Spirit Part 2/5
John stared at the back wall of their cell, pointedly ignoring the other prisoners. He’d never felt as helpless as when he watched Ronon and Teyla fight when all he could do was hope they’d be okay. Then, to see one of the losers fed upon… what if one of his people lost? If the queens decided they didn’t fight well? Would he be forced to watch his team mates die? John drew in a loud breath and shook of the thought. He looked to his right as Rodney walked up next to him. John’s gaze narrowed at his friend’s downcast look. “What is it?” he asked quietly.
Rodney swallowed. “I… Well, I wanted to say… that is… I’m sorry.”
John turned to face him. “What for?”
Rodney shrugged. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. I mean… you wouldn’t have had to bargain… give in to him…”
John shook his head. “McKay stop,” he ordered firmly. As Rodney fell into silence, John locked gazes with him. “Somehow, I think the alternative would’ve been far less pleasant.” He arched a brow at Rodney’s questioning gaze. “You really think the Wraith would’ve just let us go?” His second brow joined the first as comprehension dawned on Rodney’s face. John nodded slightly as Rodney drew the same conclusion: They would’ve all been Wraith entrées by now. “At least this way, we have a fighting chance to escape. Just need to figure out how, that’s all.” He looked past Rodney to Patch, who was silently glaring at him. “And survive a couple other details,” he added quietly.
“Yeah, been thinkin’ about that,” Rodney recovered enough to start speaking again. He paused, waiting as Ronon and Teyla walked up and joined them. “The transmitters in our backs. I don’t think they’re subspace. Probably have a range limited to the planet at the most.”
John frowned. “How do you figure that?”
“Well,” Rodney shrugged, “if you were these queens, would you want to broadcast this cute setup to every Wraith in the galaxy?”
John thought for a second before nodding. “Good point.” He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “You think if we can get through the gate, we’ll be in the clear?”
“There’s an excellent chance, yes,” Rodney answered.
“Still have to get to the gate,” Ronon interjected.
John grimaced. “There is that…. Besides,” he whispered, “I’m not letting any of us go back to Atlantis, or New Athos for that matter, as long as we have them. I won’t risk blowing the city’s cover or bringing the Wraith down on the Athosians, I don’t care how slight the chance is.”
Rodney looked on the verge of an objection before he sighed and nodded silently.
“John Sheppard.”
John turned at Della’s hail before following her gaze to the doorway and the four Wraith guards that approached, led by Harry. He stopped and stared coldly at John, his gaze eager. “You.” Without another word he turned and walked away as three guards pointed stunners at him while one opened the door.
“Great,” John muttered.
“If there’s a staff, try for it,” Ronon urged. “Your swordplay will get your ass kicked.”
John arched a brow in dark amusement. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He glared for a moment at Ronon who just shrugged. “What if it’s only swords?”
Ronon’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t drop your shoulder,” he answered quietly, reminding John of his single, worst fighting habit.
“Right,” John sighed.
“Take care, Colonel,” Teyla interjected.
John glanced at her and nodded before he took a deep breath and confidently walked from the cell. Nervous knots started in his gut as he walked down the long hallway towards the arena. He could feel adrenaline flood his body as the anticipation of the fight to come settled in. His senses sharpened, his heart rate and breathing quickened, his muscles tensed. A light sheen of sweat covered his brow as he walked into the hot arena and got the first look at his opponent.
The man was dark skinned, tall and muscular. The absence of a shirt showed the strength of his physique and while John was never embarrassed by his body, he felt slight in comparison. Not good…. He stopped about twenty feet away from the man and stared back, hoping his expression showed confidence. Swallowing hard, he pushed down his apprehension, replacing it with steeled resolve and the detached, instinct-driven mindset necessary in a fight.
“Don’t think of your weaknesses, only your opponents!”
He’d heard those words, many times, in many different forms, throughout his military career. It was something fundamental in combat training… especially hand to hand fighting. He looked the man over, honestly wondering if such a person had any weaknesses, but immediately dismissed the thought. Everyone did and this guy was no exception. He just had to find them.
John could sense one of the queens walking towards them, Harry flanking her. Finally, he looked away from his opponent and glared at her.
Her pale skin was augmented by her white hair and her cold smile radiated delight. “Lantean,” she said, without question.
John must not have been able to keep all the surprise from his expression because she nodded, her smile never fading.
“Oh yes, we know some of you survived. Your clothing and weapons are well known amongst our worshippers and you have been seen on many worlds.” She confidently took a step closer to him, knowing without a doubt that with her mental powers, she was in no danger from him. “This is a pleasure.” Her smile faded. “A hive of this alliance was destroyed by your people. The queen and many Wraith died.” Her glare deepened. “And you will fight to redeem the lives of every one of them.”
John clenched his jaw but remained silent as she backed a few steps away before turning and walking to her seat. Sitting next to the other queens she waved idly. “Fight.”
John’s head whipped back towards his opponent as they both tensed. A Wraith guard threw two staffs between them and John wasted no time lunging for one as his opponent reached for the other. Grabbing the staff, John backpedaled before finding his balance. He twirled the staff experimentally, testing its weight as he watched the man circle him. Suddenly, he was fighting to keep up his guard as a flurry of blows came at him. He managed to repel each and they both backed off, the spar a draw. Again, the man attacked and again, John repelled. So it continued, over and over. Fatigue started to worm its way into John’s body and finally an unexpected blow caught him on the side of the mouth. John staggered but was still able to raise his defense and deflect another blow meant to finish him. He twisted his grip, stepped up and slammed the butt of his staff into his opponent’s gut. The man danced away and coughed twice, before they again squared off.
