RATING: PG-13 for Language
SEASON: Sometime during the 1st Season -  ah, before "The Brotherhood" probably
MAJOR CHARACTERS: McKay, Sheppard, Teyla and Ford
DISCLAIMERS: The characters, Atlantis, etc, all belong to Sony, MGM, Gecko, Showtime, the Sci-Fi Channel.  I own nothing.  
NOTE: As always, I don't know much about SG stuff... and science makes my head spin.  Sorry if this doesn't all make sense.
SUMMARY:  The team investigates some ruins, Rodney falls down a hole, and the rest of them run into some rather obnoxious residents
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:  Thanks Tipper and Sable Cain for your comments, corrections, etc.  They're not really responsible for what follows, but Tipper messed me up pretty good with this whole SGA stuff, so I still blame her.
FEEDBACK: Yes please! comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated.
SPOILERS: a little bit for "The Rising", "The Defiant One", "The Underground"
DATE: Complete March 8, 2005, cleanup done June 25, 2005

Mad Men of Muc-Muc
By NotTasha... I apologize ahead of time

CHAPTER  1:  MUCKING AROUND

“So,” McKay started again, as he poked around what remained of an old stone building on P6H-145.  “You’re sure they’re just legends?”  Nervously, he glanced over his shoulder, before turning to Teyla.

Ford groaned.  Sheppard rolled his eyes, and Teyla, with as much patience as she could muster, stated, “Dr. McKay, I have long heard legends of the Muc-muc, but my people have often come to this planet to collect fruit and none have seen them.”

“But you said that most people don’t travel far from the Gate, just in case,” McKay added quickly.  “I mean, it sounds like a good idea to stay near the exit when a planet is infested with vicious wild men.”

Teyla responded, “It is true that visitors remain near the Gate.  But the berries grow densely in that area.  All that is sought is near at hand.  But, there are some that venture farther.  We have seen the remnants of their camps. Still, none have seen the Muc-muc.  If they exist, certainly someone would have reported it.”

“These the same berries that you all used to make that wine we had back on the mainland?”  Ford asked.

“They are the same,” the Athosian responded, smiling knowingly.

Tilting his head a fraction, John remarked, “Mighty tasty hootch.  Yeah, that’d be worth the risk of coming here.  Worth risking a run in with the wild Muc-mucs.”

“We might want to make a stop on our way back,” Ford suggested.  “Collect some samples, you know… for research.”

“My kind of research,” Sheppard responded.  “Does it take long to ferment?”

“Only a year in most cases,” Teyla told them.  “But there are ways of shortening the span without affecting the taste greatly.”

“Gotta look into that,” Sheppard resolved.

“Still,” McKay put in, glaring at the others for taking the conversation off track.  “These Muc-muc may exist.  The don’t sound like the type that’ll listen to reason – spears – stone knives – primitive language -- I mean, that can’t be a good thing to come up against.  How do you reason against people like that?”

“They are merely legends,” Teyla said tiredly.

“Yeah, but, it seems like a lot of your mere ‘legends’ have some basis in fact.”  McKay’s gaze flitted about the busted up walls, as he scuffed at it with his brush. 

Teyla smiled tightly.  “Yes,” she responded, “But in all the years that we have visited this world, never has anyone seen the Muc-muc.  Certainly, one would have made its presence known in such time.”

“Not if one doesn’t want to be seen,” McKay corrected.  “Maybe, for a change of pace, a race actually got smart enough to move AWAY from the gate in order to avoid a culling.”

“The Gate on this planet is accessible by flying craft,” Teyla reminded, nodding toward where the puddle jumper waited for them.  “The Wraith would have no difficulty in traveling anywhere on this planet.  But even if this were not so, there is no safety from the Wraith if one’s planet is chosen for culling.  The people would be found.”

“Maybe that’s why they’re not around any more,” Ford put in.  “They got themselves culled out because they hid when the big bad wolf came knocking.”

“It is not like the Wraith to completely eliminate their food source from any world,” Teyla told them.  "And there are no 'wolves' on this planet," she corrected, having seen images of the animal that Ford had mentioned.

“Well," Ford started, and paused before going back to his original tack.  "Of course, if the Wraith were really ticked off, they might have gone off on them,” Ford detailed.

Sheppard nodded. “Maybe making the Wraith go searching for them was enough to really piss ‘em off,” he put in.  “I know I’d be.”  Smiling smugly, he turned to McKay and stated, “Anyway, they’re gone.  No muckity-mucks to scare you.”

“Muc-mucs,” Teyla corrected.

“The mad men of Muc-muc world,” McKay added, using the large, dry paintbrush to clean away the debris marring one painting.  “Killing anyone who dares step on their world.  I know one thing for sure, I don’t want to end up in their dinner pot tonight.”

Teyla let out an exasperated sigh.  “They are not known to be cannibals, Dr. McKay.  They will not eat you.”

Scowling, Rodney responded, “Doesn’t mean that they won’t!”  He paused, using the brush to point, “They might find me… delectable.”  When the others laughed, he countered with, “You never know!  And, see!  You do believe that they exist!”

“It is possible,” Teyla consented.  “But improbable.”

McKay grunted and continued his work. Teyla folded her arms across her chest, and Ford looked bored.  Sheppard leaned against one of the partially-destroyed walls of the mostly-destroyed ruin, and gazed out at the trees that surrounded them.

P6H-145 was a pleasant enough planet – nicely green, mild, apparently uninhabited -- in spite of the legends of the wild Muc-mucs.  Teyla had filled them in during the briefing – wide-eyed, longhaired, ape-like men.  They would descend from the trees and impale all comers with their deadly-accurate spears.

The major leaned, looking out across the open space at the trees.  It really was a rather nice location.  The ruins lived up to their names and proved to be mostly ruined – little of use had been found outside of the symbols that McKay was currently studying.  It was true – hardly anyone came this far. The location was a two-hour walk from the Gate – minutes by puddle jumper.  They’d found an old wooden shack, where someone in the past had bivouacked while messing about in the ruin – a temporary shelter that had probably been abandoned for decades.

The site was well hidden among the trees.  They never would have found it if McKay hadn’t discovered a weak power signature.  “Something’s out there,” he’d stated under his breath, “let’s check it out! Power, you know, is good.”    But they’d yet to find what caused the fluctuations on his scanner.

He’d studied the readouts, frustrated and curious at the same time.  They’d searched for the source – but it remained illusive.  There was no sign of anything in the ruins.  So, McKay spent his time trying to read the blasted remains of an Ancient building – hoping to find some clue to where to look next.

They’d spent all day mucking around on the Muc-mucs’ home turf, finding little.  Shepard yawned, letting his gaze drift.

“It says here,” the Canadian spoke behind him. “Hand of Fire is….” And he frowned and he flicked away the dirt.  "Fiery?" he tried and increased his frown, and pressed the brush handle against his lips as he considered this.

"Makes sense," Ford decided.

“Well, yes," McKay consented. “But it may mean… potent, influential, pungent.”

Ford shrugged, then asked, “What do you think the Hand of Fire is?”

"Could be just about anything," McKay responded irritated.  "I don't have enough information yet. Let's see... let's see..." and he brushed again and the wall.  "Here...That the ‘Seat of Power is within’.”  He tapped at the broken wall with his brush.

“Within what?”  Ford responded.  “They got a chair in there?”

With a sigh, McKay explained, “It could refer to that power source – inside something.  But could also be simply a metaphor.”  He tapped the brush again.  “It could mean -- ah -- look inside yourself to find strength.”

Ford harrumphed.  “Sounds like a fortune cookie to me,” he responded.

“Well, yes,” McKay replied.  “The Ancients do that Confucius thing from time to time.  Wish they’d be more upfront about what they’re trying to say.  Lucky for all of you, though, I’ve become an expert at decoding their little riddles.”  And he hummed happily as he continued to clean away the dirt on the wall.

“What is a Confucius and how does it relate to cookies?” Teyla asked, remembering the chocolate chip cookies that were served in the Mess.  She rather liked them.

“Fortune cookies," McKay started.  "Well, Teyla, they are little pastries served after meals in Chinese restaurants – but not in China. Crack them open and find your 'fortune': pithy statements that are universally unhelpful.  Not terribly tasty, the cookies, mind you.  But of course, the Chinese restaurants you’ll find in most North American cities are not anything like the true Chinese food."  McKay smiled wistfully, getting into one of his favorite subjects -- food. 

As McKay spoke, Sheppard spotted something.  He turned sharply, gazing into the canopy of trees.  What was that? Something moved.  A bird maybe?  He squinted, then snatched the binoculars from his vest pocket.  Lifting it to his eyes, he closed in on what he’d spotted. There, something moving.  A human face appeared, leaning through the branches and leaves – a face smeared with mud – hair falling in thick braids.  A man stared out with a calculating expression.

Sheppard held up a hand to silence the others, as the man gazed back at Sheppard.  

McKay went on, oblivious. " The United States is probably the most guilty of ruining this cuisine.  Can’t eat any of it.  The MSG… you know… trouble.  Gives me these raging migraines. What you’ll find in those eateries is nothing like what you’ll get on the streets of Qingdao or Shanghai.  Vancouver, on the other hand... not so bad.  They have an excellent Chinatown.  There's this little place called 'Mr. Lu's'….”

“Somebody shut him up,” Sheppard hissed, watching the eyes that watched him.  The man, realizing he was being observed, scowled, and the face disappeared into the green.  Then the whole canopy seemed to shake.

Sheppard pulled the Life Sign Detector from his vest and watched as it came alight with dots.

“What?” McKay responded, obviously perturbed.  “What do you have against real Chinese food?  Don’t tell me that you actually like sweet-n-sour pork with glowing red sauce?  Almond chicken?”

Squinting as he dropped the binoculars into his pocket, Sheppard saw them, leaping down from their perches – men wearing little more than loincloths – hefting spears.    He counted about twenty of them.   Sheppard drew back from his spot, spun about and grabbed his pack.  “We’re going.  We’re going now.”

With a shake of his head, McKay informed him, “I’m not finished.  Look, I’ve only been able to reveal a portion of the symbols.  Some of this doesn’t even appear to have been written by Ancients.  I still don’t know where the power source is.  This Seat of Power might have something….”

“Get back to the jumper, now!” John responded quickly.  He scooped up McKay’s pack and threw it at him.

“Why?” McKay replied petulantly.

“You know those Muc-mucs that Teyla was talking about?” John asked as he crossed the area and turned to move toward the ship.  “The ones you’ve been obsessing about?”  A sound rose up – an unearthly wail -- like the yipping of foxes -- the screeching of hawks -- the belching of bullfrogs.  “They’re coming.”

McKay’s face seemed to drain of color as he clutched the pack to his chest and, after a second, he took off after the Major.  Teyla and Ford ran with them.  The eerie keen continued – men set on a kill.

We’ll make it, Sheppard decided as they ran to the jumper.  Just got to keep ahead of them.  Get to the jumper and then cool our heels a bit.  Their group might have been better armed, but the Muc-mucs had better numbers.  Primitive weapons hurt.  Sometimes it was better to retreat with your life, then to hang around to see what happened next.

He dodged through what remained of the old building, passing the abandoned wood shelter, dodged down an opening between two toppled walls, and the jumper was in sight.  Still running, he turned toward the rest of his group, to ensure they were still with him.  Teyla and Ford were right behind him, with McKay just emerging from between the broken walls, huffing, stumbling, and taking a shortcut through the outlined remains of a long gone building.

