Hero Defined by stella_pegasi Part One
Title: HERO DEFINED
Author: stella_pegasi
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Action/Adventure, Friendship, Whump
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: John Sheppard, Steven Caldwell (plus team, RC’s, OC’s)
Spoilers: Brief mention of events in Trinity
Warnings: A few curse words sprinkled about.
Het/Slash/Gen: Gen
Word count: 19,238
Disclaimer: I do not own them, I would have treated them better.
Summary: Sheppard takes a restless Colonel Caldwell on an easy diplomatic mission off-world. However, the easy mission becomes a matter of life and death as the two colonels are kidnapped and Sheppard is gravely injured.
Author’s Notes: Whumpers enjoy; I whumped Sheppard pretty good in this one. Your thoughts on this story would be much appreciated.
HERO DEFINED
By stella_pegasi
Part One
“Rodney, are you ready? Come on, pissing Caldwell off is a bad start to this mission.”
“Cool your rockets, Sheppard; you get to remain on Atlantis, and amuse yourself with the new fighters. I, however, will be stuck aboard the Daedalus for three weeks.
Across the room, Dr. Radek Zelenka, who was packing a case with equipment, uttered a stream of words in Czech. Sheppard’s Czech had improved over the years. Even he was embarrassed by a few of the words spilling from Zelenka’s mouth.
The little Czech continued in broken English, “You, you are one who decided this mission would be good idea. Explore planets without stargate, three weeks the SGC gives us to do this; you know I am in middle of experiment. Now I must put my work aside.”
McKay looked up from his pad, stared blankly at Zelenka, then stuck his tongue out the engineer. Zelenka ran his hands through his hair, hair that rivaled Sheppard’s for the wildness award, and began another tirade of rapid Czech. Sheppard silently thanked the Ancestors that he was not going on this mission.
“Mature, McKay, very mature, you…” He was interrupted by a deep and distinctly, unhappy voice on his COM, “Colonel, yes; McKay’s on his way.”
“That was Colonel Caldwell; he’s pissed. Go.” Sheppard herded the two scientists out of the lab, and on their way to board the Daedalus, parked on the East Pier.
The Daedalus had been underway for four days, visiting the first two planets on McKay’s list. One planet had been a waste of time; the planet’s sun was dying, and any life that had been on that planet was extinct. The other planet was a bit more promising, but was primordial. Zelenka had designed small satellites containing sensors and cameras to monitor planets of interest. Caldwell had one placed in orbit, and ordered the Daedalus on to the next planet on the list. McKay grumbled about not getting a chance to take a jumper into orbit over the planet for a close-up look. Caldwell suspected that without Sheppard here, McKay just wanted to play jumper pilot. Not going to happen; he wasn’t going to lose McKay on this little journey. He did not want the wrath of Sheppard to descend on his head.
Caldwell sat in the command chair on the bridge, listening to McKay and Zelenka bickering. He had endured about all he could; his head hurt, his abdomen hurt, and he was queasy. One more word from McKay, who was being the chief ‘bickerer’, and he was going to clear the bridge.
“Rodney, we should go to the Zenic system after this one, the Ancients actually mentioned that system. Picking planets at random is foolish when we have data; this is waste of time.”
“No, we are going to stay on the path we’ve chosen; we’ll get to Zenic, when we get there. Now go away.” McKay turned away from Zelenka, who began muttering in Czech.
Caldwell was not as patient as Sheppard, “No, both of you go away.”
“What?” McKay’s head jerked up from the computer screen he was staring at.
“Both of you off my bridge; take your arguing to the science lab. I don’t want to listen to either one of you anymore.”
Both scientists were shocked, neither moving a muscle. Caldwell swiveled his chair around to look at them. “I’ll will have you removed if you don’t leave now.” Glancing at each other, McKay jerked his head to Zelenka in a “get the heck out of here” motion, and they left hurriedly.
Caldwell turned back around, asked how long until the next planet fall, then settled back in his chair. He closed his eyes; only one thought swirling in his aching head. This was just the start of a long, three week mission. He hoped the nausea would go away.
The next thirty-six hours passed in a blur for Colonel Caldwell. His XO, Major Marks, was becoming increasingly concerned about Caldwell’s physical condition. When he asked if the colonel was alright, Caldwell snarled at him, telling the major to mind his own business.
In the middle of the night, Caldwell woke up with intense pain around his right hip bone, and severe nausea. He hadn’t eaten, but that didn’t stop the vomiting that only seemed to make the pain worse. By morning, he was in agony. His entire abdomen felt like it was on fire, and he was burning up. When the colonel did not report to the bridge at his usual early morning hour, Major Marks called for medics and security to meet him at the colonel’s quarters. Using an emergency code to enter, they found Caldwell unconscious.
McKay entered the infirmary, looking for Dr. Breslin, who was the current ship’s physician. He had just been informed about Caldwell’s condition. McKay was a bit surprised at the personal level of concern that he felt for Caldwell. Relationships were peculiar out in the coldness of space; all they really had was each other to depend on. Despite his reservations about the military, Sheppard excluded, and his dislike of Caldwell for his early, antagonistic behavior toward Sheppard, he was concerned. He realized that he might actually respect the man.
He found Dr. Breslin next to Caldwell’s bedside. Caldwell was sedated, his skin pale and flushed at the same time, sweat beading along his forehead. Dr. Breslin looked up from Caldwell’s chart as McKay approached.
“Dr. McKay, good morning.” Breslin didn’t look happy.
“Uh...hey; what’s the colonel’s condition?”
Breslin shook his head, “Not good. We’ve stabilized him, but it appears that his appendix has ruptured. He’s developed peritonitis, and that is not a good development. He needs major surgery, and I am an internist, trained in field trauma surgery, the patch and load type. Dr. Lincoln broke his leg right before we deployed for Pegasus, and we didn’t have time to get another fully trained surgeon on board. Besides, if he develops even worse complications, the ship’s infirmary is not equipped to adequately treat him.”
McKay realized that Breslin was really worried; he asked, “Well…uh…should we take him to Atlantis? Do we have time? Dr. Keller is an excellent surgeon, and so is Dr. Beckett. He can be recalled from his free clinic mission to assist or vice versa.”
“Depends on how long it would take us to get there. He needs surgery, but we have a little leeway.”
McKay tapped his COM, “Marks, how long at max speed, would it take us to return to Atlantis?”
The major answered, “Hold on, doctor,” Marks paused, waiting for an answer from his navigator, “…under hyperdrive, 7.4 hours.”
