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x_erikah_xSorry I didn't post chapter 3 yesterday. Sunday is eating at mom without net day. But I'm posting two chapters today to make up for it, and the fic cover as a bonus. Yay!
Title: Foreign Concepts
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
x_erikah_x
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence and torture
Word Count: ~26,000 in 11 chapters
Genre: Gen, H/C, Action, team friendship
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, Ronon Dex and other cameos
Spoilers: Set at the end of season five, but no specific spoilers
Disclaimer: Stargate and its characters belong to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Inc. No infringements of rights is intented.
Beta: Many thanks towildcat88. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Author’s Note: The full fic has 11 chapters, all finished and edited. I’ll post daily until it’s finished.
Summary: When the team first arrives on Milania, they are impressed with their level of accomplishment. The feeling soon fades when they discover how deep their xenophobia goes.
Cover:
Rodney woke up before the sun. For a moment he had expected to find himself in Atlantis.
A short-lived happiness.
He rose to his feet and groaned about giant bruises and barbaric prison guards. He touched his face and winced at the cut there.
The bars opened and Rodney stepped back instead of out.
Another stupid move. The guards stormed into his cell and grabbed his arm, right where his greatest bruise was, to drag him out. He crashed to the floor over their lack of gentleness. He grunted and cursed as he got up.
"You people--"
The guard eyed him with a fist raised.
Rodney shut up.
When the line started walking, Rodney followed, unsure of what would happen next.
Guards hovered. Rodney swallowed, alert to every move they made, even though he avoided looking at them.
They went to the shower room. The prisoners stayed in line, going around the walls and using the single shower that was turned on to wash their face and hands. After they were done, they lined up behind the other door.
The door opened and they stepped inside. It was a room as big as the shower room, but it had tables and chairs all over. On one end, a large table had two giant metal pots. The men lined up and served themselves.
The guards kicked some of the prisoners in the back of their legs when they passed by. Rodney tensed when he got near them. The lead guard eyed him directly. Rodney stared before he came back to himself and resumed looking down.
When he passed by unharmed, he sagged in relief.
Rodney looked at the food. The first pot had a cereal that looked a lot like oatmeal, and the other one had water. At least that was what Rodney thought. He took a bowl and dipped it in each one, imitating the other men.
He held himself from complaining about the lack of spoons. Instead he simply huffed. How the hell was he supposed to eat?
After drinking their food, they were all escorted out. More long gray corridors and guards picking on people. Rodney stayed clear of their jokes. They stopped in a small room with a huge pile of chains. Rodney swallowed hard, imagining what kind of torture would come from this. The prisoners started picking the chains up and locking themselves around their wrists and ankles. Rodney glanced at one of the guards, then hurried to imitate when the guard started coming to his direction. He fumbled with the chains and cuffs, and cursed when nobody seemed to care enough to help him. He glanced up once more, panicking about the group of men walking towards him. Finally, he was able to lock himself up, and let his arms drop from the weight.
He really hoped Atlantis would come soon. He also wished his team could be there with him. What the hell had happened to them?
The corridor ended in a large courtyard surrounded by identical buildings, all limited by a very tall concrete wall. Rodney's legs dragged the chains towards the last building. It had a large entrance and the inside was only one huge warehouse. Rodney walked past several trucks larger than the one the team had been in earlier while dirty men loaded them with wooden crates. They continued further, where a group of prisoners was filling the crates with some kind of mineral. It looked like some kind of dark metal, but Rodney couldn't be certain.
Rodney swallowed dry. Forced labor wasn't really his strength. Rodney looked around, wide eyed, thinking about a dark period of the history of Earth and the places there that still held these kinds of working conditions. He never imagined himself actually being in one.
On the back wall, a small door led him to a mine, with men coming and going inside, bringing full buckets and taking them back in empty. The lighting came from weak lamps that only showed shadows of dirty men. The way down was slippery and the chains made walking difficult. Rodney limped slightly from a bruise on his thigh and nearly slid in the mud all the way down.
A fierce grip on his arm made Rodney jump and hiss in pain.
He was dragged away from the main group to another side corridor. Rodney tried to control his breathing, now worrying about the amount of fresh air a mine like this could have in addition to the panic of being dragged through a dark passage by a barbaric prison guard. The air was hot and heavy with sweat and the sour smell of minerals. He was about to argue against this treatment of geniuses when he was tossed to the ground and almost hit his head on a big machine at the end of the corridor.
He raised his head and snapped. "What the hell do you people want from me?" he shouted.
The man raised his fist. Rodney didn't recoil.
"Yes, right, you are just dumb brutes that beat down your working force until they are no longer capable of being useful!" The fist came down. Rodney grunted and raised his head again. "I just want to know what you want," he cried. Another hit. Rodney felt the taste of blood. He raised his head again. "Are you just going to beat me unconscious again? Is that it? Bang my head around until my brain is just a pile of mush?"
The guard smirked. He removed a long stick from inside his suit and it sparked with electricity. When the tip touched him, Rodney thought his muscles would snap as he convulsed in pain. His jaw clenched, his breathing stopped and his back arched to an impossible angle. He wanted to scream, but nothing in his body worked. Pain penetrated every single cell of his body until he was left shaking on the ground.
