SGA-14 Death Game Page 3

  “It’s the same as it was,” John said, and his eyes narrowed as he got her message, flickering to the two guards. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. Two guards, with him injured and Teyla with one good arm. And then they’d have to get out of the house, out of the settlement, and then where? Back to the wreckage of the jumper? Across the desert? Not a plan.

  All that passed between them in a moment’s look. Teyla turned back to Jitrine. “I would appreciate your care, doctor,” she said.

  Beneath her jacket she wore a tank top, and with the jacket off her shoulder looked bruised and wrong. Jitrine examined it with practiced fingers, and Teyla’s breath hissed.

  “Painful?” Jitrine asked.

  “Very.” Teyla set her jaw. John was sitting up, as close as he could get without blocking Jitrine.

  “It is dislocated,” Jitrine said. “I can feel the joint out of the socket. The muscles are torn, but they will heal if I can get it back in.” She looked at John. “I will need your help for this, soldier. I cannot press and hold at once, and it requires some strength.”

  “Do it,” Teyla breathed. Her shoulder was a solid throb of pain, and it would not get better until it was done.

  “Here.” Jitrine took John’s hands, positioning them at the back of her shoulder, the heel of one hand on the shoulder blade. “Like this and this. I will need you to hold very tight. I am going to have to press against you, and you must not move, do you understand?”

  “Yeah.” John frowned beneath the bandage. “I’ve got it.”

  “Hold just like that.” Jitrine moved one of his hands a little bit, then looked at Teyla. “This is going to hurt, but then it will be better.”

  She set her teeth, and in that moment Jitrine pushed on her upper arm with surprising strength. Red swam before her eyes, and pain washed over her, her breath catching in her throat. There was a sharp pop. Pain raced down her arm, fingers cramping.

  “There,” Jitrine said.

  Teyla blinked, the wave rushing past her, the crest of the pain already reached and subsiding.

  “That’s better.” Jitrine felt her shoulder again, moving John’s hand off her back. Gingerly, she rotated the joint, and the twinges of pain ran again down Teyla’s arm. “Much better.” She nodded sharply. “The muscles are injured, and it will take many days for them to heal. In the next few days your arm will be extremely sore, and it is normal for there to be some swelling and discoloration. That should pass inside of a tenday.”

  “Does it hurt?” John asked.

  “Yes, it hurts!” Teyla snapped. “What do you think?”

  “Sorry.”

  Jitrine reached back for a length of linen she had brought and looped it over Teyla’s head, bringing it down and wrapping it around her arm. “A sling will help support it and keep it immobile. The less you use it the better it will heal. And you must let me know at once if you lose feeling in your hand or fingers.” She lifted her arm with care, settling it gently in the folds of linen and tying them securely at the top of her shoulder.

  It did feel better. Teyla wiggled her fingers experimentally, surprised that there were only twinges of pain. “That is not so bad.”

  “Good.” Jitrine worked her fingers back and forth. “Nice and warm. Your circulation is fine. That is the movement of blood through the vessels of your body,” she said by way of explanation.

  “Yes, we know of such things,” Teyla said.

  “You must let your arm rest. I will return soon, and I will speak about getting some food sent for you.” Jitrine looked at John. “You should only eat very lightly at this point, but if the nausea has passed you may have some bread or fruit.”

  “I’m ok,” John said.

  Jitrine’s mouth quirked. “Of course you are. Now get some rest, and keep her from using that arm.” She got up and went out, followed closely by the guards. They heard the bar fall into place behind her.

  Teyla sagged.

  “She’s a prisoner too?” John whispered.

  “I am getting that impression,” Teyla replied, turning about so they sat face to face.

  “We need our stuff back,” John said. “And I don’t like this.”

  “I don’t like it either. But they have given us medical attention and this is not a cell,” Teyla replied. “I do not sense any Wraith about, and they are unlikely to find us easily in the midst of a human settlement, unless they seek us out house to house.”

  “It’s a nice cell,” John said, glancing around. “The windows are too high and too small for either of us to get through, and that door is solid. It’s a real nice cell.”