John spat blood onto the sand and spared a hand to wipe the split lip he was sporting. For every step his opponent took to the left, John countered with one to the right and the two men circled, measuring each other’s weaknesses. Never taking his eyes from the man, John considered his recent attacks. Every blow had been high…
“No matter the size of your opponent, if you cripple him, he cannot fight.”
John resisted the urge to smile as Teyla’s words echoed in his head. He waited, biding his time, until his opponent attacked again. John reflected each blow and found a rhythm to them; one he embraced, lulling his opponent into complacency.
John staggered before looking up at Kelin. “How did you do that?”
Kelin smiled. “Rhythm is also a weakness, John. Never fall into a pattern.”
A small part of John’s mind that wasn’t occupied with fighting embraced the words of Teyla’s mentor; a man that had taught him so much more than just fighting. Abruptly, he changed tactics and could sense the surprise in his opponent. Twisting his body, John spun and landed a crippling blow on the man’s knee.
With a broken cry, his opponent fell to the sand. Wasting no time, John knocked the staff from his hands, planted a foot on his chest and held the end of his staff close to the man’s throat. Part of him wanted to end it; to deliver a crushing blow to his opponent’s throat and be done with it, but he refrained. He stared dispassionately at his opponent for a moment, before the true persona of John Sheppard once more took over, driving the dark and ruthless fighter back into its cage. John stepped back, lowering the staff. He dropped it unceremoniously on the sand and glared up at the queens for a moment, before he was surrounded by Wraith who escorted him from the arena.
Swallowing hard, he ignored the metallic taste of blood as he took in deep breaths, trying to will the adrenaline from his body; to hold his strength in reserve. He looked up, his gaze fixing on his caged team mates. Save it. Save it for escaping. He vowed silently. He winced as, behind him, he heard the strangled cries of his opponent being fed upon. A crippling blow hadn’t been his first choice, but had ended up being the only one. The only guarantee any of them had of survival was to win. Sure, they might be allowed to live if they lost, but John wasn’t about to bet his life, or the lives of any of his team on that possibility. He’d known the blow would be a death sentence just as surely as a killing blow but where that would’ve risked retribution by the queens, this had been the safe out for him and in the end that absolutely had to be the only thing he could allow to matter. Just one more decision… one more ghost he’d live with.
---------------------------------------------------
Somehow, even without a P-90, Lorne still felt comforted by the nine mil holstered securely under his arm and hidden by the waist length coat that he wore. Concealed, it met Halling’s “inconspicuous” criteria, but still was readily available to the Major should things go south on this mission.
“It would be best to let me talk with Elena,” Halling muttered as they approached a modest building on the outskirts of the village. “She knows me and therefore will trust you enough to speak in your presence, but I suspect the trust will end there.”
Lorne nodded. “Yeah, no problem.” He took a deep breath as he followed Halling into the building. It felt weird to be off world without his team, but he understood Halling’s reasoning, even if he had to order and damn near hog tie his men to stay put. A bitter smile twitched one side of his mouth, if only briefly. Lorne had worked under the command of many men in his career, but none of them rivaled Colonel Sheppard in the intense loyalty he seemed to spark in the men under his command. But then again, the Colonel was very approachable, likeable, a hell of a natural leader, and regarded the lives and welfare of his people above anything else. Lorne had heard the words “never leave someone behind,” many times, but Sheppard was the living embodiment of them. Pulling his thoughts back to the present Lorne focused his sights on an older woman. She stared at Halling, whose nod of recognition was deep.
Dismissing herself from the man she was speaking with, the woman slowly walked towards them. She looked to be in her sixties, and moved with a slight limp and stiffness. Her eyes, deep set in weathered wrinkles, were sharp and Lorne got the feeling that very little went unnoticed by her. She stopped before Halling and touched foreheads with him. “Halling. It has been many seasons.”
“Elena,” Halling responded. “It gives me joy to see you well.”
Elena laughed quietly. “Not as well as I used to be, but I manage.” She stepped back from him and looked directly at Lorne.
“This is my friend,” Halling gestured, “Lorne.”
Elena nodded at him. “Lorne.”
Lorne put on a friendly smile. “Ma’am.”
“What brings you to Medarka?” She stared one more moment at Lorne before returning her gaze to Halling.
“We must speak with you, Elena,” Halling lowered his voice. “It is a matter of great importance.”
Almost immediately, Elena turned and gestured towards a small room in the back of the building. As they entered, she closed the door behind them. Walking back to Halling she stared him squarely in the eye. “Tell me what has happened.”
Halling drew in a deep breath. “Teyla and some of Lorne’s people have been taken by the Wraith.”
Elena dropped her head. “That saddens me greatly for Teyla was an honorable friend, much as her father once was.”
“We have not given up hope in finding them,” Halling insisted quietly.
She looked up, her eyes full of sadness. “Your chances of that are slim, my friend.”
“I know,” Halling answered.
“And you came to me because you thought I might know something that would help you in your search?” Her words were a question, but her tone of voice was not.
“Yes,” Halling admitted. “Elena, I would not have come to you, but…” he sighed. “This is not just Teyla, but also Lorne’s people, who have proven themselves many times as true friends not only to the Athosian people, but to all the humans in this galaxy.”
Lorne kept his gaze neutral as he returned the direct look she gave him. They stared at each other for a long moment, before she nodded.
“What world were they taken from?” She asked.
“I do not know the name, only the address,” Halling responded.
Elena walked to a small table in the back of the room and grabbed a piece of yellowed parchment along with what looked like a crude form of a pencil. Halling followed her, took the pencil and quickly scribbled out the gate symbols.