Only two words came from the guard's mouth as he waved at the machine. "Fix it."
###
Ronon's eyes snapped open and he was sitting up before he was fully awake. The place was dimly lit, but he noticed he wasn't in the same cell. As he rose to his feet, he groaned at his arm, limp and painful beside him. He walked over to a wall and held a scream inside his throat as he set his shoulder back into place.
Not caring to look over all the other bruises on his body, he glanced around. He didn't see any bars. He walked around the concrete walls until he got to a heavy metal door. It had no handle and Ronon wasn't able to pry it open. He turned and walked towards the transparent glass window, ready to smash it.
"You wouldn't want to do that," a voice said over the screech of the metal door . "Unless you want his punishment to be worse than it will already be."
Ronon turned, anger burning within him as he recognized the man. It was the gate officer who had taken them to the city. He crossed the distance between them and towered over the smaller man.
"What are you talking about?"
The man smiled. "I'm talking about him." He shifted his gaze to the glass window.
Ronon turned around as lights turned on and showed an identical room on the other side of the window except for a chair at the center of it and a person sitting on it. Even facing his back, Ronon recognized him. Sheppard was tied to the chair's metal frame.
Ronon barely contained his anger when he turned to the small man. "What did you do to him?"
The man slowly walked to the glass then looked in the other room. "You have fire, Satedan. And I wouldn't expect anything else from a race such as yours. But I know how to put it out. A very effective method against outsiders from your scorched world." He turned and Ronon resisted the urge to hit him. "For every single punch to my guards, for every single sneer and for every act of stubbornness against doing what they order, he will get it five times worse." The man walked towards Ronon, speaking slowly but with an edge of aggression. "If you leave any more of my guards unconscious, I will make it ten. Ten times worse. For each one." His expression turned to full on anger. "You can be stupid enough to keep going, and things will only escalate further. You will watch every single twitch of pain that will be inflicted upon him."
Ronon was shaking with a rage he was barely able to contain. It was only the sight of Sheppard, and the man approaching his chair, that made Ronon hold the fist that wanted to smash the officer's face.
Ronon couldn't hear Sheppard as it began. And he didn't have to.
###
John clenched his teeth, unable to control his own muscles. His back arched and stiffened, prevented from bending more by the chair and the straps holding his chest. Electricity surged from the frame itself and touched his whole body, penetrating and burning. His nails dug inside his hand as his body convulsed.
He was on fire. His muscles grew rigid, all contracted at once. Wetness covered his face.
The pain worsened. Breathing came hard. The convulsions increased until he couldn't move anymore.
###
Kirple rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened his eyes again, they still felt as sandy as they had been before. He looked down at the papers on his desk and sighed as he continued to read the reports. The words danced and blurred before they settled and the extra hours reading were making his eyes water.
That’s what he told himself.
It had nothing to do with numbers, and deaths, and executions. And it certainly had nothing to do with Dorr.
“You should rest, Chancellor.” Kilaria’s voice startled him.
He looked up at her. “That’s what got me in this situation in the first place,” he said grimly. “Too blind. Too stupid to see it.” He sighed. “How could I ever think that men like Dorr would accept my lead into the future?”
“I think you are too kind, Chancellor, if you will forgive my honesty. You should confront him publicly.”
Kirple narrowed his eyes. “You don’t really mean that.”
She shrugged. “Just an idea. If you have faith that our people are ready for change, then you should show it to him. Show that you have followers backing you up.”
Kirple let his chin touch his chest. “Maybe.” He looked up and smiled. “Well, if you feel that way, why don’t you come up with some numbers? We should be able to find a good place for a public appearance. You can write the speech.”
Kilaria smiled briefly, but quickly hid it under a serious tone.
“Yes, Chancellor,” she said before leaving.
Kirple watched her as she left. It was about time he gave her a chance to do more important tasks.
###
Teyla watched the first light of day coming from the window. She had tried meditating, but could not reach a higher state of spirit. She was restless. She caught her mind wandering, thinking about her teammates.
They were probably receiving a similar treatment. She knew they were strong enough to endure, but she knew they would be much stronger if they had been placed together. Not knowing what was happening to the others was far worse than any kind of torture.
She cradled her swollen arm, rubbing the sore spot. She was sure it was not broken as she had not felt any unusual bends on the bone, but it was badly twisted.
She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the day.
When the bars opened, she was ready to exit and form the line. The guards eyed her and smirked. She wanted to hurt them. But they had far worse means of hurting her. And they did not need any other excuse to mistreat the women.
They followed the same routine as the previous day.
Every time a woman dropped to the ground, Teyla felt her skin itching. Sometimes she flinched. Sometimes she coiled. Sometimes the woman behind her would just look.
Until the woman spoke.
"That won't do us any good."
Her voice sounded stronger than she looked. She was smaller than Teyla, a little younger too. Her skin was darker, and her hair long, curly and black. Her eye was still swollen.
"What is your name?" Teyla asked.
"Milin," the woman whispered. "Yours?"
"I am Teyla."
When Milin saw a guard approaching, she dipped her head low and, with a look, urged Teyla to do the same. Teyla tensed as he slowed down by their sides.