Sheppard keyed his GDO, programmed to open the hatch of the jumper, and stepped forward to enter it.  Behind him, he heard a startled, “Ahhh!” from McKay.

Spinning, he spotted Ford and Teyla, both standing stock-still, looking back the way they came.  McKay was gone.  John crinkled his brow in confusion as Teyla and Ford moved away from jumper instead of toward it, quickly – cautiously, stepping over that foot high wall that delineated where something once stood.

“What the hell…” Sheppard started.

“Doc!” Ford shouted, dropping to his hands and knees.  “Doc! Where are you?”

Teyla went to her knees beside him as Ford unhooked his P90 and turned on its light.  He shone it into the ground.  “Doctor McKay?” she called.

Sheppard stepped to them, confused, as Ford continued to call.  “Doc!  Are you okay?”  The major reached them, finding a black hole in the ground and the splintered remains of a wood panel that had rotted.  The lieutenant glanced up at his superior.  “It just swallowed him up.  One minute he was running at us, and the next he dropped straight through the ground.”

Sheppard leaned in, his heart pounding as he realized what must have happened, that some old panel had given way beneath McKay’s feet, sending him plummeting into a hole.  A narrow pit yawned beneath them.  Finally, the light caught the scientist, a good 20 feet below.

“Rodney!”  Sheppard shouted, watching as the astrophysicist moved in the narrow pit.  McKay rubbed at his head with one hand, crumpled in the corner of the shaft. 

God damnit!  Oh God, this sucks!  Could this have happened at a worse time?  Leave it to McKay to be the only one to fall into a pit!

The frenzied shout of the wild-men filled the air, getting closer with every passing moment.

Rodney suddenly lifted his head and gazed up at them.  Looking shocked and stunned, he shouted,  “Get me out of here!”

Sheppard looked away, to the direction of the approaching Muc-mucs.  Oh, crap… this was not the time to have to deal with something like this!  Maybe he could he reason with those men.  Were these the type of people who would stop and sit down to a détente?  They were wearing breechcloths.  Could you reason with a man that wore so little?

“We have to go,” Teyla said urgently, getting to her feet.  “Now.”

But there was no time.  McKay staggered to his feet under the glow of Ford’s light.  “Get me out!  Hurry!” he demanded, leaning against the stone walls that surrounded him.

The crowd was getting closer, screaming their lungs out.  Those spears had sure looked pointy.

With a groan of disgust, Sheppard stepped away from the pit, to the little wood shack.  With three fierce kicks, he’d reduced it to rubble.  “Gimmie a hand!” he demanded to the others, and soon they were dragging one of the toppled walls toward the pit.

“What are you doing?” McKay shouted anxiously as soon as they’d disappeared from sight.  “Where are you going?  What’s happening?  You’re not leaving me.  Don’t leave me!”  When John appeared above him again, he smiled gratefully, beaming like a happy child.  The smile fell as he saw the heavy wooden wall being dragged over the hole.  “NO!” he shouted.

“Keep quiet!” Sheppard shouted down at him.  “I mean it, McKay, don’t make a sound.”

“No! no no no no!” McKay called frantically back at them, scrabbling at the wall in an attempt to climb.  “Don’t do that!  Don’t leave me here!  I don’t… I don’t do well in … small places.  Really…this isn’t good!”

“They’re coming!  We can’t get you out in time!” Sheppard shouted back. “Stay quiet.  Stay calm.  You’re going to be fine!  We’ll keep an eye on you.  Don’t worry.”

“No!” McKay frantically called back, hopping unsteadily to catch his balance.  “You can’t!”

“It is the only logical choice,” Teyla assured, helping to maneuver the heavy piece.

“You’ll be fine,” Ford told him.

“No!” McKay shouted.  “This is a BAD idea.  Can I tell you how bad it is?  Any number of things are going to go wrong!  Listen, it’s my life at stake.  You have to get me out!  This is SUCH a bad idea!”

Sheppard frowned, not liking it much either, but he had little choice at the moment.  “Stay quiet!  Not a peep!” he ordered and let the wall fall.  He heard an anguished “NO!” from beneath his feet, but there was nothing to be done now.  The remaining three members turned and ran the distance to the jumper, cloaking it just before the first of the Muc-muc burst into the area.

CHAPTER 2: SMALL PLACES

“No, no, no, no,” McKay chanted quietly as he was plunged into darkness.  Above him, light filtered through the narrow cracks within the wall, but at the bottom of the pit, it was dark and cold.  Leaning heavily against the pit wall, he tried to keep the weight off his right leg, which hurt -- a lot.  “Oh God, no…” he murmured.  “Please, open it up again… come on…”

He reached for his radio, ready to read Sheppard the Riot Act for doing this, but his hand clasped at the shattered remains and he groaned in disbelief.  No… not that… I can’t even talk to them….

His head buzzed where he’d whacked it on his descent, and his left arm felt numb from the elbow to the tips of his fingers.  His knee hurt so badly, he could hardly remain upright.  He’d landed badly – was there any other way to land when falling 20 feet into a pit?

Reaching out his right hand, he tried to find a handhold – any way to get out of here.  Maybe, if I just could have climbed out, they wouldn’t have left me here.   “Please,” he whispered.  “I can make it….”

But the boards weren’t lifted and the others didn’t return.  His hand failed and he stumbled back, frustrated.  He couldn’t climb out.  He knew that.  Not today… not with one arm not working right and his leg about to give out.  Hell, he couldn’t even manage that feat on a good day.

This is bad.  This is so bad!  Do you have any idea how vulnerable I am here? He wasn't carrying a P90, but his Beretta was holstered at his side.  He fumbled for it in the darkness, and brought it out to point it above his head.  With a groan he realized that he'd probably manage to just bury a bullet into his own skull if he tried to shoot straight up.  This is not good... not good.

Pressing his aching head against the cold stone, he waited, looking straight up, hearing the horrible cry of the Muc-mucs as they reached the ruin, and he held his breath, waiting for them to descend upon him.

He shuddered miserably.  Please, he thought, ignore the man beneath the planks... just move on.  Oh God, this is a bad bad idea.


CHAPTER 3: POLITICAL RALLY

Cloaked and safe at the jumper, Sheppard turned, standing in the open doorway and watched as the tribe of wildmen ran willy-nilly toward him.  God help them if any of them went directly toward the jumper.  And, if any made a movement toward the hastily covered pit, there’d be hell to pay.

Holding his P90 ready, John watched as they came at them.  They were terrible to look at: skin smeared with mud, hair oiled and coiled into chunky dreadlocks, wearing little pieces of cloth around their waists to hide their wherewithal. They grimaced.  They jumped and jostled, yelling insanely, and then they all paused and gazed about themselves in wonder.

The rushing group stopped, eyeing the ruins about them, and started to search.  Several of the men came together.  Sheppard recognized one of them as the man he'd spotted first.  Close up, Sheppard realized, that the man looked a little like John Kerry -- he had the long face at least.  He ascribed the name to him, to keep them straight.  

Two others looked like brothers, and after squinting a moment, Sheppard decided that they might have passed for filthy young Kennedys.  Another man huddled in with them -- a tiny little man who may as well have been Perot -- since Sheppard was taking a political direction.  A dull-looking Muc-muc earned the name Quayle just because he needed a Republican in the mix. 

They pointed and muttered to each other.   There was a general shaking of spears and a shrill cry went up from them.

The Kennedys gestured to a few other men and after some more spear-shaking, the brothers ran off.  Perot went into the ruin with a couple of older looking fellows – Bushes maybe?  Jeb and G.W?  Sure. Why not. Kerry crossed his arms over his bare, mud-streak chest and glared angrily at the surrounding area.

“Dammit,” John breathed out.

“Why don’t they move on?” Ford whispered, keeping his P90 ready as he watched the weird political rally unfolding just beyond their reach.

“They do not know where we have gone,” Teyla said softly.  “They seek our location.”

A guy who didn't look anything like Nader (but Sheppard decided to call him that anyway) sidled up to Kerry and spoke to him in a quiet, confidential manner and the two stalked off together, meandering about in the ruins, looking for clues – no doubt – to where their quarry may have gone.

John kept his eye on the pit where Rodney had disappeared, watching as the guy who didn't look like Nader angled toward it with his friend Kerry.  If either of them touched that lid…  Sheppard watched them with a stony expression, wishing them away from where his friend was secreted -- ready to defend the place if called for.  

The two made no further movement toward the pit.  Instead, they sat on the low wall, leaning together intimately as they talked.

Sheppard let out a breath of relief.  “Keep quiet, Rodney… keep quiet,” he hissed.  “Don’t do anything stupid.  Just trust us and keep quiet for a minute.”


CHAPTER 4: A BAD IDEA

Beneath the ground, Rodney shut his eyes and tried to block out the realization that he was … underground.  He reached out, pressing hands against opposite walls, and worked at convincing himself that the walls weren’t closing in on him, that nothing was about to fall down on his head.  Oh God, he hated close places.

Damn them! How could they leave me here?  What were they thinking?  Didn’t they realize how BAD an idea this was?  They're leaving me as easy prey to anyone.  Those Muc-mucs undoubtedly built this trap with the idea of catching unsuspecting passer-bys!  I'll be fricasseed by nightfall!

Sheppard will pay for this!  Oh, I’ll make him pay!  How could he do this to me?  Rodney knew he was trembling, that he was panting with fear.  It was ridiculous to be claustrophobic!  He knew that.  He knew that his reaction was irrational.  Bad memories weren’t reason enough!  He shouldn’t fear a sudden collapse, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about it – didn’t stop him from remembering.

He drew in a breath, trying to calm down.  I’m going to kill them, he decided.  When they come to get me out – please… get me out!  I can’t do this.  I can’t…

He was ready to shout for John and the others, when heard voices – they were coming back!  They haven't left me! Thank God!  Thank God!  He yearned upward, ready for them to draw off that horrid lid – planning what he’d say to them:  something clever and biting.

Oh, I'll give them a piece of my mind for doing this! Think it was funny, do you? Oh, they’ll never hear the end of it! How could they just LEAVE ME IN A PIT!

Damn it, he was going to make a ruckus about this one!

But as he listened, McKay stiffened, realizing that the voices were unfamiliar.  He held his breath, his head still humming, as he tried to listen – the voices were hard to catch, but he was almost sure he heard someone say, “They’re gone.”

Someone else might have responded, “It worked.”

The hiss in his head seemed to be getting louder and his right leg wasn’t going to hold him any longer.  He lowered himself until he was sitting at the bottom of the hole again and he rested his forehead on his knees with his pack tucked up on his lap.  He felt sick and hurt, and abandoned. The Muc-mucs will get me.  They’ll find me and cook me up on a spit tonight.

The voices continued above him, but they were becoming indistinct.  “Where do you think they went?”  “Dunno…  maybe they…”  “Good… just got to get…”  or maybe the voice had said… “just got to eat…”    McKay chose to believe in the former.

Dejected and feeling woozy, Rodney leaned back, pressing his weight against the wall.  His sigh turned into a frightened, stifled little ‘eep’ and the seemingly-solid surface behind him suddenly gave way, dropping him again.


CHAPTER 5:  A FINE IDEA

Sheppard had watched as Kerry and Nader suddenly looked around, as if they’d heard something.  They stood and puzzled a moment as Sheppard kept careful watch on them.  What… what had they heard?  But finally, they then wandered off.  Sheppard didn’t allow himself to relax.

