SGA-14 Death Game Page 2

  John grimaced. “I know. I got that a long time ago.” Teyla had learned that it was not the way he did things, had seen it on Athos when the men from Earth first came there. Colonel Sumner thought nothing of her people, regarded them little, but Sheppard always saw them real and whole.

  “We are friendly,” Teyla called out. “You see that we are human, and our ship has crashed.”

  John gave them his most ingratiating smile, the one Teyla had begun to think of as the Smile of Wrongness, because it only appeared when something was badly wrong. “Hi, everybody.”

  “Hold your hands where we can see them!” A man’s voice rang out, the local inhabitants crowding back away from him as he strode through the crowd. He was very tall, his head shaved in the summer heat, wearing a tunic that didn’t quite come to his knees and a bronze breastplate over it. He held a long spear in his hand, the point higher than the top of his head. “Do not move, or we shall regard it as an act of aggression!”

  “The head honcho,” John said in a low voice.

  Teyla nodded. She didn’t think the man looked particularly threatening. He seemed more annoyed than anything else, as a leader will when something spoils their scheduling and their day is suddenly interrupted by the unexpected.

  “We’re very friendly,” John said with another ingratiating smile. “Just travelers with an accident.”

  “They came from the sky,” one of the villagers began, but the tall man shot him a silencing look.

  “We crashed our ship,” John said, turning toward him. “It was an accident. See? Me and my friend here are hurt. We don’t want to start any trouble.”

  Teyla thought his voice didn’t sound right. He is more hurt than he admits, Teyla thought. It must be a priority to get medical attention, or at least to get John to a place he might rest out of the heat.

  “I am Tolas, Ruler of a Thousand,” the man said. “Is it true you came from the sky?”

  That would be the question, Teyla thought. Probably the only ships they had ever seen were Wraith. “We have never been here before,” she answered cautiously. “We came from the sky, but we are human, as you can see.”

  She saw his brow furrow, then relax. Yes, she thought. They know the Wraith, and like all people they fear them.

  “Who are you?” Tolas demanded. “And what do you want?”

  “I’m Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard,” John replied, “and this is Teyla Emmagan. We’re explorers.”

  “We did not mean to be here,” Teyla said, with a swift look at him. He looked pale even in the bright sun. “We were hurt in the crash of our ship. We would request that we be taken to a healer as soon as possible. We have things to trade, and are eager to come to agreements with you.”

  John glanced at her sharply but didn’t argue. Worse, Teyla thought. He is bad indeed if he will not balk at that.

  One of the villagers dragged at Tolas’ arm, and he leaned down to speak with him.

  “Are you dizzy?” Teyla whispered. “John?”

  He nodded, his jaw clenched shut, his fingers white on the stock of the P90.

  Concussion, she thought. Perhaps it would not be dangerous in Atlantis, but they were not in Atlantis, and she was not Dr. Beckett.

  Tolas straightened up. “We have a healer,” he said. “And we will take you to her in the name of humanity. We can discuss your trades later.”

  “Agreed,” Teyla called back. “Now let us go.” She slung the weapon down, wincing at the pull against her left shoulder. Away from the crash site and the guests of people—that was the best they could hope for.

  ***

  It was not terribly far to the nearest village, only two or three miles, but more than once John had to stop and lean on her for a few moments, too dizzy and nauseated to go on. The village looked much as Teyla had expected, a town of perhaps forty or fifty mud brick buildings near the small lake that made up the center of the oasis, surrounded by billowing palm trees and irrigated gardens that took up every bit of available room near the water. Domestic fowl ran loose, and children came running to see the newcomers, barefoot but unafraid.

  “They must not be Culled often,” Teyla said to John in a low voice. “They are not frightened enough.”

  He didn’t reply, just kept his head down and walked on doggedly.

  Teyla sped up to catch Tolas, walking at the head of the party. “Where are you taking us?”