When he grabbed Teyla's swollen arm, she almost wept tears of pain. She reached with her other arm and twisted his hand. He released her with a grunt and Teyla could have burned him with her glare. Another guard came and Teyla slowly let go of the first's hand. Both men grabbed a rod from within their suits and made it spark.
###
Rodney sucked the tip of his thumb. He raised his head again, words flowing out without his control.
"I already told you! Hitting me won't fix the stupid machine. It is broken! Hopeless. If you are lucky you will need a dozen new parts, probably a whole new thing!"
The guard raised his hand again and Rodney flinched.
He was hit in the very same place. The giant bruise would probably never heal. Rodney grunted in frustration and continued.
"Look, I don't know what you expect me to say. It's the truth, whether you like it or not. Or do you think I enjoy being abused until I'm a heap on the ground?" When the guard only kept his hand raised without bringing it down, Rodney continued, slower this time. "It was old, and maintenance was poor. Something should have been done sooner. Like changing the oil from time to time."
The guards looked at each other and one of them nodded. One left, returning a few seconds later. He was dragging a squirming man by his arm. He was small, dirty and the chains looked too big on his ankles and wrists.
"Were you responsible for this ventilator?" the guard asked.
The little man nodded shyly.
The guard brought his hand down so hard, the man dropped down on the ground, blood coming out of his mouth. The other guard took out his sparking stick.
The man screamed. He screamed and cried and yelled. He convulsed in pain. He crawled away only to have another rod joining the first one.
Rodney couldn't do anything but watch in horror.
###
Dorr took the paper from the hand offering it to him and read it, without looking at the officer’s face.
“Who shot it?” Dorr asked.
“Officer Ferbles, sir. The alien machine is non-operational, although I recommend that it be removed from a public area.”
Dorr finally looked up. “It is no longer a public area. You should know that.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The young officer nodded.
“Are the defenses in place?”
“They have been since last night, when you ordered, sir.”
“Very well.” Dorr scribbled down his name on the paper and delivered it back. “To the archive,” he said.
The boy frowned slightly and cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t this be taken to Chancellor--”
“The chancellor has nothing to do with outsider threats. This is a purely military situation.”
The officer nodded. “Yes, sir!” He turned around and left.
###
It was morning again and Ronon still paced the small confines of his cell. The gray clothes they had given him were tight around his body and almost made moving around too difficult.
His anger still boiled within him. Anger at their captors. Anger at himself. Anger for what they had done to Sheppard. Anger for reacting to the officer and for having made it worse for his friend.
Anger for seeing Sheppard sagging and being dragged unconscious.
Being imprisoned was more than being locked up. It was being controlled. Ronon wasn't good at it. And Sheppard would be the one to pay the price each time Ronon forgot rule number one.
Ronon approached the bars as he heard the footsteps. He didn't react when the door opened. When the guard came and glared, Ronon stepped into line and glared back.
The line moved towards the wash room. Slowly.
Some prisoners walked low. Broken. Conditioned. The low heads saying that their wills had been beaten.
Others weren't as docile.
Some of them glared. Their steps slow but calculated. Heavy and proud. Muscles ready to snap if a guard touched them.
But not for long. Each time a guard caught one glaring the wrong way, they simply turned to the closest prisoner and used the electric rod.
The prisoner fell, shaking for several seconds, body convulsing and drool coming out of his mouth. His back looked like it would break. Just like Sheppard's had looked the night before.
They pretended to look down.
Ronon saw their tense shoulders telling him what he needed. They still had their pride.
If it was hard for them, it was even harder for Ronon. The one who would be receiving the treatment wouldn't be simply some unknown inmate. It would be a close friend. The man responsible for giving Ronon a new place to call home.
Ronon almost reached out to the guard next to him when he thought about it.
Ronon washed when he was told to. He ate when he was told to. He glared as he swallowed the food. He watched their every move.
He locked the chains around his ankles and wrists and crossed the courtyard. They watched. They kicked some men for being too slow. They picked on the smaller ones and prodded when they didn't increase their pace.
He entered the big warehouse. Big trucks were being loaded with heavy crates and men loaded the crates with mineral. Dirty prisoners came from the small doorway at the back carrying full buckets. They dumped the rocks on a big pile and went back down the dark corridor.
When they gave him the bucket to fill, he took it and followed the line into the mine.
###
John spent half the day pretending he could work just fine. He had bleeding marks on his wrists, and the parts which weren't exposed flesh, were burned. His ankles were about the same mess. Putting his boots back on had been a nightmare. But he hadn't been too keen on making a mess of his soles by walking barefoot.
Carrying his bucket was hard. His whole body was sore, his muscles hurt as if he had gone through a marathon sparring session with Ronon without stopping. When he carried the rocks, his wrists burned and his feet hurt from going up the slippery muddy ramp, his boots scratching the raw flesh on his ankles. He wasn't looking forward to seeing their condition by the end of the day. He wasn't sure if he would be able to peel them off his feet.
He had walked part of the mine and still hadn't seen anyone from his team. Asking the guards didn't produce any answers. It just made them shock him some more. He had defended himself when he had the opportunity, but ended up being responsible for the guards beating down some unlucky prisoner who happened to be walking past.
