FIC: Sins Of The Father Chapter 3
Title: Sins Of The Father
Author: joaniexjony
SINS OF THE FATHER
CHAPTER 3
Special ops training covered everything a soldier in the field needed to know. How to handle every kind of weapon from a handgun to explosives. Unarmed combat, including all the martial arts…not his particular favourite. And of course, last but certainly not least, what to expect if you were unlucky enough to get captured behind enemy lines.
Of course, Sheppard had been that unlucky on a number of occasions. In his experience, if your combatant had signed up to the Geneva Convention, the conditions generally weren't too bad. A clean place to sleep, decent food, and at the end of the day your sorry ass was usually traded for one of theirs.
Most of the time though, he hadn't been that fortunate, and during those occasions the routine always went the same way. First the incarceration; typically in some rat infested hole, tied or chained to a wall, and left to rot for days on end. Then, once they had you softened up, or thought they did, came the interrogation. Now those never, ever varied.
They would ask simple questions at first, usually the same ones, and you responded with the set reply…name, rank, and serial number. However it was when they started asking the important stuff…Why are you here? Where is your base of operations? And you still gave the same answers that things started to get nasty. In a sick kinda way it always reminded him of a set menu in one of those cheap diners. First came a side order of fist, followed by a main course of cracked rib and later as dessert, when he really pissed them off…torture.
Shortly, after their capture here, their watches had been taken. It was a clever but unoriginal tactic, designed to disorientate them, as it was impossible to tell how much time had passed since they were taken. There was no daylight or nightfall down here to gauge the passage of time, only cold, dark rock walls pressing in around them, shutting them away from the rest of the world. But, guessing by how his leg felt now, John reckoned it must have been close on a couple of days since he got shot. His right leg still wouldn't tolerate any weight, but the sharp piercing pain of before was now more of an ache, and he felt he was finally starting to recover from the blood loss, feeling less tired than before, if not completely back to normal.
He had to admit though for a scientist, Marcen was a pretty gifted adversary. So far he had incapacitated his greatest threat…him. Coerced an exhausted McKay into spending long hours in the lab, separating them all day, leaving Rodney too beat to do anything other than sleep when he returned. Plus, he was also using the old familiar ploy of keeping his prisoners subdued by only providing two small meals a day. Constant hunger he could cope with, at least for a while, but McKay looked deathly pale and had been unusually quiet, a sure sight his hypoglycaemia was playing up. The Geneva Convention didn't apply in the Pegasus galaxy, but if it did, by his reckoning the geeky scientist had already broken most of the rules.
ooooOoooo
Twice now he'd been dragged off to Jusana to have his dressing changed. Each time as he was strapped to the table, he wondered what else was going to happen, but so far it was only his wound that was treated. The procedure always carried out in silence, with no acknowledgment that he, a human being was even present. Still, John knew that situation would most likely change, it was only a matter of when…
"Get up…"John rubbed his hand over his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes, and looked up to find Tom and Jerry standing by the side of his bed.
"Morning. Or is it afternoon?" No answer…
"Fine. Would someone care to help me up…unless you want to give me a cane, or some crutches maybe…no?"
Within seconds he was hauled out the bed by Tom, and shouldered out the door in between the two men towards the now familiar route to the infirmary. There was no specific reason to assume today's visit would be any different than before, but somehow he just had a feeling.
Once they entered the lab all John's fears were confirmed, as instead of being taken to the table, he was shoved onto a chair sitting on the opposite side of the room. It was made from the same kind of metal as the rest of the furniture, with a headrest, two straight arms and a raised platform for his feet, each section fitted with metal restraints. In many ways it reminded him of the dentists chair back in Atlantis. Granted, it was never his favourite place, but at least there he knew the worst case scenario would be a filling, or if he was really unlucky an extraction. Here through, judging by the treatment they'd received so far, he reckoned this time he wouldn't be that fortunate…
Just as the last metal band was clicked tightly into place, Marcen's mother appeared with a determined look in her eye and his heart sank, as he knew stage two, the interrogation, was about to begin.
