sheppard grumbled under his breath. His jaw was wired shut to give the broken bones a chance to heal and he had been reduced to a liquid diet: broth and gruel and whatever odd tasting ‘shakes’ the mess came up with. Last night they had presented him with a ‘pot roast shake.’ It hadn’t tasted bad exactly, but it had been odd.
He watched as McKay ate the last bit of chocolate and had to swallow quickly to keep from drooling. He’d give anything to be able to chew… well, anything. The liquefied diet had quickly palled, but he still had four to six more weeks before the wires were removed.
On top of the odd diet, he was stuck in this wheelchair for at least another week or so. He hadn’t believed Beckett when he’d been told that his feet would become even more sensitive than they had been immediately after being beaten. But they had. For several days he hadn’t been able to stand anything touching them, not even the lightest of sheets. The extreme sensitivity was gradually fading, but that was why his feet were uncovered. The medical staff had even wrapped the chair’s footrests with lamb’s wool, to provide a cushion from the cold metal.
So, he couldn’t eat. His movements were very restricted. Add to that Beckett’s refusal to allow him to perform even the lightest of duties and he was damned bored.
That was one reason he was here in Control, bothering McKay. It helped relieve his own boredom and, from the looks he was catching from the Control personnel, it was entertaining the techs, too.
“Hey, Rodney, look what I can do now,” he demanded. Still balancing carefully, he started turning the wheels slowly, one clockwise, and the other counter-clockwise. The chair started to turn on its axis in short, jerky movements.
McKay grunted impatiently, refusing to look up from the data streaming across the monitor. “I thought you were going to help Radek by turning on artifacts this morning.”
“Been there, done that. Look.”
“I’m busy here. In case you’ve forgotten: the Procurers were released this morning and we’re monitoring their activity. I want to make sure all the sensors and subspace beacons we hid on the ship are working. We were only able to test the passive ones; we couldn’t test the active signals until the ship is moving.”
Sheppard nodded. He knew all of this. He had been consulted on the plans while he was still confined to a hospital bed.
The Stooges and the two who were captured later had remained silent the entire time they were held in the Atlantis brig, not even speaking with each other. They ate and slept. They were taken to the bathroom facilities, one at a time, on a regular basis since none of them would request the privilege.
Everyday, each prisoner would spend time with Lorne or another interrogator, refusing to respond to any of the questions put to them.
Dr. Weir had denied a request to use passive conditioning - sleep deprivation, etc. - to try to elicit answers. As expected, she had also decided that she did not want to start a permanent jail facility in the City. She gave the scientists ten days to gather as much data from the Procurer’s ship as they could and to hide tracking equipment on the ship. The hope was that they would be able to gain intelligence on both the Procurers and the Wraith.
And so Moe, Larry and Curly and the two unnamed associates had been released this morning. They had been taken from their cells, their wrists bound with zip-ties and dark hoods pulled over their heads - just as they had been when they had arrived in Atlantis ten days earlier. They were led to the stargate. Their wrists were then freed but the hoods remained in place.
Lorne issued a final warning: don’t interfere in Atlantis’ business, don’t harass Atlantis’ people. Atlantis will not be so lenient in the future.
He then informed them that their ship was where they had left it, that they were free to go. And then they were pushed not so gently through the ‘gate. A cloaked jumper was already on the other side to monitor their movements.
Sheppard had watched the show from Control. He’d been surprised by a chill of uneasiness that had settled in his belly. Even hooded and bound, the Procurers exuded a haughty coldness. After the first couple days back in Atlantis he hadn’t had any nightmares about the kidnapping and torture, no flashbacks, none of the usual signs of PTSD. He had done the obligatory sessions with Heightmeyer and gotten signed off. But now he couldn’t shake the feeling that this - releasing the prisoners - was going to backfire on them.
But those were Weir’s orders.
He glanced back at McKay who was studiously ignoring the mini-drama taking place in the ‘gate room. But he could see the tight lips and trembling hands McKay was trying to disguise with continuous movement. That was when he decided to stay and keep the scientist company.
An hour earlier the ‘gate had opened and they were notified that the Procurers had entered their ship. A few moments later a subspace signal was received from a tracking beacon on the ship confirming the cargo hatch had been opened, and that five people had boarded the ship.
“I know all that, Rodney,” he said now, still moving the chair in restless circles. “They might not make an attempt to leave the planet today. It may be days. Are you going to stay here the entire time?”
“Listen, Sheppard,” McKay snapped, turning abruptly from the monitor. “I don’t need you to -. Oh, my God!”