Elena looked at the address for a moment before shaking her head. “I do not recognize this world, but I will place some discreet inquiries to see if I can find out anything for you.” She looked away from the parchment and back at Halling. “How may I reach you?”
Lorne looked up at his tall companion who exchanged hesitant looks with him.
“Elena,” Halling started before meeting her gaze again. “It is difficult to reach us, but we can return. You need only tell us when.”
Her gaze narrowed for a minute, as if she was gauging his answer before she responded. “Two days time. By then if I do not have an answer for you, there is no answer I can find.”
Halling bowed his head deeply at her. “Two days. My thanks to you, Elena.”
She nodded back before stepping around them and returning to the common room.
Left alone, Lorne squinted at Halling. “Think she’ll be able to help us?”
Halling’s gaze was directed towards the common room, but his look was distant. “If anyone can find out what we need to know, Major, she can.”
------------------------
John stood quietly at the back of the cell, watching, his body taunt as a half dozen Wraith guards along with Harry, walked towards their cell.
“Great.” McKay lamented quietly, “here we go again…”
John’s nod was barely perceptible as his gaze never left Harry. The door to their cell opened and Harry spent a moment staring at John before he turned and pointed at Patch.
“You.” Harry cocked his head. “My queen wishes to see you fight again.”
John shifted his gaze from Harry to Patch. Seething hatred burned in Patch’s one good eye as, surrounded by guards, he left the cell. Halfway down the hallway, Patch’s entourage was joined by another group of guards with one more prisoner; Patch’s opponent presumably.
John walked up to the cell bars, settled his arms on a horizontal branch and watched as the two opponents were led into the Round. “Interesting to see how this goes…” John commented absently.
“Do you believe he will win?” Teyla asked quietly.
John shrugged before his gaze narrowed. “Our lives would be a lot easier if he didn’t.”
“Do not count on that, John Sheppard.” Della’s voice interrupted John’s thoughts and he turned his head towards her. He remembered her words of warning when they first arrived.
The one with the eye patch: he is good in the Round… very good….
John slowly shook his head as he watched Patch’s opponent take a sword and step back. Even from this distance, John could see the hesitation in the man’s bearing. “Doesn't look good,” he muttered.
“This won’t take long,” Ronon answered evenly, apparently observing the same thing. “Can’t wait to meet this guy in the Round.”
John never took his eyes from the Round. “I’m hoping to avoid that scenario…” his voice trailed off as Patch and his opponent traded blows before once again circling each other. John shook his head as Patch delivered a fast series of high and low shots before deftly disarming his opponent. With one, swift move, he ran the man through, killing him instantly.
“Son of a bitch,” John muttered.
Patch spun towards the queens and stabbed his sword deep into the sand before letting go. Head held high, he glared defiantly at them.
One of the queens stood and hissed loudly at him before two guards roughly grabbed Patch and hauled him from the arena.
“That’s living dangerously,” John commented. “For all he knew, the queens would’ve killed him for that.”
“Is that why you chose to cripple your opponent and not kill him, John Sheppard?” Della asked quietly.
Slowly, John turned his head towards her. He stared intently at her neutral expression for a moment, before returning his gaze to the Round as Patch was led back towards the cell. “Had to win. Didn’t have a choice.” He answered abruptly. “Wasn’t going to risk their wrath by killing him.”
“Well our buddy Patch doesn’t seem to care,” Rodney interjected.
“He does not.” Della backed away from the cell crossbars. “I do not believe he cares if he lives or dies.”
“Great,” John sighed. “That makes him all the more dangerous.”
“All the more reason for me to kill him,” Ronon added.
“Not if we can avoid it.” John flashed a warning glare in Ronon’s direction. “Staying alive is our first priority.”
As Patch was shoved into the cell, John subtly inched closer to Teyla, but Patch left them alone. He slid to the ground in the far corner without so much as a glance in their direction.
Commotion in the hallway grabbed John’s attention and he turned, watching as a group of downtrodden humans, escorted by a group of Wraith guards, pushed several crude looking carts down the hallway. The first cart stopped in front of the first cell in the aisle while the rest waited behind. In almost a trained manner, the occupants pushed and shoved their way into a line, each receiving a crude bowl of something John wasn’t relishing tasting and a cup of what he hoped was water. John’s nose twitched as, even from a distance, he could smell the putrid food.
“That smells disgusting,” Rodney whispered vehemently.
“It keeps you alive,” Della answered. “The strong find a way to survive on what is given us. Beware of your cell mates. The strong always are first in line and receive the most food, the weakest last and least.”
John nodded as the next food cart was taken to the next cell; the one right before theirs. “Let me guess: Patch is always first in line?”
“Yes,” Della sighed. “He will not surrender that position easily.”
John shrugged. “He wants to be first, that’s fine. But, we’ll be right behind him.”
“Somehow, I don’t think his friends are going to like that,” Rodney snapped.
“Rodney is right, Colonel,” Teyla interjected, “we will have to earn our position.”
John shrugged. “If we do, we do. But if we’re going to survive, we’re going to need adequate food and water.” He gave Teyla a determined look before glancing at Rodney and finally Ronon. “Whatever it takes,” he finished quietly.
Warily, John walked towards the entrance, his team right behind him. As Della predicted, when their food cart arrived, Patch and his group pushed their way through the other prisoners right up to the entrance. John put on the strongest expression he had and returned Patch’s glare. John held his ground as Patch walked up to the doorway, but when his cohorts tried to follow him, John and Ronon immediately blocked their path, Teyla right with them. The prisoners reacted exactly how he thought they would so John was ready when the first roundhouse punch came at him. Ducking, he avoided the blow before he doubled up his fist and punched his opponent as hard as he could, stunning him. Teyla dispatched another with a roundhouse kick, and Ronon practically threw his opponent into two more, sending them all staggering. Tense, John waited a moment, looking for any other prisoner to challenge them, but when none did, he motioned Rodney over to their group and turned back towards the food cart.