McKay repeated the time to Dr. Breslin who nodded, “Yes, that’s not too long. We can pump him with antibiotics, and try to get his fever down during transport. That’ll work.”
“Marks, Dr. Breslin says we need to get the colonel back to Atlantis, ASAP. He needs surgery, and Dr. Breslin says he needs to be in the Atlantis infirmary.”
Marks’ voice was quiet, but clearly in command, “Understood, doctor. We are changing headings for Atlantis.”
Marks radioed ahead when they were back in range of Atlantis. Upon arrival, Caldwell and Drs. Breslin and McKay, along with Major Marks, were beamed directly into the critical care bay where Dr. Keller was waiting for them. Dr. Beckett already scrubbing up; he was to be Caldwell’s primary surgeon. Richard Woolsey and Colonel Sheppard were also in the infirmary.
Woolsey greeted Marks, “Major, welcome back to Atlantis; however, I am sorry for the reason your mission has been cut short.”
Marks replied politely, “Thank you, sir. I agree, not the reason we would have wanted to return so quickly to Atlantis.” He turned to greet the Atlantis military commander. “Colonel Sheppard.” Sheppard patted him on the back.
“The colonel’s in good hands, major. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“Thank you, sir. I know you’re right.”
Nearly four hours later, Dr. Beckett came out of surgery. Sheppard and Marks were sitting in the infirmary waiting room, drinking the coffee that Teyla had brought them. She and Ronon had joined the Air Force officers as they waited.
Beckett sank down on the small couch next to Ronon. His fatigue evident in the deep sigh he exhaled before he spoke. “That was a rough surgery; Caldwell’s entire, bloody abdomen was filled with pus and infection; peritoneum inflamed as badly as I have ever seen.” He gazed directly at Sheppard as he continued, “I imagined the colonel was in excruciating pain for quite a while. You brave military types, always seem to forget how to ask for help. You just bloody go off, ignoring all the warning signs. Making the lives of the people trying to put you back together hell.”
Sheppard’s right eyebrow arched, he cocked his head, asking Beckett very quietly, “You finished, doc?”
Beckett looked at him, “You cheeky bugger, you know I’m talking about you. I just thought Caldwell was less the martyr.” He smiled at Sheppard; both knowing Beckett was simply releasing tension, even though he really meant what he had said.
“What’s his prognosis, Doctor Beckett?” Sheppard asked, with the emphasis on ‘doctor’.
Shaking his head, Beckett answered, “Well, he’s not well right now. Pretty sick fellow, but he will recover unless some thing really nasty happens.”
Teyla asked, “Nasty, Dr. Beckett? What do you mean by that?”
“Nasty, as in, sepsis; uh…blood infection that spreads the infection to other organs. But, we have him on mega doses of antibiotics. We should be able to knock the infection down. Well, I am going to get out of these scrubs, and check on my patient. You can see him shortly.”
Sheppard and Marks spoke at the same time, “Thanks, doc.”
As the doctor walked away, Sheppard heard, through his thick Scottish brogue, Beckett mutter, “Cheeky military, all alike.”
Two days later, Woolsey, Sheppard, and McKay sat in the main conference room on a vid link to Stargate Command. General Landry and Colonel Abe Ellis requested a meeting regarding the mission status during Caldwell's recuperation. Landry and Ellis were sitting at the large conference table at the SGC, visible on the large display monitor.
“Colonel Sheppard, do you have any reservations about sending your science teams on the Daedalus? This would be Major Marks’ first full command of an onboard mission.” The question from General Landry.
“Absolutely not, sir; I have no reservations about Major Marks’ ability. However, I would like to send Major Lorne to command the Marine units that will accompany the science teams. Major Marks doesn’t have the same mission command experience that Major Lorne has, nor does he have Special Ops training.”
Landry nodded, “A reasonable request, colonel; I think, a good one. Deploy your personnel as you see fit, Colonel Sheppard. Bring Marks and Lorne into the room, Colonel Ellis would like to review some things with Marks; Lorne should sit in on the briefing.”
“Yes, sir.” Sheppard tapped his COM and the two majors entered. Sheppard had them waiting outside.
Six hours later, the Daedalus launched, returning to the planet exploration mission, without Colonel Caldwell.
The next twelve days passed swiftly for Colonel Sheppard and the Atlantis pilots. They spent several hours per day training in the F-314, the newest version of the hybrid fighter jet/spaceship. Sheppard and Major Marks coordinated a flight training schedule for Major Lorne while he was on the Daedalus. Sheppard hoped the mission would be uneventful, so the major would have adequate flight time.
The Atlantis commander had been spending some time with Caldwell, updating him on the flight training. Even supplying him with videos from his collection, and surprised to discover Caldwell was quite proficient on a hand held game player. As the days passed, and Caldwell’s health improved, Sheppard noticed a spike in the colonel’s frustration level. Sheppard recognized the signs; he would have already attempted to escape from the infirmary by this point.
In the next mission review meeting, Woolsey requested a mission to a planet called Sarta, the newest member of the Pegasus Coalition. Woolsey had promised to comply with the tradition of the tribes on the planet. New friends must visit three times before the moon returns to solidify the friendship. One more walk through the gate, greet the tribal leaders, participate in a ritual, and the three visits would be completed. Sheppard thought this might be exactly what Caldwell needed, an easy trip through the gate to ease his boredom.
Woolsey agreed to his plan, and proceeded to transmit a message to the Sartans that their third formal visit would take place in twenty-four hours. Sheppard headed to the infirmary to plead his case to Dr. Keller. He dreaded talking to the petite doctor; she was far from a soft touch when it came to her patients. He had some persuading to do; something he rarely accomplished with her.
“You want to what, colonel? Take my patient on a mission, through the gate? Should I have Dr. Warren talk to you? You are obviously delusional.” Keller crossed her arms, and leaned against the doorframe to her office. “I really can’t believe…no, that’s not right. I can believe you would suggest such a thing.” She turned and sat down at her desk, “No.”
Sheppard leaned against the doorframe Keller had vacated, trying on his best puppy-dog face. “Come on, Jennifer; it’s a simple and quick trip to a peaceful planet. We will be there and back before you miss us. Besides, Caldwell’s getting testy; if you aren’t careful, he’ll start acting like your favorite patient, me.”
She scoffed, “He’ll never be that juvenile, colonel.”
He tried his most charming grin, “Come on, Dr. Keller. Let the colonel come with me to Sarta.”
Keller put her head down on her desk, mumbling, “You are going to whine until I allow this, aren’t you?” She looked up at him. He bounced his head up and down with an even bigger grin on his face.