So now, mostly, he tried staying clear of the guards' bad sides. But sometimes he couldn't help himself. He couldn't simply watch them mistreating someone. Whether these prisoners were guilty of something or just as innocent as he was, the guards were torturing defenseless people who didn't react out of fear. John had shouted and tried to talk some sense into them. He had tried getting in their way so they would get distracted with him and release the half-conscious prisoner on the ground. But it didn't work. Nothing ever worked.
The prisoners never said anything. When John had tried asking some questions, he was either ignored or met with apprehension.
All that was left was to keep going. No complaining, no grunting, no hissing each time the dirt got under the loose skin on his hands.
Just work.
No glaring and no questioning.
Not being a smartass was particularly difficult. But the guards made their point a few times over and John learned that the best way to help the people around him was by simply keeping to himself.
###
Teyla scrubbed the floor one handed, the other arm held closely to her chest. The women had been taken to the other buildings, each corridor of prisoners going to a different one. Then, they were separated to smaller groups, each responsible for a different room. Half of Teyla's group was washing the shower room, and half was cleaning the mess hall and cooking.
Teyla wondered if all the buildings were identical, and if each group of prisoners had a different task. The women seemed to be responsible for cleaning and cooking. Teyla wondered where the men were taken.
She also wondered why these people had been arrested. Were they all innocent victims like herself?
A crash made Teyla snap her head around. A young woman trembled as she picked up the contents of the pan she had dropped. Teyla went to help as fast as she could, trying to get there before the guard.
She did not.
The guard kicked the girl several times, his eyes bright with anger. Teyla silently prayed to the Ancestors, hoping she was making the right decision. She intercepted the guard's leg with her own, preventing the last kick from getting through.
He was not as tall as the other guards, and much younger. He glared at Teyla.
"Is it easier to beat a young girl than someone as tall as you?" Teyla challenged him.
His face closed on hers. "I shall enjoy both."
Maybe defending herself was not the best decision. But she did so anyway. When his hand came up to meet her face, Teyla reacted and easily blocked the move. She could have held his arm and flipped him around to throw him down on the floor, but she did not.
He narrowed his eyes and reached inside his suit. She knew what came next. When the rod came up, Teyla held a tall stance, even though she lowered her arm. She could have easily taken the baton from him to give him a taste of his own weapon, but instead, she accepted the punishment herself instead of another.
With her eyes, she challenged him to come. And he did.
Her muscles tensed and went rigid the moment the tip touched her skin. He stopped, making her muscles relax and she fell on the floor.
He touched her again, this time uninterrupted. She arched her back and clenched her teeth. She held her breath then released it. She squeezed her eyes and closed her fists until her nails were carving into her skin, but she did not scream.
When he felt he had enough entertainment, he stopped, glared at her one last time and went back to his corner.
Teyla sat up and held her arm as it throbbed in agony. The young woman knelt beside Teyla, her eyes red and wet.
"Y-you... you..." She looked down. "I'm so sorry!" Tears ran down her cheeks and she ducked her face again.
Teyla lowered her head to look at the young woman and lifted her chin gently. "There is no need to apologize." The girl trembled under Teyla's touch. "He was wrong, and not you." The girl remained silent, but her face relaxed slightly. "What is your name?"
She looked up. "Bina."
Teyla smiled. "I am Teyla," she said while she helped Bina pick up the fallen objects. "Let me." Teyla took the big, heavy pan and laid it on the table. She turned to look at Bina. "Are you from Milania?" she asked with a lower voice.
The teen looked around before answering. "No, I'm from Lena," she whispered.
"Are many people here from Lena as well?" Teyla pretended to work while she talked softly.
Bina turned her back to the guards and pretended to work, too. "Yes, many. We are accused of being disease bringers. The others are from many other worlds. No one from Milania itself."
"How long have you been here?" Teyla watched over her shoulder, careful to not draw attention.
Bina looked down. "I do not know." She lowered her voice and Teyla almost had to lean closer. "Many months."
Teyla heard the low chatter from the guards stop and decided not to risk talking. They continued their task together, in silence.
###
Rodney grunted as he finished pulling the old ventilator from the pipe it had been connected to. His shoulders sagged and he panted as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He risked a glance behind and found both guards staring at him.
He waved his arms nervously. "I'll change the ventilator to the new one." He nodded. "It won't take too long."
The guards remained silent. Rodney looked around then turned to continue his work. He stared at the machine for a few seconds, gathering his strength to push it into place.
Sweat dropped from his brow as he made the large ventilator slide on the rocky ground. His clothes were drenched and his face red by the time he was finished. He paused to look at the work. Checking the pipes would require powering up the machine, so Rodney decided to start by seeing if the wiring wasn't stupidly connected.
He rolled his eyes when he found an imminent short circuit. Rodney went over to the old ventilator and pulled the wiring and motherboard from it. He used the parts in the new one, and when he was done, he still had the intact board and a lot of wires in good conditions.
It would be a pity to waste this material.
Looking around nervously, Rodney moved slightly behind the ventilator. He swallowed and breathed deep before digging a hole on the ground. Then, he dropped the good parts inside and covered them with dirt.