  “To the Main House,” he replied. “It is where our visitors stay. And there I will have the doctor for you.” His eyes did not evade hers, as those of men often did, depending on the culture of their world. It was a good sign, Teyla thought, that he spoke to her comfortably, saying much about the place of women here. All too often she’d been ignored, or had the local inhabitants of a place speak only to Sheppard or McKay or Lt. Ford.

  “We will be in your debt,” Teyla said formally. “My friend is hurt and we will appreciate your doctor’s concern.”

  Tolas cast an appraising glance over John, his brows knitting. “The healer is skilled,” he said.

  “I am glad to hear that,” Teyla replied.

  The Main House was larger than she had expected, three stories surrounded by a wall of painted mud brick, a fortified house of some size. Inside the walls were gardens, and she dimly had the impression of tiled floors and cool interior as they were hurried through. John staggered, and she caught him with her good arm. “Not far now,” she said.

  “Here,” Tolas said, and threw open a door. Teyla helped John through.

  It was a small room with walls washed in pale blue paint, two tiny windows high up in the wall letting in light, furnished with three carved wooden chairs, a table, and a bed piled with blue blankets. A hanging lamp of bronze intricately worked with snakes hung from the ceiling above, unlit in the middle of the day, while a small side table held several pottery jars.

  “The doctor will be here in a moment,” Tolas said, and backed out while she helped John to the side of the bed.

  He lay back on the pillows, his eyes clenched tight as one will when the world seems to spin around. Blood had soaked through the bandage on his forehead and smeared across his face.

  “Here,” Teyla said, taking weapon and pack from him and putting them on the floor. “Just lie still for a bit.” The room was surprisingly cool given the heat outside. The walls must be very thick to insulate so well.

  “I think I’ve got a concussion,” John managed.

  “I know you do,” Teyla said, putting her own things down beside his. Her shoulder was throbbing and her left hand mostly useless. “But we will not be here long. We will get back to Atlantis soon.”

  “The jumper…”

  “The jumper is destroyed,” Teyla said firmly. “But we left Rodney at the DHD, if you do not remember. As soon as we are overdue, Dr. Weir will dial in and Rodney will tell her that we have not returned. She will send another jumper through, and our crash site is very visible from the air. Major Lorne will fan out from there in a search, so I do not think it will be later than tomorrow morning that we will see them arrive, and then we will be back to Atlantis in no time at all.”

  John started to nod, then looked like he thought better of moving his head. “Yeah. Only what about the Wraith? That cruiser…”

  “Was not anywhere near the gate,” Teyla said soothingly, trying to lift the edge of the dressing on his head without tearing the scab if it had formed. He really should not lose more blood. “And Lorne and Rodney will be alert, since they will know we must have met trouble. Tomorrow at the latest we will be back in Atlantis, and Dr. Beckett will be complaining that you are injured again.” Stuck down, she thought, checking the bandage. Water would soak it free without pulling. “What is it he says? That he needs a loyalty scheme for you?”

  John snorted. “Just about.” He twisted a little, uncomfortably. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “I will manage,” Teyla said.

  The door opened again and two men stepped in carrying long spears, the
ir shaved heads glistening with sweat, bronze breastplates glittering. Between them stood an elderly woman carrying a bag. She was dark eyed and dark skinned, her graying hair caught up in a multitude of tiny plaits, each one wrapped round with copper wire. She wore a floor length robe of draped linen, much finer cloth than that of the soldiers who accompanied her, and her voice was lightly accented.

  “I am Jitrine,” she said. “I am a doctor. I understand that you have been injured in an accident?”

  “My friend has been badly hurt,” Teyla said, stepping aside so that she could come closer. “He has hit his head. It bled freely, and now he is also dizzy and sick.”

  “Humm,” Jitrine said, and slid in to sit beside John, taking his wrist in her hand with the practiced motion of physicians anywhere. She frowned over it for a moment, then cupped her hand over his eyes. “Look at me,” she said sharply.

  John blinked.

  “You see?” Jitrine said to Teyla. “How his pupils do not respond to the light the same on each side? The left side is over dilated. That’s common with head injuries.”