“Alright, but don’t make me regret this, colonel.”
“Never, doc. You’re the best.” Sheppard took off before she could change her mind. He wondered how Caldwell would react to the news he would be escaping for a few hours, the next morning.
Sheppard walked into the infirmary around 1000 hrs to find out if Caldwell was ready. The colonel was sitting on the side of his bed, legs dangling, waiting. Caldwell was dressed in an SGC field uniform, instead of his usual green jumpsuit. The green BDU’s and shirt and black t-shirt somehow made Caldwell seem more ordinary to Sheppard. He chuckled quietly; he supposed what it really meant was that the full-bird colonel appeared quite formidable when he was on the bridge of his ship. The man sitting before him didn’t appear to be as confident. A couple of weeks in the infirmary would do that to a person; Sheppard knew that fact all too well.
“Good morning, colonel.”
Caldwell’s head snapped around, as if Sheppard had startled him, “Oh, Sheppard…good morning. You ready?”
“I am; if you are.”
Caldwell nodded and attempted to hop off the bed, as if he was in perfect health. A fleeting, tell-tail grimace crossing his face told a different story.
Sheppard hesitated for a moment, considering whether he should cancel the mission. No, he thought; if he was in Caldwell’s shoes, and he had been on many instances, he’d want a change of scenery.
“Let’s go, colonel.”
On the way to the gear-up room, Caldwell asked Sheppard about Sarta and its people.
“We first heard about Sarta when Dr. Hillenmeyer, a horticulturalist, was studying berries and plants that the Evarnans use to dye the fabrics they weave. The fabrics are very high quality and the dyes are brilliant, at least that’s what Teyla tells me. The Evarnans trade with the Sartans to procure the dyes.”
“The Daedalus transported quite a few bolts of that fabric back to Earth, if I remember. Not much for that sort of thing, but I remember the colors were really vibrant.”
“We contacted the Sartans, and began negotiations. The planet culture revolves around a tribal system; the Bemni Tribe is the largest of the seven tribes that formed the planet’s population. The Bemni served as the government for all of the tribes, and are the people we deal with. They do have a tribal council that represents five of the tribes.”
Arriving in the gear-up room, they grabbed TAC vests and P-90 weapons from the racks. Sheppard handed Caldwell a holster and 9-mil. As the colonel strapped the holster to his leg, he continued asking about the Sartans.
“What's the reason two of the tribes are not members of the tribal council?”
“The seven tribes consist of five, quite sophisticated tribes, and two tribes ostracized from the rest. The Bemni warned us to avoid those two tribes. The leader of the Tribal Council told us that the behavior of two smaller tribes could be very unpredictable and violent.”
“Sometimes, it’s the smallest unit that creates the most problems.” Caldwell replied.
Heading for the gate, Sheppard added, “They divided up the territories’ centuries ago, declaring the grounds the stargate sat on as sacred. The original tribal council divided the land radiating out from the sacred ground into seven tribal regions. Apparently, the two smaller tribes received less than prime land, and their lives have always been difficult. They resented their fate, and have been at war with the other tribes on and off since then.
In the gate room, Sheppard circled his finger in the air for Chuck, indicating for the tech to dial the gate. As the event horizon formed into a shimmering puddle, he added, “We’ll be met by a welcoming committee from the five tribes, who will escort us to the Council. We tell them we have visited three times, and we request to be friends. There is a short ceremony, then we eat, visit for a bit, and get back here before Keller comes after us.”
Caldwell laughed, "I would prefer not to suffer the wrath of that ‘smaller unit,’ colonel.”
Sheppard grinned, “You’re learning.” Sheppard and Caldwell stepped through the gate together.
As they exited the gate on Sarta, Sheppard paused for a split second, to comprehend the scene
in front of him. Colorful objects adorned the beautiful grounds that surrounded the gate. In addition to abundant flower displays, fountains and statues, and tribal territory markers, the welcoming committee also adorned the grounds. Lovers of color, the tribe members, during ceremonies, wore bright plumage and pants, tunics and robes made from vibrantly hued fabrics. The members of the welcoming group were dressed in just such bright finery, with one glaring exception. They were all lying on the lush green turf, just past the DHD, covered in bright red blood.
Sheppard sprinted for the DHD, yelling at Caldwell to drop to the ground. Skidding to a halt on the stone dais surrounding the DHD, Sheppard succeeded in pressing two symbols, before he slumped to the ground.
From behind the tree line, between two markers to his left, Caldwell watched as several figures emerged. Their attackers were dressed in crimson garments, with long feathered cloaks and headdresses, their faces adorned black and crimson symbols. All carried tall spears; a few were holding long slender tubes of dark, polished wood. Caldwell raised his P-90 to take a shot, but a tribesman was quicker. One of the attackers raised a tube to his lips, aimed in his direction. The man blew a puff of air into the tube, and within seconds, Caldwell faded into unconsciousness.
A soft, deep tapping echoed in his brain, but Sheppard was having difficulty detecting the source of the sound. He considered the possibility that the pounding was inside his head; his head was throbbing to the same cadence. Managing to pry open his eyes, he discovered the source of the repetitive noise was not his head.
Sheppard and Caldwell were lying on a raised platform inside an enormous, hut-like building. Thousands of thin honey-hued, wood poles were bound together with strips of leather, fabricating the walls and roof. Colorful banners fell from the ceiling, swaying in the breeze created by huge fans that were moving air throughout the large room. Tribal members, dressed in bright clothing adorned with feathers, line the walls.
A group of men dressed in red and gold robes and wearing feathered headdresses sat on a larger platform across the room. Sheppard thought they looked like roosters. The same wooded poles that fabricated the walls also constructed the chairs that the men reclined in. Several young men, tapping on small bongo-like drums, sat at the foot of the platform. At least, he solved the mystery of the tapping in his head.
Caldwell was unconscious and Sheppard was apprehensive. He knew the colonel continued to take low dose pain meds due to inflammation remaining from the serious infection. He hoped there wasn’t an interaction between his pain meds and the sedative in the dart used to knock them out. He was already in enough trouble with Keller, and she didn’t even realize it yet.
He decided to stand, might as well see what these over-dressed roosters wanted. As he began to stir, the drumming stopped, and all eyes turned to him. One of the roosters on the other platform rose from his chair, walking toward the edge of the dais.
“I am Fristum, Tribal Lord of the Paoini. You have been brought before me to answer the question of why the Ancestors are entering into an agreement with our enemies. Our tribe and the Micani’s have been banished for years by the others. Now, they court the Ancestors, and leave us to fend for ourselves, as they always have. We demand to know the details of the arrangement that the Ancestors have made.”