Nader went to hang with the Bushes, but Kerry seemed disgusted with them and moved off.  The Kennedy boys hadn’t returned and were probably searching. Fine... as long as they didn't get near the pit.  John kept his weapon ready, and hoped these sons-of-bitches got tired of this and moved on -- soon.

No such luck... more men arrived – bringing their total to about twenty-five.  Among them was an older guy  – looking like Clint Eastwood during his Unforgiven phase – if William Munny didn’t wear pants.   Kerry and Nader rushed to meet him, making obsequious gestures.

Sheppard's attention was drawn away from the meeting, and he gripped his weapon tightly as one of the savages investigated the tumbled shack with the missing wall.  Eyes tracked to where that wall had ended up, and the team within the jumper stood ready in case the examination went any further.

Instead, the man who looked like Gopher from Love Boat (in a loincloth and dreadlocks) ambled away from the wreckage and found a place to guard the perimeter.

They weren’t leaving.  Damn it! They weren't going away!  In fact, they seemed pretty damn excited about the ruins and were puttering around in them.  Hell, can't anyone keep their hands off some tumbled down rocks?

Seeing that no one was in the immediate vicinity of the pit, Sheppard eased himself further into the jumper, leaving Teyla and Ford to keep an eye on things at the open rear hatch.  Once within, he keyed the radio, and spoke softly, “McKay, respond, but keep it quiet.”  He waited a moment.  “Rodney,” he tried again – but nothing was returned.  With a grimace, he left the device on, hoping that McKay was only being huffy and would respond in his own good time.  “Don't be an ass.”  Nothing.  Minutes passed.

“McKay,” he tried again.  “Look, I don’t know if you can respond, but if you can hear me, I need you to stay quiet for a while yet, okay?  They’re still out there.  We’re right here.  We’re not going to let them get near you, but it’d probably be best if we all just sit tight for a bit.  This is a FINE idea,” he assured, knowing what he should be hearing in response.

And nothing.  Damn it!  Was Rodney's gear damaged?  It was a pretty healthy drop to the bottom of that pit.  Something probably was broken in that fall.  Sheppard remembered seeing McKay look up at him – staggering, hardly able to stand.  He’d looked terrified.  How badly had McKay been hurt in that fall?  Damn, we didn’t even bother to find out. Didn’t ask.  Probably pretty crappy down there. And he grimaced, remembering a remark McKay had made about claustrophobia.

Damn… Is he okay down there?

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Sheppard watched through the jumper’s window as the Muc-mucs meandered.  They didn’t look particularly like savages when viewed close up.  They weren’t as thin or well-muscled as one might expect for tribesmen living in the wilderness.  Sheppard expected cat-like grace from wild-men.  Instead, they trouped around like a bunch of guys at a car show.

Something about this just wasn’t adding up – but they were in no position to start messing about.  Sheppard watched as Gopher stood and walked close to the pit, glancing at the broken covering suspiciously.  He paused, striking a pose as he gazed at the misplaced wall, but Kerry called to him and he trotted off to join the other, his butt cheeks flapping most unbecomingly as he jogged.

“It’s a fine idea,” he repeated to the radio.  “Stick with it.  We never could have pulled you out in time.  Just got to wait them out,” Sheppard explained, hoping that Rodney could hear him.  “They can’t hang out here for too long.  It looks like we got about twenty-five of them. We’re just going to wait until they go, and then we’ll get you out of there, okay?  You’ll be okay, I promise.  Just don’t think about it too much.  You’ll be fine.”

But there was only silence in response.  Disheartened, Sheppard cut his mic, but left the channel open, hoping to catch some sort of response… eventually.  “Fine idea,” he muttered to himself, wishing it was.


CHAPTER 6: WONDERFUL NEW USES FOR ANCIENT TECHNOLOGY

Startled by the sudden, backward drop, McKay flung his arms over his head, expecting everything to come down on him – expecting another plummet.  Instead he fell flat on his back.  He’d lost the light that filtered into the pit – it was all blackness now.  Agh!  Agh!  What?  What?  What… happened?

Panicked, he shuddered and closed his eyes.  His heart thudded.  His breaths came in noisy gasps, echoed by walls that were far too close to him.  Oh God, what happened?  Where am I?  What….

Calm down… calm down… He tried to slow his breath, to keep his heart from galloping out of his chest.  He had to see… had to find something…had to figure out what… where… how…. But it was all black -- totally black.

He needed light.  God, how he needed light! 

He fiddled around with his pack, unzipping it and reaching within.  He felt about for a moment, then his hand closed on the scanner.  As he drew it out, the device powered up.  Thank God, I didn’t break it!  In the blackness, the glow of the screen was enough to illuminate his surroundings.  LIGHT!

Gasping, McKay looked around, finding himself lying on his back in a narrow tunnel.  At his feet, there was an opening.  He’d fallen through a doorway at the bottom of the pit -- fallen flat onto his back into a hidden tunnel.

Great.  Breathing heavily, he leveraged himself up until he was half-sitting in the narrow space and twisted, to look down the tunnel.  The soft glow of the scanner’s display didn’t reach far – but it seemed that the tunnel went on for some distance.  Why did it have to be so damn tight in here?

Could be anything down there, he considered – could go deeper into the earth – could drop out into a deeper pit -- could be some sort of creature down there.   SPIDERS!  Gah!  Not spiders… no… not spiders.  He shivered at the thought, and had to swallow down that new fear.  Spiders are always in dark deep places, aren’t they?

It was bad enough to be stuck underground in a space far too small for intelligent humans… but if there were spiders, too….  He felt his heart speed up again, and he couldn’t help but tremble.

Calm down… calm down. McKay… you have to calm down.  It’s illogical.  It’s all illogical.  Get a grip!  Damn it!  What would the Major do?

He wouldn’t be freaked out just because he’s in a tunnel, that’s for sure. He’d probably love this.  He probably envisions me having a ball.  Think. You have to think.  How are you going to get out of here?

Taking a fortifying breath, McKay tried to focus, to figure out his next steps.  The tunnel around him was smooth – obviously man-made – or perhaps…made by the Ancients?  Ancients... and he calmed a bit with that thought.  Wait a minute… He clutched the scanner, realizing something and smiled as the power signature showed itself again.  “There you are,” he muttered, holding the device out in front of himself, seeing the definite sign that he was getting closer to it – finally.

He could go investigate it… see what the Ancients were hiding here, see what the power source was.  It would be better than waiting here for the Muc-mucs to drop on his head.

The possibility resolved him.  McKay turned himself onto his stomach to crawl toward the unknown.  Think of what might be there!  And his heart seemed to calm.

“Better not be spiders,” he murmured as he shuffled his way onward, realizing he could always use the scanner to smash them.


CHAPTER 7:  OOH-OOH AHH-AHH

The attitude of the Muc-muc seemed to change as the Kennedy clan returned.  The apparent leaders – Kerry and Clint, came together with the Kennedys, muttering, looking annoyed.  “Guess they don’t like how we just disappeared,” Sheppard commented.

“They seem intent on examining this area,” Teyla remarked.

“They got a lot of guys just looking around at the ruins,” Ford added.  “You’d think, if they were so interested in finding us, they’d have more of them out looking in the woods.”

“Maybe they’re searching for us – thinking we’re hiding nearby,” Sheppard tried.  “Well, we are."

Teyla shook her head.  “They are examining the walls in a similar manner to Dr. McKay.  They are interested in the ruins themselves.”

Sheppard watched the savages mill about, and he realized that Teyla was right.  They were searching the ruins as if they’d never seen them before – as if they were damn excited about finding them.  Curious behavior for natives of this world. I mean, shouldn't they know this is in their own backyard?

He watched the Muc-muc that looked like Perot sit and pick at his feet with a woeful expression on his face. 

“This just ain’t adding up,” Sheppard declared.  He checked his watch.  It had been over an hour since McKay fell into that hole – frightened, hurt and scared.  God, what must he be thinking by now?   Knowing McKay, he's either worked himself into a full-blown panic attack or... well, shooting shit at us for abandoning him down there.  Probably both.  Bet he feels like crap in any case.

The Muc-mucs weren’t moving off and they’d wasted enough time in waiting.

Sheppard looked to the others, then strode into the ship to locate the descender.  He found it in the storage compartment, and rested the folded device on his shoulder as he stepped out of the jumper.  “We're getting him out,” he commented as he moved to the edge of the shield.  Ford and Teyla, without hesitation, were right behind him.

They walked, seemingly out of nowhere, toward the pit – and for a moment, the muddy Muc-mucs were oblivious to their appearance.  Suddenly, Gopher spun about, and shouted out an explosive –“OOOOO!”

The camp was in turmoil as the Muc-mucs leapt to their feet.  Perot limped unhappily.  They bunched together and hoisted their spears at them.  It was like watching a B movie about natives gone bad.  Sheppard kept moving, with Teyla and Ford flanking him, all holding their weapons low but ready.

“All right, all right,” Sheppard uttered, calming his voice.  “Everyone remain calm… everyone remain calm.”

The Muc-mucs shuffled about, still looking shocked at the abrupt reappearance of the strangers.  The one Sheppard had named Quayle started hooting, and soon the whole passel of them were chanting in some language that seemed mostly composed of ‘ooh ooh’ and ‘ahh ahh’.  They made wild faces and pointed their pointy sticks pointedly.

“Look,” Sheppard started, easing toward them.  “I know you’re all upset about us trespassing here or something, but we got to come to some sort of agreement, okay?”

More hooting followed.  The group remained bunched, sounding like a parliament of owls as the bobbed about.

“Hey,” Sheppard started again.  “We just need to go look under that board there – we got a friend that fell down a hole – deep son-of-a-bitch hole.”  He displayed descender, hoping that didn’t view the device as a weapon.  “We’ll get him out and then we’ll go.  Won’t bother you anymore, okay?”

Most of the savage group looked in the direction Sheppard had indicated.  Then, several of them conferred while the others continued to shake their sticks.  Nader itched at his head while another picked at the peeling skin on his shoulders.  Perot started messing with his feet again.  Teyla, Ford and Sheppard kept their weapons ready – waiting to see what the Muc-mucs did next.

Finally, the weathered-looking member of the group worked his way toward them, taking an Eastwood gait.  He paused when he’d crossed half the distance and spoke in a gravelly voice, “What did you say about a deep son-of-a-bitch hole?”

From behind the man, the others stopped their nattering, dropped their spears, and drew more effective looking weapons.

CHAPTER 8: TACOS AND WATERMELON

Rodney crawled through the cave, slowly, carefully.  The glow of the scanner illuminated only a short distance, increasing the claustrophobic feeling of the space.  His hurried breathing echoed all around him, and he hitched himself forward.

The walls are NOT closing in.  The walls are NOT closing in.  There are no spiders.  No spiders.  There definitely are NO spiders in here.  GAH!  what was that?  What was that?  Oh... just my hand.  Okay.. no spiders.  The walls are NOT closing in.  My hand is not a spider.  It is not a spider!

Leg aching, McKay did what he could to keep moving.  With use, his arm had started working adequately, but his elbow still smarted.  He figured that he must have whacked his funny-bone on the way down.  Now why in the hell do they call it the funny-bone?  Nothing funny about hitting it.  Nothing at all.