  “I see,” Teyla said, bending closer. The left pupil did not shrink when the light hit it as the right did.

  “Now let me see the bandage,” Jitrine said.

  “It has stuck,” Teyla said. “I thought water to soak it free?”

  “Go and get some,” Jitrine said to one of the soldiers. When he stood stupidly she snapped, “Water. In a bowl. What do you think I will do while you are gone?”

  She put her fingers to John’s neck, checking the pulse there, then lifted the corners of the dressing again. “Who did this, young woman? You?”

  “Yes,” Teyla said, “And my name is Teyla. This is Colonel Sheppard, and we are travelers who have come here by accident. He was hurt when our ship crashed.”

  “I’m still here you know,” John said. “You can talk to me.”

  “We know,” Jitrine said tartly. “And you’re not going anywhere else. Not for quite a while. You will lie where you are while I tend you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” John said, the ghost of his old smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Teyla thought he must find Jitrine’s bedside manner as comforting as she did.

  “Water,” the soldier said, bringing back a bowl. He and the other soldier were moving things around behind them, and one of them edged the table closer.

  “Now to soak this off,” Jitrine said, dipping a clean cloth in the water. “And see if I can keep it from bleeding again. You will probably need stitches. I hate to mess up your pretty face, but there it is. Your wife here won’t mind too much, if you keep your wits instead.”

  “I am not his wife,” Teyla said.

  A third soldier came to the door. “Is all well?”

  Jitrine did not look around. “Tell Tolas this will take some time. And not to interrupt me every few minutes.”

  “Yes, doctor,” the soldier said. There was again the sound of shuffling about, and he went out and shut the door.

  “There!” Jitrine carefully lifted the soggy dressing off. “Beautiful.”

  Teyla tried not to cringe. The cut was long and deep, four inches from just above his eyebrow to somewhere in his hair, slowly seeping blood.

  “Bad?” John asked. Of course he could see her face.

  “I’ve seen a lot worse,” Jitrine said. “But it doesn’t matter so much what the outside of your head looks like. What matters is if your brain is swelling inside. I certainly hope not.”

  “You know about brain swelling?” Teyla asked. She had not seen anything to lead her to believe there was much technology on this world, certainly not the CAT scans that Dr. Beckett insisted on every time she got hit in the head.

  “I am a doctor,” Jitrine said tartly. “Not a village midwife. I was trained in the College of the Healers in Pelagia, where we learn the causes of decease from the corpses of prisoners. I have practiced as a physician for twenty years. I have seen a man die from brain swelling, and if it is necessary I will open his skull to relieve the pressure.”

  “Um, no…” John began.

  “I hope that will not be necessary?” Teyla said quickly.

  “I hope not as well,” Jitrine said. “I lose one out of four that way. I’d rather give you better odds.”

  “Um, no!” John said quickly, starting to push up on his elbows.

  “Lie down.” Jitrine pushed on his chest. “Don’t be stupid. I need to sew you up.”

  John’s eyes were wide. “Just sewing. Not drilling my skull or something.”

  “Just sewing,” Jitrine said with a tight smile. “You must be a soldier. Soldiers are the worst patients. Now lie still and let me work.” She sutured the wound with quick stitches, and if her work was not entirely sanitary, Teyla could not fault its expertise. Well, she thought, she had antibiotic cream in the medical kit, and probably some in her pocket case as well. She would put that on when Jitrine was finished.

  “That’s done it,” Jitrine said, tying the last stitch off neatly and putting a pad of soft clean cloth to it. “I’ll tie the bandage on, and then you should rest.” She looked at Teyla. “If he seems unresponsive or stops making sense, I want you to send the soldiers for me at once, do you understand? If he seems disoriented at all. There is no time to lose in that event.”

  Teyla opened her mouth and shut it again, and Jitrine reached over to pat her arm. “It is likely he will be fine, but we must keep close watch. It has been several hours already, and he seems himself, does he not?”

  “Yes,” Teyla said. “He is making sense, and he does not seem different than he usually does.”