Sheppard sucked in a deep breath; convincing these people that he was not an Ancestor was going to be tricky. Then again, he wondered if he should play along. He had the uneasy feeling that the Paoini had few qualms about taking what they wanted. They had just murdered five people to capture Caldwell and him. However, he decided that to deceive them, and then have the Paoini discover he wasn’t an Ancestor, might not be in his best interest.
“Fristum, I am Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, and I do represent Atlantis. However, I am not an Ancestor. My people are descendents as of the Ancestors as your people are. We discovered Atlantis, and established a base there. We come in peace and friendship. We only…” Sheppard stopped abruptly when the tribal lord bellowed.
“Enough; enough lies; you are of the ancestors. My spies have observed you in the Bemni lands, and watched you use Ancestral magic. I can prove you are of the ancestors.” He motioned to one of the younger men standing along the side of the platform; the young man quickly descended the steps and left the hall.
Sheppard remembered the Bemni were excited that he and Rodney had both been able to activate or use some simple Ancient devices that the Bemni had displayed as sacred artifacts. One artifact had been a medical scanner, one a weather instrument of some kind, but Rodney thought there were more components to it. Sheppard wondered what the Bemni would think if they realized that the Paoini was spying on them. Great, they come to a planet and start a war. The IOA and the Pegasus Coalition will certainly be ecstatic about that.
To the right of the large platform, the spectators parted, creating a broad path for four youths. The young men were carrying an immense tray on which an ornately painted wooden chest was resting. The four ascended the stairs, mindful of keeping the tray from tilting, and presented the chest to Fristum. Opening the cover, Fristum cautiously extracted a rectangular metal device.
Sheppard could see there were familiar symbols on the sides of the box. The device looked to be made from the same metal many of the other Ancient devices were constructed from.
One of the younger ‘rooster’ men rose from his chair, accepted the device from Fristum, then proceeded down the stairs and toward Sheppard’s platform. Sheppard was apprehensive; if the Paoini were unclear about the device’s purpose, he could cause something terrible to happen. Terrible had happened before when he and Rodney fooled with unknown Ancient technology.
He spoke, “Fristum that object appears to be quite important to you. You should keep it away from me; I’m known for breaking things. I wouldn’t want to damage it.”
“And why would that be, that you do not wish to be next to this treasure if you do not already know what it is. You are an Ancestor, you must know of the prophecy.”
“Prophecy…,” Sheppard swallowed hard, “what prophecy?”
The younger tribal leader had reached the platform steps, and was proceeding to climb toward Sheppard. Sheppard could see the symbols on the device quite clearly; there was little doubt that it was an Ancient device. The tribal leader had not reached the top step before the device activated. The Paoini gasped as a blue glow emanated from a crystal embedded in the center of the cover. A low, harmonic humming was coming from the device.
Sheppard glared at the device as the tribal leader placed it in his hands. At his touch, the blue crystal glowed brighter, and the humming became stronger. Peeling his eyes away from the metal box for a second, he glanced toward Fristum. The panorama before him was surreal. All the Paoini tribal members were prostrated on the hut floor, except for Fristum, who was standing with arms upraised.
“Behold, the prophecy is fulfilled. The Ancestors have returned to lead us into war against our enemies. What has been denied us for centuries will be ours.”
Sheppard’s eyes wandered about the enormous room, a sense of dread crystallizing in the pit of his stomach. These people believed the prophecy, and they believed he was the answer to their problems.
Looking back down at the softly humming Ancient box, his mind was racing. Challenging prophecies was a tricky path to take, especially with people who perceive they have been persecuted for generations. Woolsey would be much better suited for this than he was, but Woolsey wasn’t here. This was up to him.
Sheppard could think of only one appropriate, but inarticulate comment, “Crap.”
The Paoini led Sheppard and carried the unconscious Caldwell from the tribal community hut to a smaller hut on the edge of the circular village. The walkways had been covered with awnings, providing respite from the sun.
Once outside, Sheppard was surprised at the terrain. The vegetation at the gate sanctuary, and in the Bemni town he had visited before, was lush, green, and abundant. Sparkling ponds and streams dotted the landscape, while colorful, fragrant flowers and the bird song created a sensory overload.
The Paoini land was stark. Beyond the huts, Sheppard saw flat, sandy ground extending far into the distance, reminding him of the Mojave Desert. Scrub brush, occasional groves of thin bamboo-like trees, and rugged, rolling hills with peaks of stone created the landscape. The dry, desert heat was penetrating his black uniform; Sheppard could feel rivulets of sweat sliding down his spine, settling in the small of his back. As he took a deep breath, minuscule bits of dust seemed to follow the air into his lungs.
Sheppard snooped around the hut for the first five minutes after the Paoini left. He was too restless to relax. The windowless hut was rather small, with a high ceiling that peaked in the center, air vents circling the top cap. A fan was lazily spinning about five feet below the apex of the roof, pulling air through vents scattered about the walls. One section of the curved wall was built out, and through a small door, Sheppard discovered a bathroom. Two narrow beds were sitting in the center of the round room. Caldwell was lying across one of them, still unconscious. Finally, Sheppard decided that conserving energy was smarter, and lay down on the vacant bed.
Sheppard was calculating the time that Atlantis would be initiating a rescue attempt, when he heard a muffled groan from the other bed. Caldwell stirred and Sheppard hopped up to check on him.
Caldwell's pallor appeared a little pale, and he was groggy. “Colonel, how do you feel?” Sheppard helped him sit up.
Dropping his head into his hands, he replied, “Like I was sucker punched. I could use some aspirin right now.”
Sheppard said, “I can help with that.” He went to a small table where there was a pitcher of water and glasses. Bringing the water back to Caldwell, he reached into the thigh pocket of his BDU’s and pulled out a couple of packs of ibuprofen. Ripping them open, he handed one pack to Caldwell and he took the other.
“Thanks.” Caldwell mumbled.
“You’re welcome, forgot I had them. Keep extras for when McKay gives me a headache.” He uttered a half-hearted laugh; Caldwell nodded in agreement.
“Where are we?” Caldwell remained sitting on the side of the bed, looking around the hut.
“We are with the Paoini Tribe, one of the two ostracized tribes. They think that we are, or at least, I am, an Ancient. The tribal leader started talking about some kind of prophecy that foresees an ancestor will return, leading them into war against the five tribes.”
“Starting a revolution without me, Sheppard?”
“Hardly, colonel; I would much prefer you right there with me.”