He couldn’t get fully to his knees, portending a twisted joint, but managed to flop forward on his one good leg.   “Just a little further,” he whispered.  “Just a little bit more.  There’s power up ahead…power.  Yeah...power.  Just a bit more…no spiders.  Oh God…. ” But the tunnel seemed to go on and on.  He paused, holding his breath to listen, because he was breathing so heavily he could hear nothing beyond that.  He concentrated, hoping that he’d hear John and the others coming back for him… hoping he’d NOT hear the sound of crazy Muc-mucs leaping down to get him.

The fear that the wild men would discover the pit propelled him onward, made him brave against the possibility of arachnids in the hole -- made him somewhat brave of such things.  He knew that he had to get away – because if the dreadful Muc-mucs discovered the covered pit – he’d be dead.  He was trapped in this tunnel.  He'd be made into tacos, no doubt.

“Just got to keep going,” he muttered, hobbling onward.  “A bit more… that’s all… a bit…and I’ll find the power source, and get out of this DAMN TUNNEL!”  He didn’t think he could take the stress of it much longer.  Just watch, when the Major and the others eventually came looking for me, they’ll find me stuffed up this flue, dead of a heart attack. Probably take them days to drag me out.

And suddenly, as he crawled forward, his hand dropped instead of meeting with the tunnel.  The narrow passage opened up and he inched into a larger area.   He held out the scanner, using its glow to illuminate the space, noting that he was almost on top of his target now.  “Ha!  I'm out!  Out of the tunnel, but where now?  Some sort of room?  Oh...I hope it’s not a trap."

‘That’d be my luck,” he muttered.  "Crawled right into their clutches."  Finally able to maneuver about, he sat up, and felt along one wall and hoisted himself to his feet.  His aching knee barked at him, but he managed to stand, leaning heavily on the wall.  The buzz in his head had lessened somewhat since his last chance at standing -- but his skull still thudded where he’d hit it.  He was bruised, undoubtedly, just about everywhere.  Probably banged around like a pachinko ball when I fell, he thought.

“Okay,” he uttered.  “Okay, this is good.  I'm standing.  Standing is good.  Standing is much better than crawling.”

The room remained dark, the only illumination coming from his device.  “Well,” he said out loud, “if I want light, I’m going to need power.”  He checked the scanner and homed in on the power source.  Staggering on his painful knee, he made his way across the room, nearly running into a console at one point.  “Where are you?” he muttered.  “Where…” and then he paused as a shape was revealed near the base of the panel.

Carefully lowering himself beside it, he took in the strange device.  It was shaped like a watermelon -  a tumor-ridden melon, decidedly irregular.  A blob here – another blob there -- haphazardly placed.  Wired up like a Christmas tree, it emitted a lower level of power.  “Now that I know where you are, what are you?” he asked, feeling around, encountering more wires, along with a series of knobs and switches.  He puzzled over the readouts on the scanner, unable to decode what exactly fueled the device – but it appeared to be a generator of some sort.

“Not Ancient,” he decided.  No, it didn’t have the grace of the great people.  The device was ugly, ungainly, unbalanced.  It looked as if children had put the thing together.  He checked the scanner again, examining it, finding that it appeared to be sound.  The shielding was similar to what he’d found on many Ancient devices, telling him that someone may have cannibalized other technology at some time to create this.  The thing, he finally resolved, was capable of creating a great deal of energy if initiated.

He smiled, giddy at the thought that he may have discovered a new source of power.  It didn’t pack the punch of Naquadah, but whatever was inside the big ugly melon seemed to surge with untapped energy.  He licked his lips in excitement, stretching out his aching leg and scrutinizing it in the poor light.

He had to fire the thing up – he knew that.  Because, what else was he supposed to do?  He was alone, in a dark room with a piece of new technology.  This weird-looking fruity-thing might be the answer to all their problems.  How could he help himself? He had to mess with it.

The controls seemed easy enough to understand. He flicked one switch and twisted a knob and the thing began to hum.  He scooted back, hobbling slowly to his feet, placing distance between himself and it as the melon glowed – taking on a chartreuse hue, striped with a brighter and obnoxious lime.  It almost hurt to look at it.

The greenish glow filled the room.  Scanner held out in front of him, he monitored the device, watching the power spike as the thing surged to life.  "Yes," he whispered.  

Suddenly, the lights came on in the room – too bright at first.  He cringed, expecting an explosion from the tetchy device.  And then he saw it… "Ah...."

The room, fully visible now, was dominated by a chair – a twin to the one they’d found in Antarctica.  “Yes, yes…” McKay murmured, limping to one of the powered-up control panels and running one hand along it.  Referencing the scanner again, he checked on the melon-generator.  It held its charge, staying well within what appeared to be a ‘safe’ operating level.  Lovely.

Was that watermelon actually powerful enough to run the chair?  Back in Antarctica, it took a ZPM to keep one going.  Did this odd bit have that much power?  Honestly, the generator didn’t seem capable.  Not Ancient technology – it really didn’t fit in with the tech of the chair and the control panels.  The generator, undoubtedly, had been added later – a break-fix until something better could be found.

He narrowed his eyes at the obtrusive lights – the room wasn’t Ancient either, he decided.  The wiring about the base of the chair didn’t seem quite right either.  What the hell was going on?

Watching the readouts on his scanner, he decided that if this generator produced even a portion of what a ZPM was capable of – it was a mighty good find.  Chuckling to himself, McKay figured that this discovery might be enough to make his foray into spelunking worthwhile.

Now… about that chair…  He turned to it, fascinated.  “What are you all about?” he questioned.  “Why did they hide you underground in a room accessible only by a little tunnel. Must be something important.”  He glanced around, seeking more information, but save for the control panels on either side, the room was bare.

Rodney pressed one finger to his lips as he leaned against the closest panel and took in the Ancient symbols.  It took him only a moment to decipher it.  His smile increased.  “Oh yes… this is …” and he laughed.  “Of course.  I should have realized it immediately.  It seems that I’ve found…” He gestured to the chair, and said aloud to anyone who might listen.  “…The Seat of Power…”


CHAPTER 9: THE REMARKABLE BOCHWEY

“The hole,” the Clinty man repeated.  “You said your man fell through a hole in the ground?”

Sheppard puzzled at the man’s words.  “You speak pretty well for a wild man.”

The savage grimaced.  “Well, yes.  I do.”

Teyla frowned and turned to Sheppard.  “These men cannot be the true Muc-muc,” she declared.  “I believe they are imposters.”  She fixed the man with a speculative look.

“You are correct.  My people are far more advanced than the Muc-muc.”  He ran a hand through his knotted hair and uttered proudly, “I am, after all, a lead scientist and researcher of my people.”

With a sigh, Sheppard thought, great, just what I need… more scientists to deal with.

The man continued, “There are no Muc-muc.  They are but characters of legend.  But we use that legend as a device to allow our people to work in privacy.  I am Kevik of the Bochwey.”

“Kevik?” Sheppard repeated and looked to Teyla. “Bochwey?” 

She gave a knowing nod.  “I know of them.  They are scholars mostly, known for collecting information regarding the Ancients.  They are notable for little more.”

“Information about the Ancients?” Ford put in.  “Might be worth knowing some of that.”

Kevik snorted.  “We know what we know, and no one else will know, not one.  No!  Know that and know it well.”

Teyla added in a low voice, “They were once a great people, but they have fallen in repute.”  She eyed their garb warily as she added, “I had not known the extent of their decline until this moment.”

Kevik snorted.  “We are the knowledge keepers!  We know all!”  And he picked at he edges of the loincloth, making the Atlantians recoil.  “This is but costuming.  We will do whatever it takes to get what we seek.”

Teyla nodded, understanding.  “They have been known assume guises to gain what they desire, yet never have I heard of them appearing like this.”  Her nose crinkled up as the wind shifted a bit.  “They are a people much like the Genii…” she tried to say.

In response, Kevik spat on the ground.  “The Genii?  The Genii are but scum on the stinking scum swamp compared to the Bochwey.  The Genii are the grime that builds up the knickknacks on the shelves over the stoves of the Bochwey dwellings.  The Genii are the animal turds that stick to one’s feet when one walks through the holding pens to gather eggs from the scree-quahs and to milk the peviboos.  Yes, turds when compared to the Bochwey!”

“Okay, we got the picture,” Sheppard responded. 

"We are superior in all ways," Kevik added with a sniff.

“And this is coming from a man covered in mud.”

That make Kevik pause.  “This is not our usual appearance.  We are advanced people who enjoy the many conveniences of the modern world – like electricity and indoor plumbing.  We are dressed in this manner for a reason!” he snapped.  “We are conducting research!  Genii dress up as well, but not so cleverly!  They wish to confuse others into thinking they are simple, yet they hide underground to do their research. We, the Bochwey, are educated people in pursuit of knowledge."  He scratched at his ass crack as he added, "We disguise ourselves to gain answers to questions regarding the Ancients.”

“And you hang out in trees." Sheppard watched the strange group huddle together.  One picked at another’s hair.  A couple others moved their tender feet uncomfortably. "Educated.  Right.”

Teyla pressed on.  "Why would the Bochwey impersonate the Muc-muc?”

The man declared, “Our research is significant!  We didn’t want to be intruded upon!  By convincing outsiders that the Muc-muc are about, we would be left in peace.”

“Significant research?” Sheppard echoed.  He glanced at Keviks’ clothing.  “Regarding the best material to cover your johnson?  If that's what you're looking for, you should keep searching, by the way.”

“There is a device of great power hidden upon this planet and we seek it.”   Kevik of the Bochwey sneered.  “Our ruse would have been effective to convince most races.  It would have scared away intruders!”

“So, this has been a success for you?” Sheppard asked, keeping his P90 ready while the rest of the mock Muc-mucs pointed their own less advanced guns back at him.

“Well, you’re the first to arrive since we got here,” Kevik returned, pursing his lips.  “It really should have worked.”

“And where the hell did you hide those guns?” Sheppard shouted at the other Bochwey.  “You’re all wearing loincloths, for Christ’s Sake!”

The group looked a little sheepish as they handed their weaponry, but they did not lower them.

“Okay, fine… you’re doing research.  Gotcha,” John responded.  “So you won’t mind if we find our friend, get him out of the hole he’s in, and go home?  Then you can go back to whatever the hell you were doing in the trees.”

“We will remove him,” the man responded.  “You will stay here.”

“Like hell,” Sheppard spat out.  He made a move toward the covered pit and heard the cocking of several weapons in response.  He groaned in irritation.

“You will remain where you stand,” the man ordered.  “We will examine the entrance and remove your companion for you.”

“Nothing doing,” Sheppard responded, wary of the guns.  Did these guys actually know how to shoot them?

“You have no choice,” Kevik declared.  “There are more of us.  If you wish to rescue your companion, you will do as I demand and set down your weapons immediately.”  He crossed his arms over his chest and gave them a keen look.  “Otherwise we shall open fire upon you and your friends, and then who shall save your companion?”

Sheppard hesitated, not liking this one bit – but there were twenty-five Bochwey and only three of them – and the Bochwey had bang-bangs and pointy sticks.  With a nod to the others, Sheppard lowered the P90 to the ground and stepped back.


CHAPTER 10:  DECISIONS

“Okay then,” McKay muttered, fussing about at the control panels, hoping he could get the system to activate, but nothing responded.  It had power, but the panel still didn’t function.  This isn't going to be easy, is it?  He lifted his gaze from the panel and gazed at the chair.

It did look rather like the chair that had been found in Antarctica.  