  “I am not sure that either of us should climb out a window in any event,” Teyla said. The light through the windows was different. Twilight was coming. “How far would we get if we did? Would it be better to be hunted through the desert? I think we have a better chance making some kind of arrangement with this Tolas. If these people are the enemy of the Wraith, no doubt they are suspicious of us because of our ship. They may never have seen any ship before that is not Wraith. Their caution would be understandable. They may believe that we are Wraith, or that we are with them.”

  “Yeah, maybe so.” It was a measure of John’s injury, she thought, that he was willing to accept that with so little discussion. “Let me see if I can get Ronon on the radio.” He felt his side pocket, then checked the other. Then patted all this pockets down, swearing.

  “No radio?” Teyla said.

  “That’s what I left in the jumper,” John said, grimacing. “I knew there was something. I was wearing the headset and it must have gotten knocked off in the crash.”

  “I have mine,” Teyla said, proffering it. She winced as she moved.

  “How about some ibuprofen?” John said, patting his pockets again and coming out with a plastic box. “That should help with the pain and the swelling.”

  “Thank you.” She swallowed the caplets down dry and passed the box back to him. “You?”

  “I can’t take it with a head injury,” John said. “It’s a blood thinner. If I’ve got a brain bleed it will make it worse. So I need to grin and bear it.”

  “As long as you can grin,” she said.

  “I can grin.” John picked up the radio. “Now let’s see if we can get Ronon.”

  ***

  Twilight was coming. That, in itself, was not particularly interesting. What was interesting to Rodney McKay was the fact that the jumper had not returned. How long could Zelenka take looking at the ruins on the island? It had been hours.

  Rodney sat in the shadow of the DHD, the only shelter from the setting sun, in the middle of a barren stretch of desert.

  And what was with building a Stargate in the middle of deserts? Or in the middle of forests? Or in Antarctica? Or otherwise out in the middle of nowhere? Why didn’t the Ancients put Stargates in the middle of cities? It’s like building an airport in Saskatchewan. Why? Wouldn’t you want to put a main interplanetary terminal somewhere people could get to?

  But no. The Ancients didn’t think like that. The Ancients loved to put Stargates in remote and inaccessible places replete with assorted dangers.

  So here he sat, in the middle of a desert, with the gate, waiting for the jumper to get back. No doubt they were taking their sweet time on a tropical island, maybe getting in a little swimming, hanging around eating pineapples or something. While he sat waiting at the gate like an obedient dachshund. Maybe it was all an elaborate practical joke, and any minute they’d show up and have a good laugh.

  He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of thinking they’d gotten to him. No way. He’d be busy, like he hadn’t even noticed they were gone. When they showed up. Any minute now.

  Rodney sighed and checked his watch again. Nine hours. This was getting absurd. Before long Elizabeth would be worried in Atlantis and would dial in to find out what was wrong. And what would he tell her? That everybody had wandered off, leaving him with the gate? How nice.

  Somewhere in the sandy
hills off to the east there was a long howl.

  Oh bad. So very bad. Like a wolf. Only there probably weren’t wolves in the desert. Maybe a jackal. But it didn’t sound good. The long sunset was fading and it would be night soon. And then here he’d be, jackals and all.

  This was not turning into Rodney McKay’s day.

  He picked up his radio again. “Sheppard? Come in, Sheppard. Sheppard?”

  Chapter Four

  “So what have we got?” John asked, propping back against the firm pillows of the bed. “Dinnerwise.”

  It was full night, and the bronze oil lamp cast a warm glow over the room as it swung back and forth on its chains. A few minutes before the soldiers had returned, bringing a large flat loaf of bread, a plate with several kinds of fruit, a covered dish, and a bowl. The bowl proved full of some sort of vegetable puree. Teyla had wrinkled her nose at the strange texture, but John licked some off a morsel of bread experimentally.

  “Kind of like baba ghanoush,” he decided, and dipped the bread more lavishly.