Standing silently nearby, bowl of food and cup of water in his hands, Patch watched them quietly, making no move to help his cronies. Silently, he turned and walked away. John stepped behind his team, letting them go first before he took his rations and followed them back to their corner of the large cell. As he carefully eased himself to the ground, John’s gaze caught Della’s.
“Well done,” she said quietly, “they will not challenge you again… at least for a little while.”
John took a small sip of his water and watched as the last in line received their food. True to Della’s word, the last few prisoners in line received very little food or water. Dejected and obviously weak, they turned away hording their meager rations.
Steeling himself against the smell, John dipped his fingers into the brownish, gruel like substance and scooped some into his mouth. Next to him, Rodney did the same, only to cough and wince.
“I can’t eat this,” he said quietly.
“Yes, you can,” John answered. “You have to.”
“Right. Eat bugs, worms or whatever to live,” Rodney snapped, “but I’m not military here!”
“McKay.” John interrupted sternly. “Don’t think about it. Just eat.”
John glanced at Teyla who, eyes closed, was quickly eating her ration, then to Ronon who was eating quickly, his expression stoic. Taking a deep breath, John scoped more of the food into his mouth. He swallowed. “Eat, McKay.” He repeated, his voice still stern.
“Right,” Rodney answered before he turned back to his own food.
Looking for something to distract him and his team from their meal, John turned his attention to Della who returned to sit close by, her own ration in hand. “That was the third match today. Don’t these queens have anything better to do?”
“The fighting comes and goes in spurts.” Della answered as she ate. “The queens will order many matches then leave for days and weeks at a time before returning and ordering more.”
“I don’t get this alliance,” Rodney interjected, “especially now, with their food shortage. They’re way too suspicious to trust each other.”
Della snorted. “They do not. There has been fighting and deaths, but these remaining queens are very strong in their own right. As long as the alliance benefits each of them, they will keep it. In my time here, two queens of this alliance have died. It is said one was killed by humans who were occupying the Ancestral city. The other was betrayed by these queens and killed.”
John fought to keep his expression neutral at Della’s mention of his people.
“Each one waiting for the others to fight,” Rodney observed bitterly. “Even the victor would be weakened and the others would go in for the kill. As long as each one of them knows that, none of them will start a fight with the others. It's a stalemate.”
John shook his head. “Interesting alliance.” Setting aside his bowl, he downed there rest of his water and tried to relax, saving his strength.
With nothing else to say, Della turned away from them and slid to the back wall of her cell her attention turned to her ration.
John glanced around, reassuring himself that each of his team members, including Rodney, had finished their rations. He didn't have much to say, so he settled into a brooding silence as his mind worked over the task of finding a way to escape. In the back of his mind, he knew Elizabeth and the others would be looking for them, but they had no idea where in the galaxy to search. John signed quietly and looked up, meeting Teyla's penetrating and knowing gaze.
"We will find a way, Colonel," she said quietly.
--------------------------------
Elizabeth met Lorne and Halling at the top of the gate room stairs. In spite of her solid and strong mask, she knew her voice still held a note of pleading. "Anything?"
"Elena asked us to return in two days time," Halling answered. "If she can secure any information for us, she will have done so by then."
Elizabeth resisted a frustrated sigh. "Two days?"
"There's still a chance, ma'am," Lorne added quietly. "At least there's a possibility she can help us."
Elizabeth nodded before smiling thinly at Halling. "Thank you."
Halling bowed his head. "Teyla is the leader of our people. There is nothing I would not do to bring her home." A slight smile turned up one corner of his normally stoic mouth. "And your people… you have done much for us, Dr. Weir. Any help that I can offer, I would gladly give."
Elizabeth's smile deepened slightly, as gratitude warmed it. Often times, she dwelled on all the problems they had and the mistakes and enemies they'd made, until there was no room left in her thoughts for the good they'd done and the allies they'd gained. Sometimes… sometimes she just needed a nudge; a reminder of the good things, their friends, and all the people they'd helped.
"We will find them, Dr. Weir," Halling added quietly. "I am sure of it."
Elizabeth nodded and held tightly to her determination. She glanced at Lorne, whose expression mirrored hers, before she looked back at Halling. "Yes, we will."
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John sighed quietly as sleep eluded him. He was tired, bone tired but the hard wall, the stifling heat… the danger he could sense all around him, all of it kept him from sleeping. He turned his head slightly and met Ronon’s quiet gaze. Somehow, John knew the big man wouldn’t be sleeping either. He turned his head the other way and saw Rodney’s half open eyes and while Teyla’s eyes were closed, he suspected she wasn’t asleep either.
A muffled sound from the other side of the cage caught his attention and he looked past Teyla to see Patch grab one of the women and all but throw her on the ground before he followed her down. It didn’t take a genius to see what was coming. Without really thinking, John found himself on his feet, Ronon right next to him. They crossed half the distance of the cell before some of Patch’s comrades stepped into their way. From the corner of his eye, John could see Ronon stop nose to nose with another prisoner while he focused his attention on the man in front of him. “Move,” John’s voice was low and full of the anger he felt in his gut but the man didn’t budge.