Regretfully, he inched toward the chair. It really would be best if he could get the major down here, he figured.  That way, John could do all the work.  Yes, the major would activate the chair, do his little mental dance, and Rodney -- the expert at such things -- could sit back and watch the control panels light up.  It was so much easier to scrutinize new equipment when he could have the Major do the grunt work.

Really, Rodney realized, he was an observer -- a trained observer -- a good observer.  Really, he should be practicing the kind of science that let him relax behind a computer, kick back on a couch -- watching the outcome of experiments.  He shouldn't be the one actually participating in the experiment.  He shouldn’t be the one being chased by wild Muc-mucs, that's for sure!  Shouldn't be dropped down holes either!

Glancing toward the tunnel, he wondered if he should just wait.  Certainly, the Major and the others would be coming – soon.  They'd all have a laugh about leaving him IN A HOLE!  Then he’d show all of them the cool new generator he’d discovered, then put Sheppard in the chair, fire up the thing and figure out what it was supposed to do.  Yeah, let the Major deal with it if something goes ka-floey.  Should just wait a bit… he thought.

And he leaned against the panel, trying to keep the weight off his aching knee.  He shrugged his left shoulder and wiggled his fingers.  The arm was feeling much better.  His head still ached miserably.  Yeah, he wasn’t up to doing this alone.  Just wait for the major and the others.  Let him work.  Let me relax.

But, they hadn’t come yet.  If everything was fine – then they should have been here.  He glanced toward the dark tunnel, wondering whether he should be expecting John Sheppard next... or… Muc-mucs?  But what if the others were in trouble?  What if the savages had captured them?

He sighed and looked at the chair again.  Groaning, he closed his eyes and shook his head.  Damn, he wasn’t getting out of here on his own.  There was no apparent way out of the room, except for that tunnel – and he wasn't going to be able to climb out.  And the others… what if they needed him?

There had to be a better way out!  He had to make a decision and make it now.  If the Major and the others were in jeopardy, he’d never forgive himself.  Hell, he’d never make it out of here without help.

And he glanced to the chair again.


CHAPTER 11:  DOILY

Sheppard was on his knees, hands behind his head – a position he never enjoyed.  Teyla and Ford were beside him, both looking ready to spit nails.  Several of the Bochwey stood around them, keeping the captives under their guns.  The man Sheppard had named Perot was messing with their P90’s.

“You might want…” Ford started, inclining toward the 'Texan'.  “You might want to consider putting the safety on that thing,” he finished.  “Wouldn’t want to blow off your own head.”

The man gave Ford a haughty look and continued to fiddle with the unknown weapons until Kevik snapped, “Gimmet!  Put it down!”

Nasally, Gimmet replied, “But alien weapons are my specialty!”

Kevik seemed to take that as a reasonable response and shrugged.

“Don’t blame us if that things goes off,” Sheppard declared, wishing that these men had learned how to sit properly when they were clothed in those unsuccessful excuses for panties -- he was getting far too personal with Gimmet at that moment and didn't care for it.

Kevik turned, nodding to his people.  “Pouse, Vimmle, Quee, it’s time we examined that opening in the ground.” The young brothers and the man with the long Kerry face jumped to their feet, and Sheppard had to revise how he'd named them.

No longer interested in the man who was about to blow himself up, Sheppard turned toward the pit, watching as Kevik and three of his men came to the hastily covered pit.  "McKay," he whispered, "Stay cool, McKay." And he winced, realizing that this really wasn't a possibility.

“Clever of you,” Kevik declared, “To disguise the opening.  You wanted it only for yourself?”  He grinned, trying to look superior, but it was a difficult task to pull off when one is smeared with mud and wearing a doily over one’s naughty-bits.  “But we would have found it in time.”

Pouse and Vimmle, the brothers, grabbed hold of the broken wall while Kerry-faced Quee approached with his weapon in one hand and a flashlight of some sort in the other.  Kevik came alongside Quee as Pouse and Vimmle pulled back the covering.

“McKay!” Sheppard shouted.  “McKay!  Look out!”  And he leaned forward, ready to heave himself to his feet and knock Quee to the ground if it came to that.   “If you hurt him,” Sheppard growled, “you’re dead men.”

Kevik laughed, even though Pouse and Vimmle both looked a little frightened by the threat.  Quee was unaffected by the words and leaned over the opening, shining a light with one hand as he aimed his gun into the depths.

“McKay!” Sheppard shouted again, hoping to hear the scientist shout that he was all right.

Quee searched about, looking within the hole, then he suddenly drew back, flummoxed as he uttered, “There’s no one down there!”

“What?” Sheppard shouted, getting up from his cramped position.  Around him the Bochwey started ooh-oohing and ahh-ahhing again until they remembered that they didn’t have to pretend to be Muc-mucs anymore and they started shouting out for him to get down.  Quayle moved forward, ready to stop him.

Sheppard easily stepped around Quayle, leaving him annoyed and stamping his bare foot. Not allowing himself to be slowed, Sheppard strode across the distance that separated him from that pit.  “McKay!”  he shouted again.    The Kennedy boys, having dropped the wood wall, barring him from getting any closer.  Nader and Quayle jumped in as well, grabbing hold of his arms.  Annoyed and frustrated, John jerked, trying to free himself.  “What do you mean, he’s not there?”

Quee shrugged, shining the light downward.  “Let him look, Kevik,” he declared.  Reluctantly, the men released him, and John was allowed to surge forward to peer into the deep, dark and empty pit.

The Bochwey were right.  There was nobody down there.  “Aw, crap,” John muttered.


CHAPTER 12:  THE SEAT OF POWER

“Not so bad,” Rodney stated as he lowered himself into the chair.  It was awkward trying to move his uncooperative knee, but it was awful nice to get off his leg and relax. 

“Okay, this is fine.  It will work this time.”  The last time he’d sat in a chair such as this, he’d been met with only disappointment.  That was in Antarctica, before he’d ever seen Atlantis, before the gene therapy, before he gained the ATA gene, before everything had changed.  It would be different this time…He'd make it work.

He concentrated on activating the chair – simply that.  Turn on, he thought, concentrating on power and glowing lights, whooshing and humming sounds, things going smoothly, and melons not blowing up, and Canadian geniuses not being killed in horrible ways.

Work... work.… And he tried to relax, to just let it happen, to just let it…work.

Maybe this time… maybe…  And he concentrated, imagining exactly how the chair should function, seeing it all working in his minds-eye.  A calmness came over him, a confidence, a certainty, and he knew he could do it.

There!  Wait… yes… It's... it's...  He smiled when he felt it happening, the activation of the chair.  It slid back, into the classic ‘dental exam’ position with a whoosh and a hum. The room darkened again. This is it!!  It’s working! 

Thrilled, he opened his eyes, and the stars came out.  He laughed, loving it.  He had managed it!  He’d activated the chair.  The stars seemed almost too bright as they swirled around him, as he stared back at them in utter delight.  For a minute he just gazed at them, like a child, enthralled at the circus, transfixed by the wonder of it all.

Okay now, what do you do? he asked.  What is all this about?  Show me.  And spots within the star-field lit up in red.  He squinted at them, wanting to get closer – and he did.    The mere thought sent him zooming into the image – with speed that made his stomach drop.  It was like flying.  If he wasn’t so giddy already, he might have been nauseous.

He drew closer to the image, seeing planetary systems where he’d earlier seen only stars, seeing moons around planets, seeing asteroids, and he zoomed in closer.  And then, the little red dot formed into a clear image.  McKay pursed his lips in a smile, realizing what he’d found.

Well, well, well…This is about to get very interesting.


 CHAPTER 13: LET US TOAST QUEE, THE CHOSEN ONE

“Where did he go?” John asked agitatedly.

Vimmle and Pouse leaned in, trying to see.  “It’s the entrance, I bet,” one of them said – Sheppard didn't know which brother was which.  “We found it! We have a way in!”

The other nodded enthusiastically, “It’s here… I know this is it!  It’s finally ours!  The entrance!”

“Quiet down,” Quee shot back, eyeing the pit with great interest.

Sheppard stared down into that hole.  Where the hell could McKay have gone?  “An entrance?” Sheppard asked.  “An entrance to what?”

Kevik looked perturbed.  “None of your business,” he shot back.

“Oh, I think it’s my business.” Sheppard nodded, turning to see Ford and Teyla headed toward him with Gopher guarding them.  Gimmet and Nader looked as if they wanted to get in the way, but neither of them took the initiative, so neither moved.  Gimmet went back to massaging his feet.

Sheppard went on, “My man is down there… somewhere.  We’re getting him out.”

The Kennedy boys exchanged worried glances and one of the asked, “You don’t think he’d mess with it, do you?  That friend of yours.  He wouldn’t … activate it… would he?”

“What the hell's down there?” Sheppard demanded.

And before Quee or Kevik could hush them, the boys said in unison, “The Seat of Power.”

“The Seat of Power?”  Ford said from beside him.  “Oh, that can’t be good.”

“Because,” one of the brothers continued, “If he were to activate it…”

“…It could be bad,” the other finished.

“Especially if he isn’t one of the Chosen.”

“Like Quee.”

“He’s a Chosen One.”  And a thumb was jerked in Quee’s direction.

“Vimmle!  Prouse!” Quee hissed.  “Enough!”

Sheppard’s expression fell.  “What do you mean?  What’s McKay getting himself into?  What the hell is this ‘Chosen One’ crap?”

“This has nothing to do with the outsiders!” Quee stated.  “Tell them nothing.”

“If McKay is down there messing around," Sheppard started.  "You can bet your sweet bippy he’s found whatever this thing is, and if someone’s going to mess with something, he’s going to do it, chosen or not!”

Teyla raised her chin a fraction, wondering what exactly a Bippy was and how one might bet it.

“What does it do?” Sheppard demanded to know.

Kevik looked cross, arms akimbo and sneering a little like Clint in his Dirty Harry days.  Quee moved back toward the pit, and stared down into it, his long Kerry-like face getting even longer as he considered the depth.  The Kennedy boys looked as if they wanted to say something, but they remained mum.  Nader bit his lip.  Gopher scuffed his bare feet against the ground.  Gimmet pulled at his toes.  Jeb and G.W. had faded into the rest of the group.

"Come on!" Sheppard demanded.  "Tell me what sort of trouble he's gotten himself into."

“Well," Gimmet, the Perot-ish imp started as he stood. "We don't exactly know.” 

“We know it’s powerful!”  Vimmle said, trying to be helpful.

“And it has a seat,” Prouse added, knowing even as he spoke that he sounded ridiculous.

Gimmet shook his head at them as he continued, “We do know that the Seat of Power protects itself."  Looking self important, he declared, “Only the Chosen Ones might access it.  All others will perish.”  He shifted uncomfortably.

Closing his eyes, Sheppard stated, "So if he goes near this thing, it'll kill him."

Gimmet raised a finger started to talk, then paused, saying, "Not exactly."

"What exactly?" Sheppard asked exasperatedly.

"The Seat of Power once lay on the surface of another planet." The gnome made a fastidious gesture at his hips, to straighten his bit of cloth (thank goodness).  "When it was activated, the Seat protected the Chosen One who used it -- would not allow any of the unclean near it."

"So..." Ford put in.  "If Doctor McKay has activated it... then..."

"Then he'll be protected if anyone tries to approach him," Teyla surmised.

"Well," Gimmet started and screwed up his face, "In theory..."

And they turned as a whirring hum filled the pit at their feet.  Quee was only partially visible, having lowered himself into the opening, intent on dropping to the bottom. 