"Good morning ma'am." John offered his best lop-sided grin, but was ignored as the woman unwrapped a thick material pouch, then began arranging syringes on the tray at the side of the chair. He watched anxiously, as she placed three different coloured phials, one beside each needle, before choosing the first and loading up it's contents. Only when she was finished with her task did she turn to address him.
"Today, Colonel Sheppard, I am going to ask you a series of questions. I will only ask them once, and if I don't like the answers, then you will definitely not like the consequences."
John tried desperately to control his breathing as his sleeve was rolled back, and hissed as the sharp prick of a needle was slid into the crook of his arm.
"This is just something to make you relax, help your mind break down any barriers you may have, and make you more receptive to my questions."
John was already starting to feel woozy. "You mean this is a truth serum…right?"
The woman considered his response for a moment then replied. "An interesting concept. Partly accurate I suppose, depending on the answers you give me…doesn't it?"
By now he could hardly see past the swirling rainbow obscuring his vision, and his brain felt fuzzy, heavy, he could barely think...
"Who are you really, Colonel Sheppard, and where do you come from?"
"Th…ts…two…questions…n…t…fair."
"You're hardly in a position to argue, so just answer." Jusana snapped, her impatience obvious.
John had been trained to resist all types of interrogation techniques, including the use of narcotics. So he wasn't about to tell Morticia he came from Earth, but he could answer the first question, however he had a feeling she wasn't going to like the answer.
"John She…ard…"
"Liar! I already know who you are...you're Brantum Forant, an Ancient who came to this planet many years ago. Why don't you just admit it?"
"Who?" John forced his head steady to look into stony eyes filled with hate.
"Fine. If you insist in playing games, then you will the pay the price." Sheppard watched helpless, as she picked up a second syringe and winced as it was forced into his arm.
"Ow! Th…t's…gon…a….bruise."
"Trust me when I tell you that pain will be nothing to what you will shortly experience. The serum I have just given you will make every nerve ending in your body feel like it's on fire. Very soon you will be in agony, with only I, having the means to make it stop. In the meantime however, you need to be taught a lesson for your insolence, so I will leave you to your pain but when I return, I will expect to hear the truth."
John knew he was totally screwed, as his heart was racing and he could already feel the heat rising in his body. Beads of sweat were rolling down his face, his back, soaking his shirt, making it stick to the hard unyielding surface underneath. Then suddenly, without warning, an explosion of pain erupted all over his body…White hot spikes of fire were burning through every muscle, setting every nerve ending on fire. He was groaning, shuddering with convulsions, reflectively jerking away…from the chair…himself. But there was no escape from the torment as each part of his body screamed, as on and on the rippling fire consumed him, relentless in its persecution, burning him alive. But he couldn't answer her questions, wouldn't give away his country, even if it meant losing his life.
"Are you ready to tell the truth now, Forant?" Jusana had returned, and her piercing blue eyes were searching his for answers.
Darkness loomed as his body buckled against the pain, and he glared up with as much defiance as he could muster. "I…to…d…u…I'm…Gah John…Shepp…d…Argh…fr…m…Atlan…is."
"Damn you…I've a good mind to let the serum take it's course and end your pathetic life, but you will tell me what I want to know, it's only a matter of time."
John felt the sting of a needle one more time, and gradually felt the pain start to ease, just as the sadistic female grabbed his jaw forcing him to stare into her pinched, lined face distorted with rage.
"I should have realised a soldier like you is more used to traditional interrogation techniques, so I will be happy to oblige. Luthame," She turned to the guard. "Take Colonel Sheppard to the old lab, strip him, then secure him against the wall. You may release him twice a day to attend to his personal needs, and give him a little water, but nothing to eat for forty-eight hours…is that clear?"