###
Chapter 5
Title: Foreign Concepts
Author:
x_erikah_xRating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence and torture
Word Count: ~26,000 in 11 chapters
Genre: Gen, H/C, Action, team friendship
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, Ronon Dex and other cameos
Spoilers: Set at the end of season five, but no specific spoilers
Disclaimer: Stargate and its characters belong to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Inc. No infringements of rights is intented.
Beta: Many thanks to
wildcat88. All remaining mistakes are mine. Author’s Note: The full fic has 11 chapters, all finished and edited. I’ll post daily until it’s finished.
Summary: When the team first arrives on Milania, they are impressed with their level of accomplishment. The feeling soon fades when they discover how deep their xenophobia goes.
Cover:
Chapter 3
Rodney woke up before the sun. For a moment he had expected to find himself in Atlantis.
A short-lived happiness.
He rose to his feet and groaned about giant bruises and barbaric prison guards. He touched his face and winced at the cut there.
The bars opened and Rodney stepped back instead of out.
Another stupid move. The guards stormed into his cell and grabbed his arm, right where his greatest bruise was, to drag him out. He crashed to the floor over their lack of gentleness. He grunted and cursed as he got up.
"You people--"
The guard eyed him with a fist raised.
Rodney shut up.
When the line started walking, Rodney followed, unsure of what would happen next.
Guards hovered. Rodney swallowed, alert to every move they made, even though he avoided looking at them.
They went to the shower room. The prisoners stayed in line, going around the walls and using the single shower that was turned on to wash their face and hands. After they were done, they lined up behind the other door.
The door opened and they stepped inside. It was a room as big as the shower room, but it had tables and chairs all over. On one end, a large table had two giant metal pots. The men lined up and served themselves.
The guards kicked some of the prisoners in the back of their legs when they passed by. Rodney tensed when he got near them. The lead guard eyed him directly. Rodney stared before he came back to himself and resumed looking down.
When he passed by unharmed, he sagged in relief.
Rodney looked at the food. The first pot had a cereal that looked a lot like oatmeal, and the other one had water. At least that was what Rodney thought. He took a bowl and dipped it in each one, imitating the other men.
He held himself from complaining about the lack of spoons. Instead he simply huffed. How the hell was he supposed to eat?
After drinking their food, they were all escorted out. More long gray corridors and guards picking on people. Rodney stayed clear of their jokes. They stopped in a small room with a huge pile of chains. Rodney swallowed hard, imagining what kind of torture would come from this. The prisoners started picking the chains up and locking themselves around their wrists and ankles. Rodney glanced at one of the guards, then hurried to imitate when the guard started coming to his direction. He fumbled with the chains and cuffs, and cursed when nobody seemed to care enough to help him. He glanced up once more, panicking about the group of men walking towards him. Finally, he was able to lock himself up, and let his arms drop from the weight.
He really hoped Atlantis would come soon. He also wished his team could be there with him. What the hell had happened to them?
The corridor ended in a large courtyard surrounded by identical buildings, all limited by a very tall concrete wall. Rodney's legs dragged the chains towards the last building. It had a large entrance and the inside was only one huge warehouse. Rodney walked past several trucks larger than the one the team had been in earlier while dirty men loaded them with wooden crates. They continued further, where a group of prisoners was filling the crates with some kind of mineral. It looked like some kind of dark metal, but Rodney couldn't be certain.
Rodney swallowed dry. Forced labor wasn't really his strength. Rodney looked around, wide eyed, thinking about a dark period of the history of Earth and the places there that still held these kinds of working conditions. He never imagined himself actually being in one.
On the back wall, a small door led him to a mine, with men coming and going inside, bringing full buckets and taking them back in empty. The lighting came from weak lamps that only showed shadows of dirty men. The way down was slippery and the chains made walking difficult. Rodney limped slightly from a bruise on his thigh and nearly slid in the mud all the way down.
A fierce grip on his arm made Rodney jump and hiss in pain.
He was dragged away from the main group to another side corridor. Rodney tried to control his breathing, now worrying about the amount of fresh air a mine like this could have in addition to the panic of being dragged through a dark passage by a barbaric prison guard. The air was hot and heavy with sweat and the sour smell of minerals. He was about to argue against this treatment of geniuses when he was tossed to the ground and almost hit his head on a big machine at the end of the corridor.
He raised his head and snapped. "What the hell do you people want from me?" he shouted.
The man raised his fist. Rodney didn't recoil.
"Yes, right, you are just dumb brutes that beat down your working force until they are no longer capable of being useful!" The fist came down. Rodney grunted and raised his head again. "I just want to know what you want," he cried. Another hit. Rodney felt the taste of blood. He raised his head again. "Are you just going to beat me unconscious again? Is that it? Bang my head around until my brain is just a pile of mush?"
The guard smirked. He removed a long stick from inside his suit and it sparked with electricity. When the tip touched him, Rodney thought his muscles would snap as he convulsed in pain. His jaw clenched, his breathing stopped and his back arched to an impossible angle. He wanted to scream, but nothing in his body worked. Pain penetrated every single cell of his body until he was left shaking on the ground.