“Oh…” Gimmet started, paused and then added, “…crap.”

Sheppard groaned and leapt away from the pit, slamming himself into Teyla and Ford, as a bright beam of light erupted from the ground.

And everyone around them started screaming.


 CHAPTER 14:  Hum

“Ho’boy,” McKay thought as he mentally zoomed in closer.  A weapons platform… definitely!  It's a weapon's platform!  Like the one they’d found orbiting that desert world with the cranky Wraith.  Incredible!
 
Now, let’s get a little bit closer and see if I can activate that bad boy… get it up and running.  Should be simple. Just… think it on.  And nothing.  Okay, need to find the proper sequence to bring it online – should be able to find it… and nothing.

It was almost as if a barrier had been thrown up.  He could get this close, he could almost put his ‘hands’ on the controls, but he just couldn’t reach.  It was cold.  It was powerless.  It was dead. 

DAMN IT!

Damn it!  So close… so enticingly… frustratingly close!  No power!  Just like that platform we discovered.  Crap!  Well, okay, don't let this irritate you.  There's other platforms... let's go try one...

Suddenly, something tugged at him, urging him.  An alarm seemed to go off in his head. Something was wrong.  He backed off, watching as the stars flew past him at speeds far too fast for any craft.  He closed his eyes against the sickening sensation, mentally shutting down the field, closing down the stars. 

He had to get out.  Something was wrong.  He could sense it – it was if the chair itself was telling him – but what?  He had to get out of the chair.  Had to get out of the room!   But how?  How do I get out?

He opened his eyes as the star field died away, and something glimmered in the corner of his eye.

Then, there was the hum – a thrumming insidious hum that filled the room, that filled his head.  He struggled, wanting to throw himself out of the chair, but his leg refused to move.  He glanced to the melon-ator – it glowed – too damn brightly.  The chair vibrated beneath him and he felt it… the power… the surging power that was channeling through it.

Crap!

He lurched forward, but couldn’t find the leverage he needed.

And his whole world went white.

CHAPTER 15: THE PROBLEM WITH INBREEDING

“What the HELL was that?” Sheppard screamed, rolling over and sitting up.  Teyla and Ford were both getting themselves upright as well.  Around him, the scattered Bochweys lay in various disturbing poses.  Most of then covered their heads on the ground, with their bare asses pointing to the sky, loincloths flapping rather pointlessly downward.

Kevik was flat on his back blinking at the sky.  Vimmle and Prouse were on their butts, squinting at each other.  Quee was nowhere to be seen.  A strange scent of overdone barbeque filled the air.

“What the HELL was that?” Sheppard repeated.  The stunned Bochwey didn’t stop him as he approached Kevik and yanked him to his feet.

The Clint-like man shook his head violently, and rather uncharacteristically of the man he resembled, he simpered, “It was the Hand of Fire!”

Teyla and Ford were up, ready to protect their leader should any of the Bochwey get bold again, but most of them seemed too shaken up to even move.  Vimmle and Prouse inched their way from the edge of the pit, looking at it with respect and awe.

“WHAT is the Hand of Fire?” Sheppard asked intensely, gazing toward to the pit where Quee had disappeared – where McKay had fallen.  Goddamn it!  If McKay was down there when that thing went off….

“Quee,” Vimmle said softly, pointing to the opening.  “Quee tried to go in.”

“It must have been activated,” Prouse added.  "Your friend activated the Seat of Power."

“It didn’t want him.  It didn’t want Quee,” Vimmle whined.

“Only the chosen are allowed to get near,” Prouse declared. “Once the chair is active.”

“He wasn’t one of the chosen,” Vimmle said pensively.

“Obviously,” Sheppard stated.

They stood, watching the hole, waiting.  The ass-up Bochwey started to stir and gather together for comfort.

“So… that thing… that Hand of Fire,” Sheppard started, feeling sick as he turned to Gimmet. "What did you say about how it’ll protect McKay only in theory?"

Gimmet was shaking like a wet kitty.  “It is…” he started.  “It… the seat… I mean… the Seat of Power… It.…didja see that?!”

“Spit it out!” Sheppard demanded.”

Gulping, Gimmet shook his head and shuddered, still trying to calm himself.  “The Seat of Power protects itself.  It is meant to be preserved.  The continued existence of the Seat of Power is all that matters.”

“And it’s supposed to protect the one who's controlling it?” Sheppard led on.  

Gimmet nodded. “The Seat of Power used to be on the surface, but was removed from its original planet and brought here for protection, because… who’d look for it on Muc-muc world, right?  The original power source could not come with it, so a substitute was created.  When the Wraith found even this world, it was hidden below ground.  It really... really shouldn’t have been put underground,” Gimmet commented.  

Rolling his eyes, Sheppard asked, “And who the hell did that?”

“Well,” the gnome started.  “You see, a thousand years ago -- the Bochwey thought it would be a good idea.”

“Marvelous,” Sheppard responded, glancing to Teyla and Ford, and seeing the lack of surprise on their faces.  “And then ya'll forgot exactly what the damn thing does and where the hell you hid it?”

“More or less...” Gimmet responded sheepishly.

“And the new power source,” Sheppard tried tiredly. “Where did it come from?  Who made it?”

Gimmet paused for a moment, and tried to say proudly, “The Bochwey are an superior people, capable of creating many advanced technologies.”

“Crap,” Sheppard ground out.  “It was you guys?”

Nader, who’d been quiet and superfluous up to this moment finally spoke up, “That was a thousand years ago. We were much more advanced back then.”  The others didn’t seem very pleased with his comments.  After gazing about at his compatriots, he added weakly, “You see we had this problem with inbreeding…”

And the others quickly shushed him.

With a groan, Sheppard asked, “So what the hell did that thing do to McKay?  Is he all right?”

Biting his lip, Gimmet continued, “The Hand of Fire uses a great deal of power.  The Hand of Fire would even overtax the generators designed by the Remarkable Bochwey of yesteryear.”

“Dammit,” Sheppard groaned. 

Gimmet continued, “We theorize that the Hand of Fire would overload our great generator, and perhaps… overload the Seat of Power along with it.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Sheppard yelled, “And you thought this was a GOOD idea to set it up like that?”

Looking about him for support, Gimmet found himself alone.  “When it was above ground, the power would have been released into the atmosphere.  There’s nowhere for it to go down there – except through the exhaust – and not all of it can get up there at the same time.  We were trying to hide it.  Not necessarily set it up to be used.  Unfortunately, ah, I think they did…set it up.  If your man hadn’t turned it on…”

Fed up, Sheppard turned toward the pit, saying snidely, “Your man was the one that set it off.  Our guy just turned it on.”

Gimmet looked downcast.  “We thought Quee was of the Chosen Ones.”

“Apparently he wasn’t,” Ford stated.  “Otherwise he wouldn’t have been turned to KFC Extra Krispy.”

Sheppard strode back toward the pit, leaning carefully over to look within.  “McKay!” he shouted, hoping.  “McKay, can you hear me?  You in there somewhere?”

Gimmet responded, “If he were anywhere near the origin of the Hand, he is mostly likely dead by now.  It would have been quick and painless,” he added helpfully, then paused and added again, "Nearly painless... relatively… at least... for a while...I guess."

Sheppard turned, striding quickly toward the jumper to pick up the abandoned descender.   “I’m going down there,” he declared.

“Major!” Ford exclaimed.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Teyla agreed, nodding and saying, “We saw what it did when one of the Bochwey attempted to enter the opening.  If the device is still active….”

“Chosen One,” Sheppard stated, pointing a thumb at his chest as he returned, “I’m thinking it has something to do with that funky ATA gene.  If McKay can be a Chosen One, then sure as hell, I’m one, too.  Now, get me down that hole so I can check up on that sorry son-of-a-bitch.”


CHAPTER 16:  BURGER

That… that… that was not fun.  Not... fun... not... nice.  Oh God... I...ow...

Furrowing his brow, McKay tried to open his eyes.  Everything hurt – everything ached.  His skin felt as if it was on fire.  His head pounded and he was thirsty as hell.  The surface beneath him seemed to scorch him.  What happened… what… what…?

Have to get off… off of this thing… must move.   Burning…so hot… must move… must get off.

But muscles refused to work, no matter how he tried to force them.  Must get up… get out… I have to…burning.  Oh God... this is not good.

He tried, but he had no strength.  He's been sapped of all energy and could only lay still and slowly fry on the too-warm griddle.  His head hurt so badly, he could hardly think.  His tongue felt thick and dry in his mouth.

This is stupid.  I should be able to... just push myself off of thing.  Come on... come on... don't be a pansy.  Pansy?  Did I just use the world 'pansy'?  God, you're pathetic.  You're about to be cooked like a burger, and you're using words like 'pansy'.

He tried, but a weariness consumed him – it was if he’d given up every last bit of his strength.  And he was left, trying to open his eyes, trying to overcome the horrible headache, and feeling the terrible heat of the Seat of Power.

Crap.  This is NOT good.

I’m gonna fry.


CHAPTER 17:  BACON

Sheppard gave Teyla the order to keep an eye on the Bochwey as he and Ford set up the descender, then he stepped out over the edge of the pit.  The nearly naked researchers gasped and ducked away, expecting a repeat of Quee’s attempted decent (and subsequent flash broiling), but the Hand of Fire chose not to repeat itself.

With a nod to Ford, the major started his repel downward.  He held his breath, waiting for that big BANG… hoping that he’d figured out that whole “Chosen One” thing correctly… hoping that the generator was done and that it hadn’t blown McKay to bits along with it.

So far… so good.

The pit smelled of overdone meat, and Sheppard stepped carefully to get around what was left of Quee when he reached the bottom.  Not pretty, Sheppard decided.  Nope… not at all.  The bottom of the pit looked a little like the floor of the oven in an apartment he’d shared with some other guys while he was in college.

He set his jaw, hoping he wouldn’t find McKay in the same state.  Please… no.   If the doctor wasn’t here -- where was he?  A quick perusal of the area with his flashlight revealed the low tunnel that branched off.

“Okay then,” Sheppard said softly, getting down on hands and knees and crawling into the space.  His nose burned with the scent of ozone – the walls were warm – almost to the point of being too hot to touch.  He shone the light down the corridor ahead of himself and kept moving.

“McKay!” he shouted again, feeling the hot air drying his throat, his eyes.  “McKay!”  Dammit!  This corridor was too damn hot!  He had to get out of here, out of this closed in area, find McKay, get him out of here -- get them both out.

“Major!” Ford’s voice sounded in his ear.  “What’s down there?  Have you found him?”

“I’m in a tunnel,” Sheppard responded.  “Hot as hell.  Haven’t found him yet.  How are things up there?”

Teyla responded this time, “The Bochwey are displeased,” she stated.  “We are experiencing difficulty.”

Sheppard could hear the angry nattering of the undressed Bochwey.  Pausing, he asked, “What’s going on?”

“They’re kinda upset that you were able to get down there,” Ford told him.  “I think they were expecting fireworks and are a bit disappointed you didn’t go ‘poof’.  They keep taking about that chair and how they…Hey!  Knock it off!”

Sheppard continued, wishing he’d thought to bring kneepads.  “Ford!  Report!”

“We’re being forced away from the pit,” Ford told him.

He heard Kevik’s voice carried over the com, saying, “Who are you talking to?  What are you doing?  What is this device?”

“It’s nothing.  It’s just…” Ford tried to tell him, but his transmission was cut off.