As she went to leave, she turned to glare at John one more time. "Right now, Colonel Sheppard, I have other pressing matters I need to attend to, so I will leave you in the care of these men. For your sake, I hope you use this time wisely to consider your future responses or I won't be as lenient the next time we meet."
ooooOoooo
The glass slid from his grasp, smashed against the unforgiving floor, and shattered into a million tiny pieces around his feet. Rodney watched it fall as if in slow motion, helpless, unable to stop shaking, his body out of control…unaware of where he was, or what he was supposed to be doing.
He dragged his eyes from his trembling hands to catch Marcen starting at him, but instead of a rebuke, the young scientist looked concerned.
"Are you alright, Dr McKay?"
"What? No…no I'm not." McKay felt himself start to sway, and steadied himself on the metal bench.
"Sit down, Doctor" Marcen rushed over, grabbed his arm and helped Rodney into a chair.
"You're unwell, Doctor. Why didn't you say something?"
"I have hypoglycaemia…low blood sugar. It's controllable if I eat regularly, but since you took us…"
Marcen went over to the guard by the door, but Rodney could barely focus, let alone hear what was said.
"You have my apologies. The meagre portions you were given were designed more to control colonel Sheppard than yourself. He is a dangerous man even with the injury, and I needed to keep him weak and compliant, although it was never my intention to endanger your health. Please, sit here for a moment while my man gets you something to eat. Once you are feeling a little better, you may return to your room and rest. The work here is important, Dr McKay, but so is your contribution. I have tremendous respect for you, Doctor, despite the manner in which you have been treated thus far, I just wanted you to know that."
Rodney was bemused, as the man who had punched him only days before now looked anxious, even keeping watch, as he ate the simple meal of cold slices and soft white bread. For some strange reason the way Marcen was staring at him, his intense worried look, reminded him of the one his grandmother used to give him when he stayed at her house, each day after school.
Grandma McKay was a stern old bird, who had loved them dearly. He remembered with affection how he would sit by Jeannie at the kitchen table, drinking ice old milk and eating cookies…chocolate chip...while she lectured them on the importance of working hard and good table manners. Two of them in particular he remembered off by heart…never gulp down your food, and never, ever, guzzle your drink too fast. Rodney suppressed a smile, knowing that dear old lady would be spinning in her grave if she saw him now; ramming the sandwich down the back of his throat, and knocking back a full glass of milk in one go. When the plate was empty his stomach felt if not exactly full, then at least no longer empty, and the trembling from before had finally stopped, leaving him feeling completely drained.
Marcen waved off the guard, keeping a firm hold of his arm as he rose a little unsteadily to his feet, and kept it there until they reached the cell. Then, after a slight hesitation, almost with reluctance, the young scientist fitted the shackle back around his ankle. It was only when he sat down on the side of the bed, Rodney realised John was missing.
"Where's Sheppard?"
"He refused to answer my mother's questions so he is being punished."
"Punished!" Rodney jumped up, then felt woozy and collapsed back onto the bed. "What questions? Isn't that why you took me? What answers can Sheppard possibly give you that I can't?"
The young man sat down on the bed opposite, Sheppard's bed, and spoke calmly.
"What do you know about colonel Sheppard?" He saw Rodney about to speak. "I mean before he came to Atlantis."
McKay could feel himself starting to shake again, but not from low blood sugar.
"I know he was a pilot, but not much else…John's a private person, he doesn't talk much about his past, but he's a good man, brave, fearless even. He's saved my life many times."
"I need to show you something, Doctor; I'll be back in a minute."
McKay looked over at the empty bed and started to panic. Why had they wanted Sheppard, and what were they doing to him right now? He heard a noise and realised Marcen was back in the room.