Only two words came from the guard's mouth as he waved at the machine. "Fix it."
Ronon's eyes snapped open and he was sitting up before he was fully awake. The place was dimly lit, but he noticed he wasn't in the same cell. As he rose to his feet, he groaned at his arm, limp and painful beside him. He walked over to a wall and held a scream inside his throat as he set his shoulder back into place.
Not caring to look over all the other bruises on his body, he glanced around. He didn't see any bars. He walked around the concrete walls until he got to a heavy metal door. It had no handle and Ronon wasn't able to pry it open. He turned and walked towards the transparent glass window, ready to smash it.
"You wouldn't want to do that," a voice said over the screech of the metal door . "Unless you want his punishment to be worse than it will already be."
Ronon turned, anger burning within him as he recognized the man. It was the gate officer who had taken them to the city. He crossed the distance between them and towered over the smaller man.
"What are you talking about?"
The man smiled. "I'm talking about him." He shifted his gaze to the glass window.
Ronon turned around as lights turned on and showed an identical room on the other side of the window except for a chair at the center of it and a person sitting on it. Even facing his back, Ronon recognized him. Sheppard was tied to the chair's metal frame.
Ronon barely contained his anger when he turned to the small man. "What did you do to him?"
The man slowly walked to the glass then looked in the other room. "You have fire, Satedan. And I wouldn't expect anything else from a race such as yours. But I know how to put it out. A very effective method against outsiders from your scorched world." He turned and Ronon resisted the urge to hit him. "For every single punch to my guards, for every single sneer and for every act of stubbornness against doing what they order, he will get it five times worse." The man walked towards Ronon, speaking slowly but with an edge of aggression. "If you leave any more of my guards unconscious, I will make it ten. Ten times worse. For each one." His expression turned to full on anger. "You can be stupid enough to keep going, and things will only escalate further. You will watch every single twitch of pain that will be inflicted upon him."
Ronon was shaking with a rage he was barely able to contain. It was only the sight of Sheppard, and the man approaching his chair, that made Ronon hold the fist that wanted to smash the officer's face.
Ronon couldn't hear Sheppard as it began. And he didn't have to.
John clenched his teeth, unable to control his own muscles. His back arched and stiffened, prevented from bending more by the chair and the straps holding his chest. Electricity surged from the frame itself and touched his whole body, penetrating and burning. His nails dug inside his hand as his body convulsed.
He was on fire. His muscles grew rigid, all contracted at once. Wetness covered his face.
The pain worsened. Breathing came hard. The convulsions increased until he couldn't move anymore.
Kirple rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened his eyes again, they still felt as sandy as they had been before. He looked down at the papers on his desk and sighed as he continued to read the reports. The words danced and blurred before they settled and the extra hours reading were making his eyes water.
That’s what he told himself.
It had nothing to do with numbers, and deaths, and executions. And it certainly had nothing to do with Dorr.
“You should rest, Chancellor.” Kilaria’s voice startled him.
He looked up at her. “That’s what got me in this situation in the first place,” he said grimly. “Too blind. Too stupid to see it.” He sighed. “How could I ever think that men like Dorr would accept my lead into the future?”
“I think you are too kind, Chancellor, if you will forgive my honesty. You should confront him publicly.”
Kirple narrowed his eyes. “You don’t really mean that.”
She shrugged. “Just an idea. If you have faith that our people are ready for change, then you should show it to him. Show that you have followers backing you up.”
Kirple let his chin touch his chest. “Maybe.” He looked up and smiled. “Well, if you feel that way, why don’t you come up with some numbers? We should be able to find a good place for a public appearance. You can write the speech.”
Kilaria smiled briefly, but quickly hid it under a serious tone.
“Yes, Chancellor,” she said before leaving.
Kirple watched her as she left. It was about time he gave her a chance to do more important tasks.
Teyla watched the first light of day coming from the window. She had tried meditating, but could not reach a higher state of spirit. She was restless. She caught her mind wandering, thinking about her teammates.
They were probably receiving a similar treatment. She knew they were strong enough to endure, but she knew they would be much stronger if they had been placed together. Not knowing what was happening to the others was far worse than any kind of torture.
She cradled her swollen arm, rubbing the sore spot. She was sure it was not broken as she had not felt any unusual bends on the bone, but it was badly twisted.
She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the day.
When the bars opened, she was ready to exit and form the line. The guards eyed her and smirked. She wanted to hurt them. But they had far worse means of hurting her. And they did not need any other excuse to mistreat the women.
They followed the same routine as the previous day.
Every time a woman dropped to the ground, Teyla felt her skin itching. Sometimes she flinched. Sometimes she coiled. Sometimes the woman behind her would just look.
Until the woman spoke.
"That won't do us any good."
Her voice sounded stronger than she looked. She was smaller than Teyla, a little younger too. Her skin was darker, and her hair long, curly and black. Her eye was still swollen.
"What is your name?" Teyla asked.
"Milin," the woman whispered. "Yours?"
"I am Teyla."
When Milin saw a guard approaching, she dipped her head low and, with a look, urged Teyla to do the same. Teyla tensed as he slowed down by their sides.