“Major, we are unhurt, but the situation his escalating,” Teyla stated, her voice quiet.  Her voice rose as she shouted.  “No!  We are no danger to you.  Do not …” and her communication ended as well.

“Teyla!  Ford!”  Sheppard shouted, and growled in frustration.   God!  He could do nothing to help them!  He twisted, turning back the way he’d come, wanting to go back, to find out what was happening – but he had to find McKay first.

Where the hell are you, McKay?

So, he shone the light ahead of him, he kept going, crawling down the tunnel until he found himself coming to a dark room.  Hopefully, this was the place.  “McKay!” he called again.

He could see little of the space from his vantage point using only the flashlight to see.  Reaching the end of the tunnel, he slithered out, and stumbled, catching his balance and finally stood in the dark, stifling room.  If he’d hoped for any respite from the heat at the end of the tunnel, he’d been mistaken.

The room remained black and he swung the light about, searching, revealing a pair of control panels, a chair – and Rodney.  Oh, thank God…I’ve found him.  But….

Under the beam, scientist was stretched out in a chair – not moving.  Sheppard paused, holding his breath – don’t be dead… don’t be dead…he chanted to himself, then exhaled as he saw the Canadian twitch, ever so slightly, his head rocking from one side, then to the other.

Thankful, Sheppard stepped quickly, reaching the chair.  “Rodney!” he called, grasping hold of one of the chair’s arms and releasing it immediately as he registered the heat the thing was giving off.  “Damn it!” he swore.  The chair wasn’t illuminated, but it hot as a furnace. And McKay was in the damn thing.  Oh crap… how long had it been since that thing went off?

“I’m getting you out, right now, Rodney.  Ya hear me?  Don’t worry.”

McKay groaned feebly and rocked, as if he was trying to roll over.

Jamming the flashlight under his chin, Sheppard grasped hold of Rodney’s wrists, feeling his hot, tacky skin, and yanked him upright.  Rodney made a quiet sound as Sheppard leaned him forward, resting McKay’s weight against him.  The flashlight dropped, landing somewhere in McKay’s lap.  He tugged again.  The seat was uncomfortably hot as John pressed his waist against it, leveraging McKay forward and maneuvering his weight off the chair.  Grasping tightly, he lowered the scientist to the ground.  The flashlight went with them to roll around on the floor.

Once he’d gotten Rodney prone and clear of the chair, Sheppard leaned over the man and called him softly, “Rodney?”  No response.  He grabbed the skittering flashlight, and checked over the man as he felt for a pulse in his wrist.  The heartbeat was strong, and John let himself relax a little with that knowledge.

Let him be okay, Sheppard demanded.  “McKay…” he called softly, patting one side of the doctor’s face.  “Rodney, wake up.  Rodney, are you okay?  Come on…”

McKay turned his head slowly, frowning and squeezing his eyes shut.

“McKay!” John put steel into his voice, “Open your eyes!”

Rodney was burned, that much John could tell.  His bare skin around his hands was already blistering where it had been in contact with the chair – hopefully his clothing had been able to protect the rest of him.  “Wha…?” Rodney tried, his voice rough.  He opened his eyes and squinted up at the major.

Smiling, John stated, “Glad to see ya.”

“Need…”  McKay started, and swallowed thickly.  “Need t’get out of…the chair.”

“I’m already ahead of you on that one,” John responded.  “Think you can sit up?”

Rodney didn’t look very enthusiastic about the idea.  “Rather… thirsty…” he stated.  “Hot….” He grimaced.

“Yeah,” Sheppard agreed.  “Makes me want to get the hell out of here… fast.”

“Wasn’t hot before…” McKay muttered.  “Something happened….”

“You can say that again.  That was some bottle rocket.”

“Headache.  Hell of a… headache.”

“Yeah, I bet.”  In spite of Rodney’s complaints, Sheppard grinned, glad to hear him talking and capable of voicing his concerns.  “Come on… let’s get you sitting.  We can get some water once we get out of here.”  And he tugged the physicist upright.

“Oh…oh…” McKay muttered at the change in position.  He lifted his gaze to stare at Sheppard once he was sitting.  “You left me… in a pit!”

With a crooked smile, Sheppard nodded and said, “Let’s call it a favor.  I managed to save you from a lot of irritation that way.  You never would have been able to suffer through it.”

Looking quizzically at Sheppard, McKay brought one hand to his forehead and winced, drawing back the hand and looking at his reddened skin in amazement.

“You got yourself burned up a bit,” Sheppard told him.  “That Hand of Fire must have originated from this room,” he figured.  “Might explain why everything is so hot.”  He looked at how the chair was situated -- it seemed as if the beam had come from the port at the base of the device.  Damn… they meant business, those Ancients.

“Hand  of…?” McKay started, looking a question to Shepard.  He seemed dulled and stunned, unable to comprehend what was going on around him.

“…Fire,” Sheppard completed.  He tried to judge the heath of his companion – burned and a bit addled, but he seemed to be otherwise all right.  He didn’t like seeing Rodney like this, unable to think straight – it just wasn’t right. 

"Oh yes... I remember... I…  read that somewhere."  And Rodney scrunched his brow in thought, regarding the dark room and the illumination by flashlight.  “What happened to the lights?”

“Don’t know,” Sheppard responded.  “They were out when I got here.  Think you can get to your feet?  We got to get out of here.  Ford and Teyla are in a fix now.  The Bochwey were getting a bit antsy after I left.” 

“Bochwey?”  McKay echoed, shaking his head woefully.  He stopped his movement, and brought one hand to his neck, feeling around timidly.

Sheppard looked where McKay was fussing at the back of his head. Damn, that burn looked painful.  The major carefully grasped the hand by the unburned side and pulled it away. “Leave it alone,” he ordered softly.  “You got your whole backside pretty badly singed.

“The Seat of Power,” McKay declared.  “Gets damn hot.”  He reached his other hand behind him and grimaced as he touched his tender skin.  “Did I do this?”

“An idiot Bochwey tried to get in while you were working.  Set off the defenses.”

“What the hell is a Bochwey?” McKay snapped, suddenly shaking off his stupor.  “And this Hand of Fire?  You saw it?"

“Long story.”  Good, John thought.  He’s getting snippy.  Things are looking up.  “Let’s get you up and we’ll get out of here to save Ford and Teyla from a bunch of politicians in their panties.”

“You know,” McKay stated, groaning as Sheppard helped shove him to his feet.  He swayed a moment, leaning on Sheppard as he put weight again on his painful knee.  “Ow!  You’re trying to confuse me on purpose, aren’t you?  Ow!”  He winced as he moved away from the major and stood on his own.

“You know, you kinda smell like bacon,” Sheppard joked, grinning and getting a foul look from the scientist. 

McKay really appeared done-in.  He limped to one of the consoles in the dimness and leaned heavily on it.  “You okay?” Sheppard asked, lifting the light to shine on Rodney’s face.

“Fine…fine…” McKay said, sighing dramatically and closing his eyes against the light.  “Just like a sunburn, right?  A real bad sunburn.  The kind you'd get if you spent too much time on Mercury."

"Not much of a vacation spot," Sheppard commented dryly, dropping the flashlight’s beam from Rodney and swinging it around the room.  “I hear the beaches are fine, but the ocean’s a long way out.”

Breathing deeply, McKay let his head dip.  “Speaking of which…you sure you don’t have any water?”  He swallowed and grimaced again.

“Sorry, not on me,” Sheppard apologized.  As he flashed around the light, he came upon the chair again.

After a dissatisfied groan, McKay commented, “You said Lt. Ford and Teyla needed our help.”

“I’ll go back.  You’ll be okay if I leave you for a bit?”  Sheppard nodded toward the tunnel.

“No, I will not be okay.  You left me in a PIT!”  McKay eyed the low entrance, knowing he was in no shape go crawl through it again.  He nodded slowly.  “I can follow… eventually…” he tried, already dreading it.

Sheppard sighed, wondering if McKay would even be able to make it back out through that narrow passage.  He lifted the flashlight, shining it at the chair and the equipment about them. McKay made a noise in the darkness beside him, shuffling about.  “Shine the light over there,” the scientist ordered.

“Where?”

“There, right there,” McKay insisted, hobbling along the side of the console, looking annoyed when Sheppard put the light on him again.  “There!” he repeated, pointing away, scowling.

Shepard snorted at McKay’s rather worthless ‘in-the-dark’ directions and brought the light about; an ugly, dark device was revealed.  McKay let out a mournful sound.

“What the hell is that?” Sheppard asked, stepping closer.  “Kinda reminds me of this awful lamp my aunt used to have.  The base of it would glow pink when you clicked the clicker often enough.  I killed it one summer when I tried to complete a forward pass to my cousin using a Tupperware full of Jell-o.”

“You did what?”  McKay had inched toward the broken thing.

With a shrug, Sheppard commented, “Didn’t think Tupperware would bust open.  You know… it has ‘freshlock’.  Remember those ads where the big fruits and veggies had those paddle locks on them?” He flashed the light on McKay again to see his response, but the scientist was too interested in the device to retort.  Sheppard went on, “There was Jello-o everywhere.  Got on her cat, her couch, curtains, everything.  Knocked the lamp right onto the floor.  Didn’t look broken, but it never worked again.”

McKay gingerly held his scanner, his brow knitting as he regarded it.  “It’s still producing a small amount of power.  Nearly negligible, but…” He paused, blinking slowly and shaking his head.  “It doesn’t appear to be radioactive, but I really don’t think we should be messing around here much longer.”  He looked unhappily toward the tunnel.

“Radioactive?” Sheppard echoed edging back.

“NOT radioactive,” McKay snapped.  “At least, not much.  I guess it’s time to start crawling.”  And he cringed at the idea of even trying.

“Ya know, something bugs me about this?”  Sheppard asked.  “How do you think they got that chair down here?”

Letting out another sigh, McKay glanced toward the hot seat with half closed eyes.  “Put it together here, I would suspect.”

“But they said it was on another planet before, and moved below ground here later.  Said that the Hand of Fire worked fine on the surface for protection -- figured it wouldn't work so good after they put it underground.”

“Now you tell me,” McKay said tiredly, closing his eyes as he leaned.

“There has to be another way in and out,” Sheppard stated.  “Maybe that tunnel was just used for firing that barbeque beam.”

McKay tiredly nodded.  “Yes… yes.. that makes sense.”

Determinedly, Sheppard started searching the room – looking for anything that might be an exit – but the flashlight illuminated only stone walls – and the tunnel.

When he turned the light on McKay again, he noted that the man hadn’t moved, letting the console support him, looking hunched and miserable.  He kept the light on the man until Rodney snarled, “Would you stop that?”

“Just need to make sure you’re still with me,” Sheppard returned.

“Where could I go?”  Suddenly, McKay’s expression changed from miserable and snotty to something resembling a smile.

Sheppard asked, “What?  You have an idea?” 

“Remembered something that I saw earlier.  As I was shutting down the system, I saw something.”  He lifted one hand to point.  “Insignificant at the time, but I had been thinking about where an exit might be, and I think the chair told me.”

Sheppard stepped to the wall that Rodney had indicated, and ran his hand carefully along the rocky surface.  He pressed here and there.  “Nothing,” he muttered.

“Not obvious, at least,” McKay commented as he came alongside him, scanner in hand.  He waved it slowly around the area.  He smiled as he pointed to the wall to the right of the major.  “Press down there.”

The major raised his eyebrows and did what the doctor told him.