"Here…who does that remind you of?" Marcen handed over a faded picture of a lean, dark haired, middle aged man wearing a white tunic standing in the lab where he'd just been working. It could have been anyone, but the spiky hair was unmistakable as was the all too familiar pair of hazel eyes…
ooooOoooo
TBC
Author: joaniexjony
SINS OF THE FATHER
CHAPTER 3
Special ops training covered everything a soldier in the field needed to know. How to handle every kind of weapon from a handgun to explosives. Unarmed combat, including all the martial arts…not his particular favourite. And of course, last but certainly not least, what to expect if you were unlucky enough to get captured behind enemy lines.
Of course, Sheppard had been that unlucky on a number of occasions. In his experience, if your combatant had signed up to the Geneva Convention, the conditions generally weren't too bad. A clean place to sleep, decent food, and at the end of the day your sorry ass was usually traded for one of theirs.
Most of the time though, he hadn't been that fortunate, and during those occasions the routine always went the same way. First the incarceration; typically in some rat infested hole, tied or chained to a wall, and left to rot for days on end. Then, once they had you softened up, or thought they did, came the interrogation. Now those never, ever varied.
They would ask simple questions at first, usually the same ones, and you responded with the set reply…name, rank, and serial number. However it was when they started asking the important stuff…Why are you here? Where is your base of operations? And you still gave the same answers that things started to get nasty. In a sick kinda way it always reminded him of a set menu in one of those cheap diners. First came a side order of fist, followed by a main course of cracked rib and later as dessert, when he really pissed them off…torture.
Shortly, after their capture here, their watches had been taken. It was a clever but unoriginal tactic, designed to disorientate them, as it was impossible to tell how much time had passed since they were taken. There was no daylight or nightfall down here to gauge the passage of time, only cold, dark rock walls pressing in around them, shutting them away from the rest of the world. But, guessing by how his leg felt now, John reckoned it must have been close on a couple of days since he got shot. His right leg still wouldn't tolerate any weight, but the sharp piercing pain of before was now more of an ache, and he felt he was finally starting to recover from the blood loss, feeling less tired than before, if not completely back to normal.
He had to admit though for a scientist, Marcen was a pretty gifted adversary. So far he had incapacitated his greatest threat…him. Coerced an exhausted McKay into spending long hours in the lab, separating them all day, leaving Rodney too beat to do anything other than sleep when he returned. Plus, he was also using the old familiar ploy of keeping his prisoners subdued by only providing two small meals a day. Constant hunger he could cope with, at least for a while, but McKay looked deathly pale and had been unusually quiet, a sure sight his hypoglycaemia was playing up. The Geneva Convention didn't apply in the Pegasus galaxy, but if it did, by his reckoning the geeky scientist had already broken most of the rules.
ooooOoooo
Twice now he'd been dragged off to Jusana to have his dressing changed. Each time as he was strapped to the table, he wondered what else was going to happen, but so far it was only his wound that was treated. The procedure always carried out in silence, with no acknowledgment that he, a human being was even present. Still, John knew that situation would most likely change, it was only a matter of when…
"Get up…"John rubbed his hand over his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes, and looked up to find Tom and Jerry standing by the side of his bed.
"Morning. Or is it afternoon?" No answer…
"Fine. Would someone care to help me up…unless you want to give me a cane, or some crutches maybe…no?"
Within seconds he was hauled out the bed by Tom, and shouldered out the door in between the two men towards the now familiar route to the infirmary. There was no specific reason to assume today's visit would be any different than before, but somehow he just had a feeling.
Once they entered the lab all John's fears were confirmed, as instead of being taken to the table, he was shoved onto a chair sitting on the opposite side of the room. It was made from the same kind of metal as the rest of the furniture, with a headrest, two straight arms and a raised platform for his feet, each section fitted with metal restraints. In many ways it reminded him of the dentists chair back in Atlantis. Granted, it was never his favourite place, but at least there he knew the worst case scenario would be a filling, or if he was really unlucky an extraction. Here through, judging by the treatment they'd received so far, he reckoned this time he wouldn't be that fortunate…
Just as the last metal band was clicked tightly into place, Marcen's mother appeared with a determined look in her eye and his heart sank, as he knew stage two, the interrogation, was about to begin.
