Death Game

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 down 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.”

“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?”