He hadn’t realized how close Sheppard and the chair were. When he turned, his hand came up in a sweeping gesture and his cast brushed across the bottom of the chair’s footrest.
It wasn’t a hard contact, but it was enough to upset the precarious balance.
The wheels slipped. The chair toppled backward. And Sheppard’s head bounced when it hit the floor.
There was a stunned silence. No one moved.
Sheppard lay on the floor, his feet in the air, startled by the sudden change in altitude. He stared up at an aghast McKay and burst into laughter.
Almost immediately he groaned and pressed a hand to his aching face. His shoulders continued to shake in silent laughter.
“Damn, McKay, you just had to ask me to leave,” he gasped weakly. Hazel eyes, still surrounded by fading bruises, sparkled with humor.
“Leave,” snapped McKay and turned back to his monitor.
This caused more snorting laughter, followed by groans. “Oh, God, please don’t make me laugh.”
The techs on duty in Control looked between the two men, wondering if someone should intervene and help the colonel up from the floor.
After a few moments, an amused voice rose from the floor. “Rodney, you gonna help me up?”
McKay sighed with exasperation and looked at the man on the ground. “I’m not allowed to pick up anything heavier than my laptop. Apparently bruised kidneys are very tricky. I could need surgery like that if I’m not careful.” He looked around for the nearest underling and snapped his fingers at the tech manning the communications board. “You there, whatever your name is, come help the Colonel up off the floor.”
The tech hurried over.
While Sheppard and his chair were being helped off the floor the stargate activated. In a few moments the ‘gate technician announced that Sergeant Thomson was reporting in from Cataarn.
McKay keyed his mike and turned back to his keyboard and monitor. “Sergeant, what do you have for me?”
“Just thought you’d want to know the Procurers are firing up their engines,” the Marine reported.
“Good, good,” McKay said. “Don’t shut the gate yet.” He stared intently at the monitor. After a moment he rapidly typed in an instruction and then waited again. His fingers moving restlessly. “Ha,” he finally said, tapping the screen. “There it is. Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Are they moving yet?”
“They’re just taking off now, sir.”
“Excellent. Good, good, good. That’s all. You can shut the stargate down now.” McKay went back to staring at his monitor. “Left the atmosphere,” he mumbled to himself in a few minutes.
Sheppard waited patiently. He knew McKay and Zelenka had spent a lot of time planning where to place the tracking devices on the ship, hiding them from the Procurers sight and shielding them from their sensors. He hoped that the equipment, and its concealment, worked as well as the two scientists anticipated. The intelligence on the Wraith and the Procurers would be invaluable. He had an uneasy feeling that they would need it.
When McKay announced “Hyper-space!” he rolled over and tapped on the console to get the scientist’s attention.
“Can we let Daedalus know she can break orbit and head back to Earth?”
“Hmmm? Oh, sure, sure. The beacons are going off just as we planned. We’re not going to have a problem tracking it.”
Sheppard nodded to the communications tech to send the prepared message.
Now he waited not so patiently for McKay to break away from the obsessive screen watching. He was tired and he wanted to get something to eat. And McKay was looking washed out.
He gave McKay fifteen more minutes of screen time and then knocked on the console again.
“They’re in hyper-drive. The beacons are working correctly. The system is recording the data. You don’t need to keep babysitting it.”
“What are you on about?” McKay asked, looking up vaguely.
“Dinner. Let’s go get some food. Or you get some food; I’ll get whatever weird concoction the mess personnel have devised for me tonight. I’m beginning to suspect they’re enjoying my predicament,” Sheppard grumbled.
“I’m not hungry. Just had a candy bar, remember?”
McKay started to turn back to the monitor, but Sheppard put up a hand to stop him.
“Yes, I do remember, you rotten bastard. Come on. It’s lasagna night. You know you love it; and Cook always saves you a corner piece.” Sheppard saw he was wavering and brought out the big gun. “You know when Carson let you back on light duty he didn’t mean you could hunch over a computer for ten hours on your first day. Don’t make me tell on you.”
McKay rolled his eyes, but got to his feet. “All right, I’m coming. I’d better get a corner piece and they’d better still have garlic bread.”
Sheppard whirled his chair around and led the way out of Control, nodding to the techs as he passed by. “There you go. You’ll feel better after you’ve abused the mess personnel and eaten some pasta. God knows what they have for me.”
“Maybe they’ll throw some in the blender for you.”
“Do you think a pizza and beer shake would taste good?”
~~the end~~