"Good morning ma'am." John offered his best lop-sided grin, but was ignored as the woman unwrapped a thick material pouch, then began arranging syringes on the tray at the side of the chair. He watched anxiously, as she placed three different coloured phials, one beside each needle, before choosing the first and loading up it's contents. Only when she was finished with her task did she turn to address him.
"Today, Colonel Sheppard, I am going to ask you a series of questions. I will only ask them once, and if I don't like the answers, then you will definitely not like the consequences."
John tried desperately to control his breathing as his sleeve was rolled back, and hissed as the sharp prick of a needle was slid into the crook of his arm.
"This is just something to make you relax, help your mind break down any barriers you may have, and make you more receptive to my questions."
John was already starting to feel woozy. "You mean this is a truth serum…right?"
The woman considered his response for a moment then replied. "An interesting concept. Partly accurate I suppose, depending on the answers you give me…doesn't it?"
By now he could hardly see past the swirling rainbow obscuring his vision, and his brain felt fuzzy, heavy, he could barely think...
"Who are you really, Colonel Sheppard, and where do you come from?"
"Th…ts…two…questions…n…t…fair."
"You're hardly in a position to argue, so just answer." Jusana snapped, her impatience obvious.
John had been trained to resist all types of interrogation techniques, including the use of narcotics. So he wasn't about to tell Morticia he came from Earth, but he could answer the first question, however he had a feeling she wasn't going to like the answer.
"John She…ard…"
"Liar! I already know who you are...you're Brantum Forant, an Ancient who came to this planet many years ago. Why don't you just admit it?"
"Who?" John forced his head steady to look into stony eyes filled with hate.
"Fine. If you insist in playing games, then you will the pay the price." Sheppard watched helpless, as she picked up a second syringe and winced as it was forced into his arm.
"Ow! Th…t's…gon…a….bruise."
"Trust me when I tell you that pain will be nothing to what you will shortly experience. The serum I have just given you will make every nerve ending in your body feel like it's on fire. Very soon you will be in agony, with only I, having the means to make it stop. In the meantime however, you need to be taught a lesson for your insolence, so I will leave you to your pain but when I return, I will expect to hear the truth."
John knew he was totally screwed, as his heart was racing and he could already feel the heat rising in his body. Beads of sweat were rolling down his face, his back, soaking his shirt, making it stick to the hard unyielding surface underneath. Then suddenly, without warning, an explosion of pain erupted all over his body…White hot spikes of fire were burning through every muscle, setting every nerve ending on fire. He was groaning, shuddering with convulsions, reflectively jerking away…from the chair…himself. But there was no escape from the torment as each part of his body screamed, as on and on the rippling fire consumed him, relentless in its persecution, burning him alive. But he couldn't answer her questions, wouldn't give away his country, even if it meant losing his life.
"Are you ready to tell the truth now, Forant?" Jusana had returned, and her piercing blue eyes were searching his for answers.
Darkness loomed as his body buckled against the pain, and he glared up with as much defiance as he could muster. "I…to…d…u…I'm…Gah John…Shepp…d…Argh…fr…m…Atlan…is."
"Damn you…I've a good mind to let the serum take it's course and end your pathetic life, but you will tell me what I want to know, it's only a matter of time."
John felt the sting of a needle one more time, and gradually felt the pain start to ease, just as the sadistic female grabbed his jaw forcing him to stare into her pinched, lined face distorted with rage.
"I should have realised a soldier like you is more used to traditional interrogation techniques, so I will be happy to oblige. Luthame," She turned to the guard. "Take Colonel Sheppard to the old lab, strip him, then secure him against the wall. You may release him twice a day to attend to his personal needs, and give him a little water, but nothing to eat for forty-eight hours…is that clear?"