Caldwell lay back down, “Give me the details.”
Author: stella_pegasi
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Action/Adventure, Friendship, Whump
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: John Sheppard, Steven Caldwell (plus team, RC’s, OC’s)
Spoilers: Brief mention of events in Trinity
Warnings: A few curse words sprinkled about.
Het/Slash/Gen: Gen
Word count: 19,238
Disclaimer: I do not own them, I would have treated them better.
Summary: Sheppard takes a restless Colonel Caldwell on an easy diplomatic mission off-world. However, the easy mission becomes a matter of life and death as the two colonels are kidnapped and Sheppard is gravely injured.
Author’s Notes: Whumpers enjoy; I whumped Sheppard pretty good in this one. Your thoughts on this story would be much appreciated.
HERO DEFINED
By stella_pegasi
Part One
“Rodney, are you ready? Come on, pissing Caldwell off is a bad start to this mission.”
“Cool your rockets, Sheppard; you get to remain on Atlantis, and amuse yourself with the new fighters. I, however, will be stuck aboard the Daedalus for three weeks.
Across the room, Dr. Radek Zelenka, who was packing a case with equipment, uttered a stream of words in Czech. Sheppard’s Czech had improved over the years. Even he was embarrassed by a few of the words spilling from Zelenka’s mouth.
The little Czech continued in broken English, “You, you are one who decided this mission would be good idea. Explore planets without stargate, three weeks the SGC gives us to do this; you know I am in middle of experiment. Now I must put my work aside.”
McKay looked up from his pad, stared blankly at Zelenka, then stuck his tongue out the engineer. Zelenka ran his hands through his hair, hair that rivaled Sheppard’s for the wildness award, and began another tirade of rapid Czech. Sheppard silently thanked the Ancestors that he was not going on this mission.
“Mature, McKay, very mature, you…” He was interrupted by a deep and distinctly, unhappy voice on his COM, “Colonel, yes; McKay’s on his way.”
“That was Colonel Caldwell; he’s pissed. Go.” Sheppard herded the two scientists out of the lab, and on their way to board the Daedalus, parked on the East Pier.
The Daedalus had been underway for four days, visiting the first two planets on McKay’s list. One planet had been a waste of time; the planet’s sun was dying, and any life that had been on that planet was extinct. The other planet was a bit more promising, but was primordial. Zelenka had designed small satellites containing sensors and cameras to monitor planets of interest. Caldwell had one placed in orbit, and ordered the Daedalus on to the next planet on the list. McKay grumbled about not getting a chance to take a jumper into orbit over the planet for a close-up look. Caldwell suspected that without Sheppard here, McKay just wanted to play jumper pilot. Not going to happen; he wasn’t going to lose McKay on this little journey. He did not want the wrath of Sheppard to descend on his head.
Caldwell sat in the command chair on the bridge, listening to McKay and Zelenka bickering. He had endured about all he could; his head hurt, his abdomen hurt, and he was queasy. One more word from McKay, who was being the chief ‘bickerer’, and he was going to clear the bridge.
“Rodney, we should go to the Zenic system after this one, the Ancients actually mentioned that system. Picking planets at random is foolish when we have data; this is waste of time.”
“No, we are going to stay on the path we’ve chosen; we’ll get to Zenic, when we get there. Now go away.” McKay turned away from Zelenka, who began muttering in Czech.
Caldwell was not as patient as Sheppard, “No, both of you go away.”
“What?” McKay’s head jerked up from the computer screen he was staring at.
“Both of you off my bridge; take your arguing to the science lab. I don’t want to listen to either one of you anymore.”
Both scientists were shocked, neither moving a muscle. Caldwell swiveled his chair around to look at them. “I’ll will have you removed if you don’t leave now.” Glancing at each other, McKay jerked his head to Zelenka in a “get the heck out of here” motion, and they left hurriedly.
Caldwell turned back around, asked how long until the next planet fall, then settled back in his chair. He closed his eyes; only one thought swirling in his aching head. This was just the start of a long, three week mission. He hoped the nausea would go away.
The next thirty-six hours passed in a blur for Colonel Caldwell. His XO, Major Marks, was becoming increasingly concerned about Caldwell’s physical condition. When he asked if the colonel was alright, Caldwell snarled at him, telling the major to mind his own business.
In the middle of the night, Caldwell woke up with intense pain around his right hip bone, and severe nausea. He hadn’t eaten, but that didn’t stop the vomiting that only seemed to make the pain worse. By morning, he was in agony. His entire abdomen felt like it was on fire, and he was burning up. When the colonel did not report to the bridge at his usual early morning hour, Major Marks called for medics and security to meet him at the colonel’s quarters. Using an emergency code to enter, they found Caldwell unconscious.
McKay entered the infirmary, looking for Dr. Breslin, who was the current ship’s physician. He had just been informed about Caldwell’s condition. McKay was a bit surprised at the personal level of concern that he felt for Caldwell. Relationships were peculiar out in the coldness of space; all they really had was each other to depend on. Despite his reservations about the military, Sheppard excluded, and his dislike of Caldwell for his early, antagonistic behavior toward Sheppard, he was concerned. He realized that he might actually respect the man.
He found Dr. Breslin next to Caldwell’s bedside. Caldwell was sedated, his skin pale and flushed at the same time, sweat beading along his forehead. Dr. Breslin looked up from Caldwell’s chart as McKay approached.
“Dr. McKay, good morning.” Breslin didn’t look happy.
“Uh...hey; what’s the colonel’s condition?”
Breslin shook his head, “Not good. We’ve stabilized him, but it appears that his appendix has ruptured. He’s developed peritonitis, and that is not a good development. He needs major surgery, and I am an internist, trained in field trauma surgery, the patch and load type. Dr. Lincoln broke his leg right before we deployed for Pegasus, and we didn’t have time to get another fully trained surgeon on board. Besides, if he develops even worse complications, the ship’s infirmary is not equipped to adequately treat him.”
McKay realized that Breslin was really worried; he asked, “Well…uh…should we take him to Atlantis? Do we have time? Dr. Keller is an excellent surgeon, and so is Dr. Beckett. He can be recalled from his free clinic mission to assist or vice versa.”
“Depends on how long it would take us to get there. He needs surgery, but we have a little leeway.”
McKay tapped his COM, “Marks, how long at max speed, would it take us to return to Atlantis?”
The major answered, “Hold on, doctor,” Marks paused, waiting for an answer from his navigator, “…under hyperdrive, 7.4 hours.”