John turned his head slightly and cocked a humorless brow at Ronon before he buried his fist in the man’s gut. At the same time, Ronon floored the other man with a wicked right cross. But, John only got two steps before a blow across his cheek staggered him. Somehow he managed to duck the left hook that followed it and raised his fist, only to see the man go down from a leg sweep by Teyla. It all happened so fast that Patch barely had time to react, before John roughly kicked him off the woman and stepped on his arm, grinding his combat boot harder against the bone every time Patch flinched. After a couple of struggles, and a hard kick in the ribs, Patch gave in and stopped fighting.
“Bastard!” Patch gasped.
“Funny,” John quipped darkly. “I was going to say the same thing.” He glanced at Teyla, who helped the woman sit up and then at Ronon who held one of Patch’s boys by the throat and half off the ground, all the while throwing the look of death at the others who apparently decided they didn’t need to be crossing the big man at this particular moment.
“What now, hero?” Patch sneered.
“Dunno,” John stepped down harder. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to let you go… or break your arm just for spite.” He ground Patch’s arm in the hard ground for good measure, watching as Patch flinched and paled against the pain.
“Sheppard,” Rodney’s voice shook slightly and John turned to see five Wraith guards hurry towards the cell.
Slowly, John stepped back, letting Patch go as the guards entered the cell. Two pointed stunners at Ronon who still held fast to his victim. Ronon looked at John who nodded slowly, before throwing the man on the floor and backing up. The guards swiftly removed the women from the cell and left. John slowly looked back towards Patch, meeting his burning gaze with a spiteful one of his own. If they hadn’t been on their guard before, they really were now. Patch wouldn’t forget what happened and John knew he’d have to be doubly aware to protect his team whenever Patch decided to even the score. Part of John cursed himself for getting involved, but it was only a small part. There was no way he would’ve sat by and watched Patch force himself on the woman, no matter what the situation was.
“Thought you said no unnecessary risks,” Ronon muttered.
John looked at his tall friend, reassured by the approving look in Ronon’s eyes. He quirked a brow. “I changed my mind.”
“You do realize he’s not going to just let this go, don’t you?” Rodney whispered.
“Didn’t have a choice.” John stared hard at Rodney, who looked away and silently nodded; his expression showing his agreement, even if he didn’t voice it. As Patch turned away and joined his comrades, John leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the ground.
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Lorne's arm unconsciously tightened against the nine mil secured under his shoulder as he and Halling walked into the dark building. A few people milled about but not nearly the number that would pass through Elena's shop as the day went on.
From her place behind a tall, wooden counter, Elena looked up and met eyes with Halling for a moment, before gesturing for them to approach. As they made their way across the room, she squeezed the shoulder of a young girl, presumably her assistant, and whispered in her ear before she walked towards the back room.
Wordlessly, Lorne and Halling followed. Lorne took a moment to look around, wary of even the few people in the shop. But, none seemed to take any interest in either of them, so he followed silently behind.
Elena waited for them to enter the room, before closing the door. She turned and faced them, her expression guarded. "I have some information for you. I am not sure how helpful it will be though."
Halling nodded. "Anything is better than the nothing we know now."
Elena sighed deeply. "Most of who trade with me are culled and despise the Wraith as we do. However, some that come through those doors worship them. I do not enjoy trade with such people, but many things they offer, my customers wish to purchase." She waved her hand absently. "When last we spoke, I knew one such person was due to visit again to trade. He arrived yesterday and I asked him about the planet Teyla was taken from." She paused and looked away for a moment.
"Elena?" Halling asked quietly.
"The planet is one of many that are in the territory of a great alliance of four queens. They have come together to pool their strength and are nearly uncontested in this galaxy." She walked closer to Halling. "According to my contact, not all the humans taken in cullings in the Alliance's territory are fed upon. It is said that some of the humans are taken… for sport."
Lorne squinted. "Runners?"
Elena shook her head. "No. These queens enjoy combat. The strong and resistant ones culled are made to fight each other for the queens' amusement."
"They put up one hell of a fight. If it was this Alliance that culled the planet…" Lorne's voice trailed off, his thought picked up by Halling.
"Then it is possible this was their fate." Halling's gaze narrowed. "But they would not fight each other."
"They do not have to," Elena answered. "Many humans are taken to fight. There will be no shortage of opponents."
Lorne's mind raced. Where was this planet? How could they find it? Was a rescue even feasible? He immediately dismissed the last question. Feasible or not, he wasn't going to leave their people to fight and die in some Wraith coliseum. "How can we find them?" he asked quietly.
Elena stared for a moment at him before answering. "I know of a planet where worshippers gather. It is possible you could obtain the address for this planet there." Her gaze narrowed. "But, have care. Worshippers are often fanatical in their devotion to the Wraith." She arched her brows briefly, as if the concept was so alien to her, she couldn't understand it. "If they find out your real intent…"
"We're willing to take that risk." Lorne interrupted softly but insistently.
Elena nodded back before handing him a worn piece of parchment with one gate address scrawled across it.
Lorne exchanged hopeful looks with Halling, before the Athosian man bowed his head deeply at Elena.
"My thanks for your help." Halling said.
Elena's smile was genuine. "The Athosians have always traded fairly with me." She turned her gaze on Lorne. "And the Lanteans are the best hope for all of us."
Lorne managed to keep the surprise from his face, if only barely. "Lanteans?"
Elena's friendly gaze turned knowing. "Be at peace, Lorne. Your secret is safe with me. Long ago I heard that the Athosians had allied themselves with humans who were occupying the Ancestral city. I have heard of its destruction but it still stands to reason that your people escaped… and I see that I am right." She stepped closer and took Lorne's hand. "Your struggles and triumphs against the Wraith have not gone unnoticed in this galaxy, Lorne, not just by the Wraith, but by all of us. I do this not only for Teyla, but also for your people."