When he grabbed Teyla's swollen arm, she almost wept tears of pain. She reached with her other arm and twisted his hand. He released her with a grunt and Teyla could have burned him with her glare. Another guard came and Teyla slowly let go of the first's hand. Both men grabbed a rod from within their suits and made it spark.
Rodney sucked the tip of his thumb. He raised his head again, words flowing out without his control.
"I already told you! Hitting me won't fix the stupid machine. It is broken! Hopeless. If you are lucky you will need a dozen new parts, probably a whole new thing!"
The guard raised his hand again and Rodney flinched.
He was hit in the very same place. The giant bruise would probably never heal. Rodney grunted in frustration and continued.
"Look, I don't know what you expect me to say. It's the truth, whether you like it or not. Or do you think I enjoy being abused until I'm a heap on the ground?" When the guard only kept his hand raised without bringing it down, Rodney continued, slower this time. "It was old, and maintenance was poor. Something should have been done sooner. Like changing the oil from time to time."
The guards looked at each other and one of them nodded. One left, returning a few seconds later. He was dragging a squirming man by his arm. He was small, dirty and the chains looked too big on his ankles and wrists.
"Were you responsible for this ventilator?" the guard asked.
The little man nodded shyly.
The guard brought his hand down so hard, the man dropped down on the ground, blood coming out of his mouth. The other guard took out his sparking stick.
The man screamed. He screamed and cried and yelled. He convulsed in pain. He crawled away only to have another rod joining the first one.
Rodney couldn't do anything but watch in horror.
Chapter 4
Dorr took the paper from the hand offering it to him and read it, without looking at the officer’s face.
“Who shot it?” Dorr asked.
“Officer Ferbles, sir. The alien machine is non-operational, although I recommend that it be removed from a public area.”
Dorr finally looked up. “It is no longer a public area. You should know that.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The young officer nodded.
“Are the defenses in place?”
“They have been since last night, when you ordered, sir.”
“Very well.” Dorr scribbled down his name on the paper and delivered it back. “To the archive,” he said.
The boy frowned slightly and cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t this be taken to Chancellor--”
“The chancellor has nothing to do with outsider threats. This is a purely military situation.”
The officer nodded. “Yes, sir!” He turned around and left.
It was morning again and Ronon still paced the small confines of his cell. The gray clothes they had given him were tight around his body and almost made moving around too difficult.
His anger still boiled within him. Anger at their captors. Anger at himself. Anger for what they had done to Sheppard. Anger for reacting to the officer and for having made it worse for his friend.
Anger for seeing Sheppard sagging and being dragged unconscious.
Being imprisoned was more than being locked up. It was being controlled. Ronon wasn't good at it. And Sheppard would be the one to pay the price each time Ronon forgot rule number one.
Ronon approached the bars as he heard the footsteps. He didn't react when the door opened. When the guard came and glared, Ronon stepped into line and glared back.
The line moved towards the wash room. Slowly.
Some prisoners walked low. Broken. Conditioned. The low heads saying that their wills had been beaten.
Others weren't as docile.
Some of them glared. Their steps slow but calculated. Heavy and proud. Muscles ready to snap if a guard touched them.
But not for long. Each time a guard caught one glaring the wrong way, they simply turned to the closest prisoner and used the electric rod.
The prisoner fell, shaking for several seconds, body convulsing and drool coming out of his mouth. His back looked like it would break. Just like Sheppard's had looked the night before.
They pretended to look down.
Ronon saw their tense shoulders telling him what he needed. They still had their pride.
If it was hard for them, it was even harder for Ronon. The one who would be receiving the treatment wouldn't be simply some unknown inmate. It would be a close friend. The man responsible for giving Ronon a new place to call home.
Ronon almost reached out to the guard next to him when he thought about it.
Ronon washed when he was told to. He ate when he was told to. He glared as he swallowed the food. He watched their every move.
He locked the chains around his ankles and wrists and crossed the courtyard. They watched. They kicked some men for being too slow. They picked on the smaller ones and prodded when they didn't increase their pace.
He entered the big warehouse. Big trucks were being loaded with heavy crates and men loaded the crates with mineral. Dirty prisoners came from the small doorway at the back carrying full buckets. They dumped the rocks on a big pile and went back down the dark corridor.
When they gave him the bucket to fill, he took it and followed the line into the mine.
John spent half the day pretending he could work just fine. He had bleeding marks on his wrists, and the parts which weren't exposed flesh, were burned. His ankles were about the same mess. Putting his boots back on had been a nightmare. But he hadn't been too keen on making a mess of his soles by walking barefoot.
Carrying his bucket was hard. His whole body was sore, his muscles hurt as if he had gone through a marathon sparring session with Ronon without stopping. When he carried the rocks, his wrists burned and his feet hurt from going up the slippery muddy ramp, his boots scratching the raw flesh on his ankles. He wasn't looking forward to seeing their condition by the end of the day. He wasn't sure if he would be able to peel them off his feet.
He had walked part of the mine and still hadn't seen anyone from his team. Asking the guards didn't produce any answers. It just made them shock him some more. He had defended himself when he had the opportunity, but ended up being responsible for the guards beating down some unlucky prisoner who happened to be walking past.