  “You are not supposed to eat much,” Teyla admonished.

  “This isn’t much,” John said, tearing off another piece of bread. “Besides, if I was going pass out, wouldn’t I be unconscious by now?”

  “How would I know?” Teyla said. “Do you think that I am suddenly become a doctor?”

  John stopped, the bread in hand. “If I’m brain bleeding, there’s not anything to do about it. If you think I’m going to have these guys trepan me, you’re crazy. And if I’m not brain bleeding, then there’s not much point in missing supper, is there?” He lifted the lid on the round covered dish and an aromatic steam escaped. “Some kind of tea or thin soup,” he said.

  Teyla lifted the dish and took an experimental sip. “Tea, I think. It is sweet.” She looked at her watch. “It has been nearly eleven hours. I suppose you should eat and drink something.” She handed him the warm dish.

  “Unless you’d rather have me die of dehydration than concussion,” he said. John was grinning, which was better. He must be feeling at least some better to be able to joke about it. He took a cautious sip, then a longer one.

  Teyla busied herself with the fruit, familiar sila and rannin, rare and expensive on Athos, but common to tropical climates throughout the Pegasus Galaxy. Here, this probably registered as an ordinary meal, not the kind of thing one would give prisoners but not the way one would entertain honored guests either. This was probably the meal the household was eating. She found this obscurely comforting. It suggested that their hosts weren’t sure of their status and had not decided their fate. Perhaps in the morning they could meet formally with Tolas and convince him that they deserved his help. Certainly these people lacked many things that could be proposed in trade. Jitrine had the training to understand many of the medical supplies Dr. Beckett used, and would surely be eager to try them.

  Medical supplies. Teyla had put antibiotic cream on John’s stitches from the tiny first aid kit she carried in her pocket, but there were only three packets. There were more in her backpack, but without it they were very limited.

  John had clearly been thinking in the same direction, as he put down the piece of fruit he was eating and leaned back. “We should inventory our stuff.”

  “Agreed,” Teyla said, setting the chewy bread aside and sitting cross-legged opposite him.

  John took his nine millimeter out of its holster and laid it on the sheet. “Pistol. Two clips for it in my pocket. A spare clip for the P90, but since I don’t have the gun…”

  “Hunting knife and eating knife,” Teyla said, putting the larger and smaller side by side. “Another clip for the P90.”

  “Let’s empty the pockets out,” John said, and started unbuttoning them. Two energy bars. His wallet, which he carried more out of force of habit than anything else. It wasn’t like they were going to ask him for his driver’s license. A pen. A flashlight. Sunglasses. Mini first aid kit. Swiss Army knife. Three packets of salt. Multi tool. One more field dressing. A magnetic compass. A packet of tissues. He looked at the pile on the bed. “Not so much, really. Everything was in the pack.” John looked up and boggled at the pile around Teyla.

  Three packets of crackers, four granola bars, two juice packets, a chocolate bar, a bag of fruit leather, a bag of salted corn kernels, a flashlight, four field dressings, a flat box of pills, a compression bandage, a box of toilet tissue, lip balm, sunscreen, rubber bands, note pad, magnetic compass, water bottle, screwdriver, pair of socks, ball of yarn, two small candles, a lighter, and a paperback copy of Watership Down. John smiled at the latter.

  “I have two MREs in my pack,” Teyla said. “And fifty feet of rope.”

  “Do you always plan for the apocalypse?” John asked.

  “Usually,” Teyla said serenely. “It is always better to be prepared.”

  There was the sound of the bar at the door being moved, and they hurriedly repacked their pockets. It occurred to Teyla that it was very interesting indeed that their captors had let John retain his pistol. Perhaps they were so unfamiliar with firearms that they did not perceive it as a threat. Surely a pistol and two spare clips for it would be enough to end almost any confrontation their way.

  Jitrine returned, accompanied by the ever present soldiers. “Is all well?”

  “Fine,” John said, stuffing the last energy bar away.

  Jitrine walked over and grabbed him by the chin, tilting his face up into the flickering light. “Not bad,” she said. “Your pupil is still dilated, but you seem alert. Does it hurt?”