Lorne stared at her for a moment before he tightened his grip around her hand. "Thank you."
Elena stepped back and released his hand. "Go now. If I can be of any further assistance, you have only to ask."
With one last nod to Elena, Halling led Lorne from the room. As they left the building, Lorne broached the question he knew both of them were thinking of. "Think Weir will go for it?"
Halling's gaze narrowed slightly. "I am going to this world, if it means a chance to find Teyla and the others."
Lorne nodded silently. Halling was free to do as he wanted. As they made their way back to the gate, Lorne wondered how the leader of Atlantis would react to sending people to a world full of Wraith worshippers.
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There wasn't a spot on John's body that wasn't sore. Over the last two days, he'd sparred five times, three times barely beating his opponent and he had the sore ribs, cuts and contusions to show for it. Ronon and Teyla hadn't been spared either. He thought back to the queen's words the first time he'd sparred…
“A hive of this alliance was destroyed by your people. The queen and many Wraith died, and you will fight to redeem the lives of every one of them.”
John sighed and swallowed against his dry throat. The food and water were sparse and he was starting to feel the effects of it. They were fed gruel once a day, with water coming twice a day and, in the last day, after each spar as well… but only to the victor. John pursed his lips. Not that the losers were allowed to live that often. In his five spars, three of his defeated opponents had been fed upon on the spot. As for other necessities, crude pots were supplied and everyone made do with little or no opportunity for privacy; something the Wraith didn't seem to care much about. John's nose wrinkled slightly. In this heat, it was unpleasant at best, but with the scare food and water, it seemed to suit their needs.
His gaze traveled across the cell and settled on Patch, who appeared to be dozing in the mid-afternoon heat. Not that he'd ever sleep well here in the first place, but constantly knowing that Patch would eventually try something in retribution, didn't help. He glanced at Rodney, who sat quietly brooding. He knew the doctor was carrying guilt over all of this, even if it was unfounded. He was spared the exertion of fighting in the Round, but that only served as a constant reminder of why the rest of them fought over and over again. John's brows furrowed as he tried to concentrate, his mind constantly turning over and dismissing one escape plan after another. "Gotta find a way out of here soon," he muttered.
"Without weapons," Teyla answered, "it is difficult to see how. There are many Wraith."
"There has to be a way," John insisted. In the back of his mind he heard Della's words; warning him that before long, he'd only have the strength to survive, not to escape, but he immediately dismissed the thought. He'd be damned if he and his people were doomed to die in this Wraith hell hole. "We just have to find it," he finished confidently.
"In the meantime, might I remind you that we still have these damn transmitters in our backs?" McKay interjected.
"Think I can help with that," Ronon looked around to make sure they weren't being watched before he smiled slightly and reached into his impressive mass of dreadlocks. He carefully and discretely pulled out a small, sheathed blade. "They didn't find one," he quirked his brows slightly before pulling the knife out of its sheath.
"Walking arsenal," John teased, but his voice was filled with respect. "Have any more of those around?"
Ronon shook his head. "No. Kept this one hidden, even in fights. Didn't want the Wraith to find it."
"You know," Rodney's voice was tinged with irritation, "you could let the rest of us in on these little secrets every once in a while."
Ronon kept his small smile. "Figured I'd say something when we needed it." He turned the blade slightly, letting the dim light catch its surface. "Good and sharp."
"Oh my God," Rodney's eyes widened as he jumped to the same conclusion Ronon had come to. "You can't be serious!" he hissed. “You want to cut these things out? With no Novocain? In this dirt bowl?”
John sighed, letting his gaze linger on the blade for another moment before he looked up at Rodney. "Don't see where we have much choice."
"We cannot escape with these transmitters still in our backs," Teyla added softly.
Rodney swallowed hard and after a moment, nodded. "Have I mentioned lately how much this entire situation just sucks?"
Ronon sheathed the knife and buried in his hair once again.
"First," John pulled his knees up and rested his arms on them. "We need an escape plan."
"Have anything in mind?" Ronon asked.
John's gaze narrowed. "Not yet, but I'm working on it."
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Elizabeth found that she could no longer sit still in her chair as Lorne and Halling explained what Elena had told them. Wraith worshippers? After Sheppard’s team was captured and escaped from the Wraith last year, she knew worshippers existed, but until now they'd never had to deal with them. She stood and paced slowly behind her desk, her arms crossed and unconsciously hugging her body. It wasn't the first time she'd had to deal with fanatics driven by some deep rooted religious belief, but she'd never been able to completely understand what drove people to be that way. One thing she did know was that fanatics were rash, unpredictable and dangerous.
"I will travel to this planet to try and find Teyla and Colonel Sheppard's team," Halling finished his debriefing.
"Request permission to accompany Halling, ma'am," Lorne immediately asked.
Forcing one hand to release the death hold she had on her arm, she rubbed her brow and sighed. "Gentlemen, I don’t think I need to point out how potentially dangerous this could be."
"I will go," Halling answered resolutely, "no matter the danger. Teyla is the leader of my people and I believe that Colonel Sheppard would do the same, were our positions reversed."
Elizabeth turned towards the window and stared at the Stargate. She couldn't dispute that logic and could picture John standing in her office, arguing until he was blue in the face, for even a slim chance to find anyone he cared about. A strained smile barely touched her mouth as she realized she never had a choice in the first place. This was something they had to do, no matter the danger.
"Ma'am, it really is the only shot we have." Lorne said quietly.
She let her gaze linger on the Stargate for one more moment before she turned and faced two expectant gazes. Seating herself behind her desk again, she folded her hands on the smooth surface and nodded. "How do you recommend we proceed, Major?"