So now, mostly, he tried staying clear of the guards' bad sides. But sometimes he couldn't help himself. He couldn't simply watch them mistreating someone. Whether these prisoners were guilty of something or just as innocent as he was, the guards were torturing defenseless people who didn't react out of fear. John had shouted and tried to talk some sense into them. He had tried getting in their way so they would get distracted with him and release the half-conscious prisoner on the ground. But it didn't work. Nothing ever worked.
The prisoners never said anything. When John had tried asking some questions, he was either ignored or met with apprehension.
All that was left was to keep going. No complaining, no grunting, no hissing each time the dirt got under the loose skin on his hands.
Just work.
No glaring and no questioning.
Not being a smartass was particularly difficult. But the guards made their point a few times over and John learned that the best way to help the people around him was by simply keeping to himself.
Teyla scrubbed the floor one handed, the other arm held closely to her chest. The women had been taken to the other buildings, each corridor of prisoners going to a different one. Then, they were separated to smaller groups, each responsible for a different room. Half of Teyla's group was washing the shower room, and half was cleaning the mess hall and cooking.
Teyla wondered if all the buildings were identical, and if each group of prisoners had a different task. The women seemed to be responsible for cleaning and cooking. Teyla wondered where the men were taken.
She also wondered why these people had been arrested. Were they all innocent victims like herself?
A crash made Teyla snap her head around. A young woman trembled as she picked up the contents of the pan she had dropped. Teyla went to help as fast as she could, trying to get there before the guard.
She did not.
The guard kicked the girl several times, his eyes bright with anger. Teyla silently prayed to the Ancestors, hoping she was making the right decision. She intercepted the guard's leg with her own, preventing the last kick from getting through.
He was not as tall as the other guards, and much younger. He glared at Teyla.
"Is it easier to beat a young girl than someone as tall as you?" Teyla challenged him.
His face closed on hers. "I shall enjoy both."
Maybe defending herself was not the best decision. But she did so anyway. When his hand came up to meet her face, Teyla reacted and easily blocked the move. She could have held his arm and flipped him around to throw him down on the floor, but she did not.
He narrowed his eyes and reached inside his suit. She knew what came next. When the rod came up, Teyla held a tall stance, even though she lowered her arm. She could have easily taken the baton from him to give him a taste of his own weapon, but instead, she accepted the punishment herself instead of another.
With her eyes, she challenged him to come. And he did.
Her muscles tensed and went rigid the moment the tip touched her skin. He stopped, making her muscles relax and she fell on the floor.
He touched her again, this time uninterrupted. She arched her back and clenched her teeth. She held her breath then released it. She squeezed her eyes and closed her fists until her nails were carving into her skin, but she did not scream.
When he felt he had enough entertainment, he stopped, glared at her one last time and went back to his corner.
Teyla sat up and held her arm as it throbbed in agony. The young woman knelt beside Teyla, her eyes red and wet.
"Y-you... you..." She looked down. "I'm so sorry!" Tears ran down her cheeks and she ducked her face again.
Teyla lowered her head to look at the young woman and lifted her chin gently. "There is no need to apologize." The girl trembled under Teyla's touch. "He was wrong, and not you." The girl remained silent, but her face relaxed slightly. "What is your name?"
She looked up. "Bina."
Teyla smiled. "I am Teyla," she said while she helped Bina pick up the fallen objects. "Let me." Teyla took the big, heavy pan and laid it on the table. She turned to look at Bina. "Are you from Milania?" she asked with a lower voice.
The teen looked around before answering. "No, I'm from Lena," she whispered.
"Are many people here from Lena as well?" Teyla pretended to work while she talked softly.
Bina turned her back to the guards and pretended to work, too. "Yes, many. We are accused of being disease bringers. The others are from many other worlds. No one from Milania itself."
"How long have you been here?" Teyla watched over her shoulder, careful to not draw attention.
Bina looked down. "I do not know." She lowered her voice and Teyla almost had to lean closer. "Many months."
Teyla heard the low chatter from the guards stop and decided not to risk talking. They continued their task together, in silence.
Rodney grunted as he finished pulling the old ventilator from the pipe it had been connected to. His shoulders sagged and he panted as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He risked a glance behind and found both guards staring at him.
He waved his arms nervously. "I'll change the ventilator to the new one." He nodded. "It won't take too long."
The guards remained silent. Rodney looked around then turned to continue his work. He stared at the machine for a few seconds, gathering his strength to push it into place.
Sweat dropped from his brow as he made the large ventilator slide on the rocky ground. His clothes were drenched and his face red by the time he was finished. He paused to look at the work. Checking the pipes would require powering up the machine, so Rodney decided to start by seeing if the wiring wasn't stupidly connected.
He rolled his eyes when he found an imminent short circuit. Rodney went over to the old ventilator and pulled the wiring and motherboard from it. He used the parts in the new one, and when he was done, he still had the intact board and a lot of wires in good conditions.
It would be a pity to waste this material.
Looking around nervously, Rodney moved slightly behind the ventilator. He swallowed and breathed deep before digging a hole on the ground. Then, he dropped the good parts inside and covered them with dirt.
Chapter 5