  Jitrine nodded. “Then chances are it is a mild injury. But you must call me if anything changes. Right away.”

  “I will,” Teyla promised.

  Jitrine got to her feet, taking her bag with her. One of the two spearmen opened the door. “I will check on you later,” she said, and went out, followed by the soldiers. The door closed behind her. Teyla jumped up too slowly. Outside she heard the sound of a stout bar being lowered across it.

  John started up from the pillow. “Not good,” he said.

  “Perhaps they are not entirely certain of us,” Teyla said. “But they are not hostile, and she has given you good care. You should lie down. I am sure Jitrine will be back later.”

  Her voice was soothing, but her eyes fell on the bare floor beside the door. Their packs and their P90s were gone.

  Chapter Three

  “It’s no use,” Radek Zelenka said, laying the radio aside. “We are too far from the Stargate to reach Rodney without the longer range transmitter in the jumper.”

  Ronon crouched in the shadow of one of the Ancient citadel’s broken walls, scanning the seas and skies with binoculars. “Can you raise the jumper?”

  “I have been trying,” Radek said. “They are not answering either. This is why I do not like to go offworld. This is why I avoid it if I can. One moment you are looking at a beautiful view, and the next moment you are in deep trouble.”

  Ronon snorted. “That’s life.”

  “Yes, well, it may be your life. I try not to have it be my life,” Radek said. He squinted out over the blue sea. The sun was definitely well past its zenith. He was not certain how long the days on this world were, but it was certainly late afternoon. It could not be so many hours to sunset. “They should have been back for us by now.”

  “Maybe.” Ronon Dex was a man of few words. “Maybe not.”

  “If they found something interesting, or if the Wraith cruiser found them?”

  “Either way.” Ronon looked around, lowering the binoculars. “Sheppard’s a good pilot. But that thing’s got him outgunned. He may have decided to lay low for a while and slip back to get us after dark.”

  “That could be,” Radek said. It was a comforting scenario, at least. Though with the cloak on the jumper surely it would not be necessary to wait until dark. The cloak should disguise the jumper far more effectively than mere darkness. He sat dow
n against the wall and took a drink from his metal water bottle. “In which case we wait?”

  “Right.” Ronon raised the glasses again, as though scanning the horizon with binoculars would somehow reveal a cloaked jumper.

  “As you say,” Radek said. “Sheppard is a good pilot. They are no doubt fine, yes?”

  Ronon didn’t seem to think that required an answer.

  “Lovely,” Radek muttered under his breath. “Just lovely.”

  ***

  Jitrine returned in an hour or so, the same guards opening the door.

  “Where is our stuff?” John demanded, trying to sit up. “Give our stuff back.”

  “I cannot do that,” Jitrine replied calmly.

  “Why not?” Teyla asked, stepping between her and John on the bed. “We have offered you no threats or trouble. What kind of host takes their guests’ goods without a fair trade?”

  “I am not your host,” Jitrine said, with a swift look at the guards. “And it is not my decision to make. How is your head? And shall I tend to your shoulder, young woman?”

  “Then who is our host?” John demanded. “What’s going on here?”

  “You are the guests of Tolas, Who Rules a Thousand,” Jitrine said. “This is his house, and things are done here by his will, not mine. I am also his…guest.”

  The way she emphasized the last word, her glance at the guards, told Teyla a great deal. Not only were they the prisoners of this Tolas, but so was Jitrine. The guards might be less for them than for her. Jitrine met her eyes, and she knew that it was so.

  John had not seen, behind her as he was. “We need to talk to Tolas,” he said.

  “I am sure that Tolas will see you in good time,” Jitrine said, her eyes on Teyla. “I am sure that he will make his position plain. But until that time, perhaps you will allow me to tend your hurts? Your wife’s shoulder is injured, and I should look at it.”

  “She’s not my wife,” John said. “And I don’t…”

  Teyla turned around, her voice a little too loud and enunciated, a warning he would know. “We should be patient,” she said. “And I am happy to have Jitrine look at my shoulder, if your head is well.”