Lorne seemed to relax slightly as he sat back in his chair. "As much as I'd love to take a team in there, grab people and demand to know where Colonel Sheppard's team is, it's probably best that Halling and I go in, undercover and see what we can find out."
"I agree," Halling nodded. "Just the two of us is far less conspicuous."
Halling pursed his lips and Elizabeth could see tension ripple through his body.
"We can go under the guise of being Wraith worshippers," Halling added quietly a note of contempt in his voice.
"Maybe we can get someone to trust us enough to give us some information," Lorne interjected. "It's a long shot, but right now the only one we have."
Elizabeth stared Halling in the eye for a moment noting the lingering tension in his body. He'd seen many of his people taken by the Wraith in his lifetime, including Tagon, Teyla's father and even his own wife. To masquerade as a Wraith worshipper… "Halling, I'm sorry it has to be this way."
Halling's eyes narrowed slightly in recognition, his nod barely perceptible. "There is no other way. I will not see Teyla or Colonel Sheppard's team die at the hands of the Wraith. Not if there is anything I can do to prevent it.”
She nodded. "When will you be ready to leave?"
Lorne stood and brushed the front of his jacket; the same one he wore to Medarka. "I don't see any reason why we can't leave right away. The sooner we get there, the sooner we find out about our people."
Elizabeth nodded to her determined Major. "Go. Stay safe."
Lorne nodded back. "Yes, ma'am."
She watched as both men quickly walked through ops; Lorne ordering a technician to dial the gate. Turning she continued watching them as they descended the stairs, crossed the Gate room and disappeared through the wormhole. Even after the gate deactivated, she still stared at it, willing all her people to come home safely.
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John's gaze narrowed as he watched the Wraith lay out what he could only call logs, around the Round. They weren't wood, rather they were made of whatever organic substance was used to make just about anything Wraith in origin. They were thick boles, at least a foot in diameter, curved and close to ten feet long. Laid end to end, they made a large, roughly circular perimeter.
"A Border Fight," Della seemed to sense his curiosity and walked up next to him. She looked at John through the crossbars that separated their cells. "The fighters must stay within the circle, or they are punished with stunners."
"Stunners?" Ronon asked as he walked up next to John, but it was John that beat Della to the answer. “How is stunning one of the fighters punishment?”
"Stunners have more than one setting," John said quietly as he was forced to relive memories. "They don’t have to knock you cold. Some of the settings…" he drew in a deep breath, "are pretty painful." He glanced at Teyla and Rodney, who were silent, each of their expressions showing they knew he was speaking from experience.
"You have encountered this before?" Della asked.
John nodded slightly. "Couple years ago. Wraith used it to… interrogate me." He fixed his gaze on the Round, unable to make eye contact with anyone. It'd been two years, but the pain; the torture, were still as fresh in his memory as if it'd been yesterday. The Wraith male… the stunner… questions he wouldn't answer. John closed his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath and changing the subject. "Wonder who they'll pick?" He glanced at Ronon, whose narrowed gaze showed that more emotion then John had wanted to show had been revealed anyway.
After a minute Ronon answered. “Hopefully, me.”
John’s expression turned cynical. “Should’ve expected that…” his voice trailed off as Harry and three guards walked towards their cell. Even before Harry could order it, John knew he was the target. Harry’s gaze left no room for doubt. “Aw, hell…”
“You.” Harry pointed at John. “And you.” His point shifted to one of Patch’s boys.
John took a moment to glare at his opponent, the very same man he’d leveled a couple days ago to earn their place in the food line. “Great,” he muttered.
John took one step before being stopped by Ronon’s hand on his forearm.
“Watch it,” Ronon stared intently at John.
“Yeah, think this one has a grudge,” McKay piped in.
“Definitely,” John answered. He nodded once at each of them before following his opponent and the Wraith from the cell.
As he entered the Round, John felt the familiar surge of adrenaline course through him in response to what he knew was coming. He sent a spiteful glare over his right shoulder at the three queens in attendance before stepping over one of the borders and into the designated fight area. He looked around. The circle was roughly thirty feet in diameter and John quirked his brows. One thing was sure; they’d be fighting in pretty close quarters. He tensed as his opponent stepped into the circle before two Wraith guards dropped two sets of sticks, roughly resembling Athosian Bantos Rods, in the circle with them; one set behind each combatant.
Wasting no time, John leapt for his set of sticks, sensing that his opponent did the same. He spared a moment for relief that of the five, now six spars he’d fought, he’d never been forced to pick up a sword… yet. John grabbed the sticks, spun and faced off with his opponent. Scattered around the perimeter, Wraith guards, armed with stunners, waited for one of the combatants to step out of the circle.
John moved to his left as he twirled the sticks, casually testing their balance. Internally, he sighed as his opponent did the same, demonstrating with ease, that he had more than just a passing familiarity with this kind of weapon. Within John, all thoughts of a swift victory died. He looked past the disappointment, trying to identify weaknesses in his opponent, while doing his best to cover any that he might have. Suddenly, the man was driving him back with a flurry of blows that John struggled to repel. Like a gymnast on a floor routine, instinctively he could sense the barrier behind him, knowing he was close to stepping out of bounds. Slipping inside his opponent’s guard, he sidestepped a blow and twisted left, barely avoiding the boundary in the process.
The man’s calculated gaze narrowed as he realized he faced someone who also had skill. Cautiously, he circled right.
John circled left, keeping himself a fair distance from the man as he again looked for a weakness. Raising his sticks, he pressed an attack, driving his opponent back. Employing one of many moves Teyla taught him, John leveled a blow at the man’s head, which he predictably parried. Abruptly, John twisted his wrist, throwing his weight behind the shift and pulling his opponent off balance. Wasting no time, John landed a solid kick to his mid-section, the force propelling the man out of the boundary.