  John nodded. “Yeah, but not as bad as before.”

  Jitrine looked and felt at his throat for his pulse. “You can sleep then. I have told Tolas that you will wish to speak to him in the morning. I will return and change the dressing then.” She let go of John and turned to Teyla. “How is your shoulder?”

  “Much better, Doctor,” Teyla said respectfully. “May I ask you where we are, and what this place is called?”

  “This is The Chora,” Jitrine said. “We are in the Thousand of Mabre, one-hundred and twenty auri from the city of Pelagia on the coast.”

  “And Tolas? He’s the king or something?” John asked.

  Jitrine snorted. “He is no more than the crudest sort of local official. The king in Pelagia would not know his name, and he would wash the floors in the palace of Pelagia.”

  “I see,” Teyla said. “And does he make trade agreements? Our people would very much like to open trade with the people of this world.”

  “Through the Gate of the Ancients?” Jitrine’s eyes grew sharp. “How do you plan to do that?”

  John looked at Teyla and she read his glance—go on, you are getting somewhere. “You know of the Gate of the Ancients then?”

  “Of course we do,” Jitrine said. “But it has been generations since the gate worked. Or rather, since the gate worked as it should. There was a time when it did as it ought, and men came and went from this place. But something happened, and now it is not possible to open the gate from here. People may pass through it into The Chora, as sometimes happens, but there is no way to reopen it going in the other direction. So you see, you cannot arrange trade with another world. You cannot even return to your own.”

  Teyla felt a cold chill run down her spine. “The gate will not open from this side?”

  “It has not in generations,” Jitrine said.

  “Why?”

  “We do not know,” Jitrine said. “Many scholars from Pelagia have studied it since the time of our second King Anados. But we are not stupid enough to take it apart or break its components when we do not understand them. The King has given orders that it is to be left alone, that future generations of scholars might work on it fresh without further damage.”

  “And so no one comes through?” Teyla asked. “In ships?”

  Jitrine’s eyes wavered. “It may be that…”

  “Enough talk,” one of the soldiers said firmly. “Tolas said you could treat their injuries, n
ot gossip all day.”

  “Of course,” Jitrine said mildly, but her eyes flickered to John’s and he nodded imperceptibly.

  Yes, she too is a prisoner, Teyla thought, and she is telling us all she may. And she knows something of ships that pass through the gate. Wraith ships? Or some other?

  “Come along,” the soldier said, and drawing open the door escorted her out, her back stiff and straight.

  After the bar was shot home, Teyla sat back down on the end of the bed.

  “Not good,” John said. “If there’s been something wrong with the DHD for generations.”

  “Rodney said there was something strange about it,” Teyla said. “Perhaps he can fix what is wrong. After all, he has much more understanding of how it works than people here do.”

  John nodded, scrubbing his hand across his stubbled chin. “Rodney can fix pretty much anything wrong with a DHD short of it being blown up. He may have it fixed by now. Besides, we have the DHD in the jumper. Had the DHD in the jumper,” he amended.

  “True,” Teyla said. “And surely by now Elizabeth has begun to worry at least. She will dial in and speak to Rodney, who can tell her that we are missing. And Radek and Ronon…”

  “Are still on the island,” John said. “I don’t remember leaving them there, but…”

  “They should be fine,” Teyla said. “There was a village at the other end, and it was a lush place with much water and food. I’m sure Ronon can look after Radek until help comes.” She did not add that it would be much harder for a rescue party to find John and herself. That was already evident.

  Teyla got up and put the plate of food on the table, then pulled a chair over and stood on it so she could see out the window. Outside, the gardens were washed in bright moonlight, and a cool breeze whispered through the palm trees, their leaves waving together with a soft sound. It was very peaceful.

  “See anything?” John asked.

  “There is a garden,” she said. “The moon is very bright.”

  “That could be good or bad.” He was propped up against the pillows, and the dark shadows under his eyes were not all cast by the hanging lamp.