McKay repeated the time to Dr. Breslin who nodded, “Yes, that’s not too long. We can pump him with antibiotics, and try to get his fever down during transport. That’ll work.”
“Marks, Dr. Breslin says we need to get the colonel back to Atlantis, ASAP. He needs surgery, and Dr. Breslin says he needs to be in the Atlantis infirmary.”
Marks’ voice was quiet, but clearly in command, “Understood, doctor. We are changing headings for Atlantis.”
Marks radioed ahead when they were back in range of Atlantis. Upon arrival, Caldwell and Drs. Breslin and McKay, along with Major Marks, were beamed directly into the critical care bay where Dr. Keller was waiting for them. Dr. Beckett already scrubbing up; he was to be Caldwell’s primary surgeon. Richard Woolsey and Colonel Sheppard were also in the infirmary.
Woolsey greeted Marks, “Major, welcome back to Atlantis; however, I am sorry for the reason your mission has been cut short.”
Marks replied politely, “Thank you, sir. I agree, not the reason we would have wanted to return so quickly to Atlantis.” He turned to greet the Atlantis military commander. “Colonel Sheppard.” Sheppard patted him on the back.
“The colonel’s in good hands, major. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“Thank you, sir. I know you’re right.”
Nearly four hours later, Dr. Beckett came out of surgery. Sheppard and Marks were sitting in the infirmary waiting room, drinking the coffee that Teyla had brought them. She and Ronon had joined the Air Force officers as they waited.
Beckett sank down on the small couch next to Ronon. His fatigue evident in the deep sigh he exhaled before he spoke. “That was a rough surgery; Caldwell’s entire, bloody abdomen was filled with pus and infection; peritoneum inflamed as badly as I have ever seen.” He gazed directly at Sheppard as he continued, “I imagined the colonel was in excruciating pain for quite a while. You brave military types, always seem to forget how to ask for help. You just bloody go off, ignoring all the warning signs. Making the lives of the people trying to put you back together hell.”
Sheppard’s right eyebrow arched, he cocked his head, asking Beckett very quietly, “You finished, doc?”
Beckett looked at him, “You cheeky bugger, you know I’m talking about you. I just thought Caldwell was less the martyr.” He smiled at Sheppard; both knowing Beckett was simply releasing tension, even though he really meant what he had said.
“What’s his prognosis, Doctor Beckett?” Sheppard asked, with the emphasis on ‘doctor’.
Shaking his head, Beckett answered, “Well, he’s not well right now. Pretty sick fellow, but he will recover unless some thing really nasty happens.”
Teyla asked, “Nasty, Dr. Beckett? What do you mean by that?”
“Nasty, as in, sepsis; uh…blood infection that spreads the infection to other organs. But, we have him on mega doses of antibiotics. We should be able to knock the infection down. Well, I am going to get out of these scrubs, and check on my patient. You can see him shortly.”
Sheppard and Marks spoke at the same time, “Thanks, doc.”
As the doctor walked away, Sheppard heard, through his thick Scottish brogue, Beckett mutter, “Cheeky military, all alike.”
Two days later, Woolsey, Sheppard, and McKay sat in the main conference room on a vid link to Stargate Command. General Landry and Colonel Abe Ellis requested a meeting regarding the mission status during Caldwell's recuperation. Landry and Ellis were sitting at the large conference table at the SGC, visible on the large display monitor.
“Colonel Sheppard, do you have any reservations about sending your science teams on the Daedalus? This would be Major Marks’ first full command of an onboard mission.” The question from General Landry.
“Absolutely not, sir; I have no reservations about Major Marks’ ability. However, I would like to send Major Lorne to command the Marine units that will accompany the science teams. Major Marks doesn’t have the same mission command experience that Major Lorne has, nor does he have Special Ops training.”
Landry nodded, “A reasonable request, colonel; I think, a good one. Deploy your personnel as you see fit, Colonel Sheppard. Bring Marks and Lorne into the room, Colonel Ellis would like to review some things with Marks; Lorne should sit in on the briefing.”
“Yes, sir.” Sheppard tapped his COM and the two majors entered. Sheppard had them waiting outside.
Six hours later, the Daedalus launched, returning to the planet exploration mission, without Colonel Caldwell.
The next twelve days passed swiftly for Colonel Sheppard and the Atlantis pilots. They spent several hours per day training in the F-314, the newest version of the hybrid fighter jet/spaceship. Sheppard and Major Marks coordinated a flight training schedule for Major Lorne while he was on the Daedalus. Sheppard hoped the mission would be uneventful, so the major would have adequate flight time.
The Atlantis commander had been spending some time with Caldwell, updating him on the flight training. Even supplying him with videos from his collection, and surprised to discover Caldwell was quite proficient on a hand held game player. As the days passed, and Caldwell’s health improved, Sheppard noticed a spike in the colonel’s frustration level. Sheppard recognized the signs; he would have already attempted to escape from the infirmary by this point.
In the next mission review meeting, Woolsey requested a mission to a planet called Sarta, the newest member of the Pegasus Coalition. Woolsey had promised to comply with the tradition of the tribes on the planet. New friends must visit three times before the moon returns to solidify the friendship. One more walk through the gate, greet the tribal leaders, participate in a ritual, and the three visits would be completed. Sheppard thought this might be exactly what Caldwell needed, an easy trip through the gate to ease his boredom.
Woolsey agreed to his plan, and proceeded to transmit a message to the Sartans that their third formal visit would take place in twenty-four hours. Sheppard headed to the infirmary to plead his case to Dr. Keller. He dreaded talking to the petite doctor; she was far from a soft touch when it came to her patients. He had some persuading to do; something he rarely accomplished with her.
“You want to what, colonel? Take my patient on a mission, through the gate? Should I have Dr. Warren talk to you? You are obviously delusional.” Keller crossed her arms, and leaned against the doorframe to her office. “I really can’t believe…no, that’s not right. I can believe you would suggest such a thing.” She turned and sat down at her desk, “No.”
Sheppard leaned against the doorframe Keller had vacated, trying on his best puppy-dog face. “Come on, Jennifer; it’s a simple and quick trip to a peaceful planet. We will be there and back before you miss us. Besides, Caldwell’s getting testy; if you aren’t careful, he’ll start acting like your favorite patient, me.”
She scoffed, “He’ll never be that juvenile, colonel.”
He tried his most charming grin, “Come on, Dr. Keller. Let the colonel come with me to Sarta.”
Keller put her head down on her desk, mumbling, “You are going to whine until I allow this, aren’t you?” She looked up at him. He bounced his head up and down with an even bigger grin on his face.
“Alright, but don’t make me regret this, colonel.”