His opponent made it to his knees, before a Wraith guard jabbed him in the back with a stunner.
John resisted the urge to wince as the man’s scream echoed through the Round. The Wraith stepped back as the man struggled to his feet. Before he could fully gain his balance, the Wraith propelled him back into the circle.
John pushed aside all sympathy. He had to. It was the only way to survive. Before his opponent could recover, John pressed his attack, but was taken off guard as the man managed to not only raise a defense, but also struck a blow to John’s upper left arm that left his hand numb. The stick slid uselessly from his left hand as he raised his right in defense but one handed, he was no match and suddenly, John found himself outside the circle. He rolled to his knees and braced himself, wrapping his emotions tightly in his anger and letting it steel his resolve as one of the Wraith guards descended on him.
Agony swept through him and with it, horrid memories that he’d worked hard to put behind him. Pain… his breath stolen from his body… A tormented scream was torn from his throat and it felt like an eternity before the pain ended. The Wraith hauled him to his feet and threw him back into the circle. John barely stayed on his feet and had no time to raise a defense as his opponent backhanded him viciously before bringing his sticks around to sweep John’s legs out from under him.
John hit the ground hard, his momentum rolling him onto his stomach. Face down in the sand, John struggled to mount some sort of defense. He knew his opponent was closing in to finish this fight and he realized his life was now measure in minutes if he didn’t do something. Dimly, he heard an angered shout coming from the direction of the Pit; the unmistakable voice of Ronon.
“SHEPPARD!”
Damn it, Sheppard! John berated himself. It’s not going to end this way! Mustering all the strength he had, John rolled, letting his momentum carry into his leg. Combat boot struck soft flesh then hard bone. His opponent, bent over to finish the job, got a kick in the face for his effort.
Staggering, the man cried out in pain.
Feeling was only starting to come back to his left arm so John just grabbed one stick with his right hand and launched himself at his opponent. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs, but John rolled, managing to pin the man on his stomach. Reaching around from behind, John pulled the stick against the man’s throat as hard as he could. Forcing his tingling left hand to comply, he slowly cut off his opponent’s air. John clenched his teeth, holding onto his resolution as the man choked, his struggling turning feeble. John held on a moment longer, until a Wraith guard pointed his stunner at him and grunted.
Letting go of the stick, John rolled off him and lay in the sand, his chest heaving in exertion. He turned his head and looked at his opponent. Even though he’d been fighting for his life, in the back of his mind, John never lost touch with the reality of his situation. Killing anyone in the Round was still too risky and he had to avoid it at all costs. Yeah, he’d strangled his opponent, but only until the man was defeated, nothing more. John had no doubt he could’ve killed him and given different circumstances he probably would’ve. He turned his head again as a dark shadow descended over him.
Brandishing a stun rifle, one of the Wraith guards motioned at him, insisting that he stand up and John struggled to comply. On wobbly legs, he looked towards the queens, still managing to give them the look of death.
Slowly, the white haired queen stood. “Take him away, but bring me the loser.”
John staggered a couple steps before two Wraith guards grabbed him and half dragged him from the Round. They stopped only long enough for one of the worker humans to hand him a cup of water, which he forced himself to drink slowly. He focused down on the cup and tuned out the scream coming from the Round as his opponent met his fate. The water was warm and stale, but it still revived him and as John proceeded to his cell, he managed to walk more than he was dragged.
The guards roughly shoved him into the cell and John would’ve taken a header had it not been for Ronon. He held tightly to the big man’s arms and grunted, but Ronon’s strong grip held fast. John managed to regain his balance and turned towards the back wall.
“God! I thought you were dead!” Rodney hovered nearby as did Teyla.
Slowly and with Ronon’s help, John limped to the wall. He carefully lowered himself to the ground. “Thanks… for the vote of confidence… McKay,” he grunted as he settled to the ground and leaned back against the cool stone.
“That’s not what I meant…” Rodney stammered as he crouched in front of John and stared intently at him. “I just…”
“McKay,” John interrupted. He locked gazes with Rodney for a moment and nodded once at the relief he saw in his friend’s face. “I get it.”
“Well fought, John,” Della nodded at him through the bars. “He was undefeated.” She looked away for a moment. “In a way, I am surprised the queens killed him. He was an exceptional fighter.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” John quipped weakly.
“Had me worried for a minute there,” Ronon sat down next to John.
“I as well,” Teyla smiled thinly at him.
“You’re not the only ones,” John answered. He closed his eyes and for a moment, he was content to just breathe, letting each inhale rejuvenate his body. Finally, he spoke again. “That was closer then I like.” He flexed his left hand, relieved that the tingling was nearly gone and the feeling had returned. He twisted his arm and winced at the welt forming just below his shoulder.
“You’re not hurt, are you?” Rodney asked, his eyes widening in concern.
John shook his head. “No. Not bad anyway. Just hit a nerve when he got that lucky shot on me. Hand was numb for a bit, but its okay now.” As if to prove his point, John flexed his fingers again.
“You displayed significant skill, John,” Teyla smiled slightly.
John returned the expression. “I have you to thank… and Kelin,” he added, naming Teyla’s childhood tutor and his close friend. “And the fact that I was fighting for my life.” He quirked his brows. “That tends to be a good motivator.”
“Still,” Teyla sighed, “the spars seem to be getting more difficult.”
Silently, John just nodded in agreement. Inside he knew the clock was ticking. They had to find a way to escape and soon.
Part 3