As she went to leave, she turned to glare at John one more time. "Right now, Colonel Sheppard, I have other pressing matters I need to attend to, so I will leave you in the care of these men. For your sake, I hope you use this time wisely to consider your future responses or I won't be as lenient the next time we meet."
ooooOoooo
The glass slid from his grasp, smashed against the unforgiving floor, and shattered into a million tiny pieces around his feet. Rodney watched it fall as if in slow motion, helpless, unable to stop shaking, his body out of control…unaware of where he was, or what he was supposed to be doing.
He dragged his eyes from his trembling hands to catch Marcen starting at him, but instead of a rebuke, the young scientist looked concerned.
"Are you alright, Dr McKay?"
"What? No…no I'm not." McKay felt himself start to sway, and steadied himself on the metal bench.
"Sit down, Doctor" Marcen rushed over, grabbed his arm and helped Rodney into a chair.
"You're unwell, Doctor. Why didn't you say something?"
"I have hypoglycaemia…low blood sugar. It's controllable if I eat regularly, but since you took us…"
Marcen went over to the guard by the door, but Rodney could barely focus, let alone hear what was said.
"You have my apologies. The meagre portions you were given were designed more to control colonel Sheppard than yourself. He is a dangerous man even with the injury, and I needed to keep him weak and compliant, although it was never my intention to endanger your health. Please, sit here for a moment while my man gets you something to eat. Once you are feeling a little better, you may return to your room and rest. The work here is important, Dr McKay, but so is your contribution. I have tremendous respect for you, Doctor, despite the manner in which you have been treated thus far, I just wanted you to know that."
Rodney was bemused, as the man who had punched him only days before now looked anxious, even keeping watch, as he ate the simple meal of cold slices and soft white bread. For some strange reason the way Marcen was staring at him, his intense worried look, reminded him of the one his grandmother used to give him when he stayed at her house, each day after school.
Grandma McKay was a stern old bird, who had loved them dearly. He remembered with affection how he would sit by Jeannie at the kitchen table, drinking ice old milk and eating cookies…chocolate chip...while she lectured them on the importance of working hard and good table manners. Two of them in particular he remembered off by heart…never gulp down your food, and never, ever, guzzle your drink too fast. Rodney suppressed a smile, knowing that dear old lady would be spinning in her grave if she saw him now; ramming the sandwich down the back of his throat, and knocking back a full glass of milk in one go. When the plate was empty his stomach felt if not exactly full, then at least no longer empty, and the trembling from before had finally stopped, leaving him feeling completely drained.
Marcen waved off the guard, keeping a firm hold of his arm as he rose a little unsteadily to his feet, and kept it there until they reached the cell. Then, after a slight hesitation, almost with reluctance, the young scientist fitted the shackle back around his ankle. It was only when he sat down on the side of the bed, Rodney realised John was missing.
"Where's Sheppard?"
"He refused to answer my mother's questions so he is being punished."
"Punished!" Rodney jumped up, then felt woozy and collapsed back onto the bed. "What questions? Isn't that why you took me? What answers can Sheppard possibly give you that I can't?"
The young man sat down on the bed opposite, Sheppard's bed, and spoke calmly.
"What do you know about colonel Sheppard?" He saw Rodney about to speak. "I mean before he came to Atlantis."
McKay could feel himself starting to shake again, but not from low blood sugar.
"I know he was a pilot, but not much else…John's a private person, he doesn't talk much about his past, but he's a good man, brave, fearless even. He's saved my life many times."
"I need to show you something, Doctor; I'll be back in a minute."
McKay looked over at the empty bed and started to panic. Why had they wanted Sheppard, and what were they doing to him right now? He heard a noise and realised Marcen was back in the room.
"Here…who does that remind you of?" Marcen handed over a faded picture of a lean, dark haired, middle aged man wearing a white tunic standing in the lab where he'd just been working. It could have been anyone, but the spiky hair was unmistakable as was the all too familiar pair of hazel eyes…
ooooOoooo
TBC