“Never, doc. You’re the best.” Sheppard took off before she could change her mind. He wondered how Caldwell would react to the news he would be escaping for a few hours, the next morning.
Sheppard walked into the infirmary around 1000 hrs to find out if Caldwell was ready. The colonel was sitting on the side of his bed, legs dangling, waiting. Caldwell was dressed in an SGC field uniform, instead of his usual green jumpsuit. The green BDU’s and shirt and black t-shirt somehow made Caldwell seem more ordinary to Sheppard. He chuckled quietly; he supposed what it really meant was that the full-bird colonel appeared quite formidable when he was on the bridge of his ship. The man sitting before him didn’t appear to be as confident. A couple of weeks in the infirmary would do that to a person; Sheppard knew that fact all too well.
“Good morning, colonel.”
Caldwell’s head snapped around, as if Sheppard had startled him, “Oh, Sheppard…good morning. You ready?”
“I am; if you are.”
Caldwell nodded and attempted to hop off the bed, as if he was in perfect health. A fleeting, tell-tail grimace crossing his face told a different story.
Sheppard hesitated for a moment, considering whether he should cancel the mission. No, he thought; if he was in Caldwell’s shoes, and he had been on many instances, he’d want a change of scenery.
“Let’s go, colonel.”
On the way to the gear-up room, Caldwell asked Sheppard about Sarta and its people.
“We first heard about Sarta when Dr. Hillenmeyer, a horticulturalist, was studying berries and plants that the Evarnans use to dye the fabrics they weave. The fabrics are very high quality and the dyes are brilliant, at least that’s what Teyla tells me. The Evarnans trade with the Sartans to procure the dyes.”
“The Daedalus transported quite a few bolts of that fabric back to Earth, if I remember. Not much for that sort of thing, but I remember the colors were really vibrant.”
“We contacted the Sartans, and began negotiations. The planet culture revolves around a tribal system; the Bemni Tribe is the largest of the seven tribes that formed the planet’s population. The Bemni served as the government for all of the tribes, and are the people we deal with. They do have a tribal council that represents five of the tribes.”
Arriving in the gear-up room, they grabbed TAC vests and P-90 weapons from the racks. Sheppard handed Caldwell a holster and 9-mil. As the colonel strapped the holster to his leg, he continued asking about the Sartans.
“What's the reason two of the tribes are not members of the tribal council?”
“The seven tribes consist of five, quite sophisticated tribes, and two tribes ostracized from the rest. The Bemni warned us to avoid those two tribes. The leader of the Tribal Council told us that the behavior of two smaller tribes could be very unpredictable and violent.”
“Sometimes, it’s the smallest unit that creates the most problems.” Caldwell replied.
Heading for the gate, Sheppard added, “They divided up the territories’ centuries ago, declaring the grounds the stargate sat on as sacred. The original tribal council divided the land radiating out from the sacred ground into seven tribal regions. Apparently, the two smaller tribes received less than prime land, and their lives have always been difficult. They resented their fate, and have been at war with the other tribes on and off since then.
In the gate room, Sheppard circled his finger in the air for Chuck, indicating for the tech to dial the gate. As the event horizon formed into a shimmering puddle, he added, “We’ll be met by a welcoming committee from the five tribes, who will escort us to the Council. We tell them we have visited three times, and we request to be friends. There is a short ceremony, then we eat, visit for a bit, and get back here before Keller comes after us.”
Caldwell laughed, "I would prefer not to suffer the wrath of that ‘smaller unit,’ colonel.”
Sheppard grinned, “You’re learning.” Sheppard and Caldwell stepped through the gate together.
As they exited the gate on Sarta, Sheppard paused for a split second, to comprehend the scene
in front of him. Colorful objects adorned the beautiful grounds that surrounded the gate. In addition to abundant flower displays, fountains and statues, and tribal territory markers, the welcoming committee also adorned the grounds. Lovers of color, the tribe members, during ceremonies, wore bright plumage and pants, tunics and robes made from vibrantly hued fabrics. The members of the welcoming group were dressed in just such bright finery, with one glaring exception. They were all lying on the lush green turf, just past the DHD, covered in bright red blood.
Sheppard sprinted for the DHD, yelling at Caldwell to drop to the ground. Skidding to a halt on the stone dais surrounding the DHD, Sheppard succeeded in pressing two symbols, before he slumped to the ground.
From behind the tree line, between two markers to his left, Caldwell watched as several figures emerged. Their attackers were dressed in crimson garments, with long feathered cloaks and headdresses, their faces adorned black and crimson symbols. All carried tall spears; a few were holding long slender tubes of dark, polished wood. Caldwell raised his P-90 to take a shot, but a tribesman was quicker. One of the attackers raised a tube to his lips, aimed in his direction. The man blew a puff of air into the tube, and within seconds, Caldwell faded into unconsciousness.
A soft, deep tapping echoed in his brain, but Sheppard was having difficulty detecting the source of the sound. He considered the possibility that the pounding was inside his head; his head was throbbing to the same cadence. Managing to pry open his eyes, he discovered the source of the repetitive noise was not his head.
Sheppard and Caldwell were lying on a raised platform inside an enormous, hut-like building. Thousands of thin honey-hued, wood poles were bound together with strips of leather, fabricating the walls and roof. Colorful banners fell from the ceiling, swaying in the breeze created by huge fans that were moving air throughout the large room. Tribal members, dressed in bright clothing adorned with feathers, line the walls.
A group of men dressed in red and gold robes and wearing feathered headdresses sat on a larger platform across the room. Sheppard thought they looked like roosters. The same wooded poles that fabricated the walls also constructed the chairs that the men reclined in. Several young men, tapping on small bongo-like drums, sat at the foot of the platform. At least, he solved the mystery of the tapping in his head.
Caldwell was unconscious and Sheppard was apprehensive. He knew the colonel continued to take low dose pain meds due to inflammation remaining from the serious infection. He hoped there wasn’t an interaction between his pain meds and the sedative in the dart used to knock them out. He was already in enough trouble with Keller, and she didn’t even realize it yet.
He decided to stand, might as well see what these over-dressed roosters wanted. As he began to stir, the drumming stopped, and all eyes turned to him. One of the roosters on the other platform rose from his chair, walking toward the edge of the dais.
“I am Fristum, Tribal Lord of the Paoini. You have been brought before me to answer the question of why the Ancestors are entering into an agreement with our enemies. Our tribe and the Micani’s have been banished for years by the others. Now, they court the Ancestors, and leave us to fend for ourselves, as they always have. We demand to know the details of the arrangement that the Ancestors have made.”
Sheppard sucked in a deep breath; convincing these people that he was not an Ancestor was going to be tricky. Then again, he wondered if he should play along. He had the uneasy feeling that the Paoini had few qualms about taking what they wanted. They had just murdered five people to capture Caldwell and him. However, he decided that to deceive them, and then have the Paoini discover he wasn’t an Ancestor, might not be in his best interest.
“Fristum, I am Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, and I do represent Atlantis. However, I am not an Ancestor. My people are descendents as of the Ancestors as your people are. We discovered Atlantis, and established a base there. We come in peace and friendship. We only…” Sheppard stopped abruptly when the tribal lord bellowed.
“Enough; enough lies; you are of the ancestors. My spies have observed you in the Bemni lands, and watched you use Ancestral magic. I can prove you are of the ancestors.” He motioned to one of the younger men standing along the side of the platform; the young man quickly descended the steps and left the hall.
Sheppard remembered the Bemni were excited that he and Rodney had both been able to activate or use some simple Ancient devices that the Bemni had displayed as sacred artifacts. One artifact had been a medical scanner, one a weather instrument of some kind, but Rodney thought there were more components to it. Sheppard wondered what the Bemni would think if they realized that the Paoini was spying on them. Great, they come to a planet and start a war. The IOA and the Pegasus Coalition will certainly be ecstatic about that.
To the right of the large platform, the spectators parted, creating a broad path for four youths. The young men were carrying an immense tray on which an ornately painted wooden chest was resting. The four ascended the stairs, mindful of keeping the tray from tilting, and presented the chest to Fristum. Opening the cover, Fristum cautiously extracted a rectangular metal device.
Sheppard could see there were familiar symbols on the sides of the box. The device looked to be made from the same metal many of the other Ancient devices were constructed from.
One of the younger ‘rooster’ men rose from his chair, accepted the device from Fristum, then proceeded down the stairs and toward Sheppard’s platform. Sheppard was apprehensive; if the Paoini were unclear about the device’s purpose, he could cause something terrible to happen. Terrible had happened before when he and Rodney fooled with unknown Ancient technology.
He spoke, “Fristum that object appears to be quite important to you. You should keep it away from me; I’m known for breaking things. I wouldn’t want to damage it.”
“And why would that be, that you do not wish to be next to this treasure if you do not already know what it is. You are an Ancestor, you must know of the prophecy.”
“Prophecy…,” Sheppard swallowed hard, “what prophecy?”
The younger tribal leader had reached the platform steps, and was proceeding to climb toward Sheppard. Sheppard could see the symbols on the device quite clearly; there was little doubt that it was an Ancient device. The tribal leader had not reached the top step before the device activated. The Paoini gasped as a blue glow emanated from a crystal embedded in the center of the cover. A low, harmonic humming was coming from the device.
Sheppard glared at the device as the tribal leader placed it in his hands. At his touch, the blue crystal glowed brighter, and the humming became stronger. Peeling his eyes away from the metal box for a second, he glanced toward Fristum. The panorama before him was surreal. All the Paoini tribal members were prostrated on the hut floor, except for Fristum, who was standing with arms upraised.
“Behold, the prophecy is fulfilled. The Ancestors have returned to lead us into war against our enemies. What has been denied us for centuries will be ours.”
Sheppard’s eyes wandered about the enormous room, a sense of dread crystallizing in the pit of his stomach. These people believed the prophecy, and they believed he was the answer to their problems.
Looking back down at the softly humming Ancient box, his mind was racing. Challenging prophecies was a tricky path to take, especially with people who perceive they have been persecuted for generations. Woolsey would be much better suited for this than he was, but Woolsey wasn’t here. This was up to him.
Sheppard could think of only one appropriate, but inarticulate comment, “Crap.”
The Paoini led Sheppard and carried the unconscious Caldwell from the tribal community hut to a smaller hut on the edge of the circular village. The walkways had been covered with awnings, providing respite from the sun.
Once outside, Sheppard was surprised at the terrain. The vegetation at the gate sanctuary, and in the Bemni town he had visited before, was lush, green, and abundant. Sparkling ponds and streams dotted the landscape, while colorful, fragrant flowers and the bird song created a sensory overload.
The Paoini land was stark. Beyond the huts, Sheppard saw flat, sandy ground extending far into the distance, reminding him of the Mojave Desert. Scrub brush, occasional groves of thin bamboo-like trees, and rugged, rolling hills with peaks of stone created the landscape. The dry, desert heat was penetrating his black uniform; Sheppard could feel rivulets of sweat sliding down his spine, settling in the small of his back. As he took a deep breath, minuscule bits of dust seemed to follow the air into his lungs.
Sheppard snooped around the hut for the first five minutes after the Paoini left. He was too restless to relax. The windowless hut was rather small, with a high ceiling that peaked in the center, air vents circling the top cap. A fan was lazily spinning about five feet below the apex of the roof, pulling air through vents scattered about the walls. One section of the curved wall was built out, and through a small door, Sheppard discovered a bathroom. Two narrow beds were sitting in the center of the round room. Caldwell was lying across one of them, still unconscious. Finally, Sheppard decided that conserving energy was smarter, and lay down on the vacant bed.
Sheppard was calculating the time that Atlantis would be initiating a rescue attempt, when he heard a muffled groan from the other bed. Caldwell stirred and Sheppard hopped up to check on him.
Caldwell's pallor appeared a little pale, and he was groggy. “Colonel, how do you feel?” Sheppard helped him sit up.
Dropping his head into his hands, he replied, “Like I was sucker punched. I could use some aspirin right now.”
Sheppard said, “I can help with that.” He went to a small table where there was a pitcher of water and glasses. Bringing the water back to Caldwell, he reached into the thigh pocket of his BDU’s and pulled out a couple of packs of ibuprofen. Ripping them open, he handed one pack to Caldwell and he took the other.
“Thanks.” Caldwell mumbled.
“You’re welcome, forgot I had them. Keep extras for when McKay gives me a headache.” He uttered a half-hearted laugh; Caldwell nodded in agreement.
“Where are we?” Caldwell remained sitting on the side of the bed, looking around the hut.
“We are with the Paoini Tribe, one of the two ostracized tribes. They think that we are, or at least, I am, an Ancient. The tribal leader started talking about some kind of prophecy that foresees an ancestor will return, leading them into war against the five tribes.”
“Starting a revolution without me, Sheppard?”
“Hardly, colonel; I would much prefer you right there with me.”
Caldwell lay back down, “Give me the details.”