CHAPTER 18: FINDERS KEEPERS

“The Seat of Power is ours!” Kevik growled, leaning his muddy face until it was inches from Teyla’s.  “You will not take it from us!”

The Athosian glared back at him.  “You have no right to claim it as your own,” she shot back.

“We’ve been looking for it since forever,” Vimmle commented.  He’d managed to procure a wet rag from somewhere and was removing most of his muddy makeup.

“Yeah, we did all the work looking for it,” Prouse added.  He’d wrapped a blanket around his body like a toga, and was trying to get the hem to lay even. 

“We claim it as ours,” Gimmet put in, giving Vimmle and Prouse an envious look, still dressed in mud and the barest of coverings on his nether regions.  He looked a bit cold.  The rest of the Bochwey were shifting about excitedly, not accomplishing much.

Ford and Teyla had been backed up against part of the ruin, surrounded by the gun-toting Bochwey.  Teyla gave Kevik a dissatisfied look, stating, “We will wait until Major Sheppard returns to decide what to do with the Seat of Power.”  

Kevik snorted.  “It isn't yours to make that decision.”

“I don't know,” Ford returned.  “I mean, I think our people have their hands on it.  We’re the ones that actually found it while you all were messing around in the trees.  Finders keepers!”  He shrugged.  “Losers weepers.”

Confused at this statement, Kevik looked to Teyla, hoping for some help in understanding.  The woman gave him no sign regarding the translation.  So, he decided to ignore Ford and wandered toward the pit.

The Bochwey continued to dart about agitatedly.  The mock Muc-mucs kept moving, joining into small groups, discussing things with wild gestures, then breaking off to form new groups.  Unfortunately, in spite of their mad gyrations, a small group managed to stay around Teyla and Ford – keeping them in their place.  A phalanx of Bochwey watched the pit – armed – ready for Sheppard to pop his head out of the hole again  -- so that they could shoot it off.  And so far, there’d been nothing – just the hot air that breathed from the pit.

It had been an hour since Sheppard descended into the opening, two hours since McKay fell – an awful long time.

“Think he found Doctor McKay?” Ford asked Teyla quietly.

The Athosian nodded.  “Yes,” she responded.  "It would be like Major Sheppard to do exactly what he set out to do.  I do not doubt him."

“Think the doc's okay?” Ford continued.

“The doctor is resourceful.”

“But he might have been hurt,” Ford commented.  “It was a long drop.”

With a sad nod, Teyla stated, “Yes, it was.  But he was able to speak with us and express his dissatisfaction about our course of action.”

“Didn’t prove to be a very good one,” Ford muttered.

“I believe it will resolve itself acceptably in the end,” Teyla decided.  It had to, after all.

Ford stated resolutely, “They’re coming up with a plan.  That’s why they aren’t back yet.”

“Yes, a plan.”  Teyla nodded tightly, hoping… wanting to believe.  But certainly, if all was well, Major Sheppard and Dr. McKay would have been back by now.


CHAPTER 19:  ABOUT THAT PLAN

The ramp was steep and long, sliding up from the room that housed the Seat of Power.  At least the passage was cool, as opposed to the overheated room and tunnel.  Sheppard kept McKay ahead of him, shining the flashlight to lead their way.  He resisted the urge to place hand at Rodney’s back when he swayed.  His first attempt to steady the scientist had been met with an abrupt cringe and a gasp from McKay.

“You COULD remember… burned skin,” McKay had uttered hoarsely.  

“Sorry,” Sheppard had apologized.  “Figured it was better than letting you take a header.”

McKay had grumbled, then considered, “You're making me lead so that I’ll clean out any spiders we encounter, right.”

“Would you knock it off about the spiders?” Sheppard replied.  “You’re starting to give me the heebie-jeebies about them, too!”

Still Sheppard kept ready to catch the cranky physicist should he collapse.  The major doubted that McKay had much energy left in him.  He moved like an old man.  Let him last long enough to get us out of here, Sheppard hoped.  Just get us out of here.

The route was steep, but at least it wasn’t far to travel, and from what Sheppard had seen of Rodney’s burns, most of them seemed to be about equal to what one pasty-skinned scientist would expect after a really long day at the beach after forgetting to 'lotion-up' with some SPF900 sunscreen.  The worst of it was on his exposed skin and it all looked mighty painful.

McKay moved with a limp, and kept rolling his shoulder and manipulating his arm.  Probably got whacked pretty good in his fall, Sheppard figured.  Yeah, he’s going to be spending some time with Beckett when we get back.  Still, Sheppard was grateful that the man wasn’t hurt worse – damn, McKay was lucky in that fall.  It could have killed him!

Illuminating the way ahead, Sheppard frowned, arriving at a blank wall.  McKay had come to a stop, resting his head against the cool stone wall as Sheppard forged forward to regard what met them this time. A steep set of stairs rose up suddenly, ending in nothing.

After examining the plain surface above them, John turned the light on McKay, finding him with his eyes closed and his brow furrowed, using the wall to support himself.  “McKay, we're at a dead end.  I think we got another one of those hidden panels.  Think you could find it before something happens to Teyla and Ford?”

McKay had remained immobile until Sheppard brought up their absent team members.  At that, he blinked and scowled at the light, which the major then thoughtfully averted.  Shoving himself off the wall, Rodney stumbled forward.  Scanner in hand, he swung it about, taking longer this time before he discovered the secret.  “There,” he muttered, pointing to a spot on the wall.  “If you press right there, you should….”

Before Rodney could finish his instructions, Sheppard pressed, and the ceiling faded from sight.  Whether it had been an illusion or whether the wall had disintegrated before their eyes, Sheppard had no idea and didn’t want to worry about it at that moment either.

Light flooded in on them and both men closed their eyes against the painful intrusion.  Squinting, Sheppard touched a hand to his empty holster, damning the Bochwey for taking his weapon.  He turned back to McKay who had an arm thrown over his eyes as the daylight streamed in at him.  Smiling, Sheppard recalled that McKay wasn’t with them when the Bochwey arrived.

“Your weapon,” Sheppard ordered, holding out a hand.  “Hand it over.”

Narrowing his eyes, McKay regarded the major, then removed the Beretta from its holster.  “Hopefully it didn’t melt,” he mumbled.

“Well, you’d melt before it did,” Sheppard commented as he checked it, finding the weapon in good order, clean and ready for action – leave it to McKay to always take good care of his property.   He popped the clip back into place and prepared himself to step out of the passageway.  “Think maybe you should stay put until you get some of your perkiness back,” Sheppard decided.

“What about Lt. Ford and Teyla?”  McKay asked.

“I’ll poke my head out.  See what’s going on.”

“I have to get out of here,” McKay said pathetically.  “I really have to get out… now…”

“I’ll see if it’s safe.”

“Do you even know where this lets out?”  McKay asked, his face still pinched.  "Might be helpful if you did.  Might allow you to come up with a plan, don't you think?"

Considering it for a moment, mapping the route in his head, Sheppard decided, “We should be somewhere near that wall where you saw the inscription."

McKay snorted derisively.

"What?" Sheppard responded.

"You have no idea," McKay commented.

"We went this way," Sheppard said, fishing his hand in one direction. "Then this way... underground.  We're at the ruin."

"You'd get lost in your own quarters," Rodney commented.  "Utterly lost somewhere between the bed and the toilet.  You wouldn't be able to find the doorway out for months."

"Where then, Mr. Smarty-pants?" Sheppard responded.  When McKay gave him a disgusted look, the major continued, "Don't get me wrong.  I'm awful glad that you're wearing pants.  I've seen far too many of the pants-less today… seen far too much."

After a pause, McKay stated, "There's something seriously wrong with you, isn't there?"

"McKay," Sheppard paused, "Where do you think we are?"

With a knowing smile, Rodney told him, "If my calculations are right... and they usually are... we should be just behind the jumper."

"Wanna bet?" Sheppard asked, extending one hand.

Propping himself against one wall, McKay regarded the proffered hand, and said, "I get to fly home."

"And if I'm right... no whining about me not letting you fly for a month."

"A week," Rodney countered.

"Not so sure, are you?"  Sheppard stated, gingerly taking the singed hand to seal the deal.

"Oh," McKay stated, "I'm certain.  I just wanted to see if you'd crumble."

And Sheppard squeezed the hand until he got a pathetic little sound out of the doctor.  "Now, about that plan..."


CHAPTER 20: SURPRISE

They were on their knees again, because Kevik had grown apprehensive.  The leader of the Bochwey paced, glaring at the captives, who looked back with far more defiance than they should.  “Your Major Sheppard,” Kevik started.  “He should have located the other by now.  He should have returned with the report of McKay’s demise.”

“I kinda think he’s found him alive,” Ford shot back.  "I'm bettin’ they're both on their way back right now."

Kevik didn’t like this – didn’t like this at all.  The more time passed, the more likely that something ‘unexpected’ would happen. He hated surprises.  Glancing toward his men, he noted that most of them were partially dressed now. Some had returned to the trees to find their supplies, snagging blankets and tarps.  Many had affixed bits of cloth at their cabooses; others draped whatever they could find over their inadequately covered hoo-hahs.  One had a hat and was making good use of it.  Most had wiped the dirt from their faces and had made some attempt to manage their hair.

They no longer looked like savages.  In fact, they all looked rather pathetic, as if a busload of researchers had careened into a swamp – and these were ones that were able to crawl out.

Drumming his fingers against his arm, Kevik, still wearing nothing more than his breechcloth and standing with his feet a good-shoulder's-length apart, stared at the open pit.   He was so close to getting into the Seat of Power!  Quee, the Chosen One, had failed, but Quee had always been a bit wishy-washy.  Who’s to say that Kevik of the Bochwey wasn’t the one meant to control the Seat of Power?

It would be… powerful… to be in that seat, Kevik knew.  And he wanted it.

Really, he should be making his way over to the pit… he should be stepping over the lip of it and using that 'descender' thingie to get down… he really should… it was his destiny!

But Quee had fried up so quickly…  maybe he should find someone else to give it a try.  Hmmm.  “Gimmet,” he called.  “Gimmet, it’s time to put your knowledge to work.” And he smiled toothily at the little gnome.  “This is the chance of your lifetime."  And he gestured to the pit.

"Ah," Gimmet started, looking a little queasy.  "It really should be you, Kevik.  You are, after all, our leader."

"But this is your life's work.  Come now, little Gimmet, shove that gnarled head of yours down the hole and let’s see what comes of it." Smiling magnanimously, Kevik continued,  "Let’s take a look at the Seat of Power.  It’s time we took our true place.”  And he placed his arm around Gimmet's shoulder in an attempt to turn the reluctant man.

“I could wait…” Gimmet squeaked, digging in his heels.

“No more waiting,” Kevik decided.  “We’re going… now.” And he shoved the man toward the pit.

“Nope.  I don’t think so,” a voice sounded nearby, surprising the hell out of Kevik.  “It’s time you dropped your weapons and maybe took a bath.”  From behind them, Sheppard moved clear of the forest, holding a Beretta on Kevik of the Bochwey.  “And if any of you have any smarts, you’ll all do the same.”

Astonished, the group had to fumble for their weapons, and Sheppard grimaced as he found himself surrounded, once again, by the half-dressed pretend wild-men aiming their pistols in his direction.  “Okay,” he started.  “We’ve been here before.”

Teyla and Ford got to their feet, unimpeded by the others.  Teyla started to speak, to ask the question  – how did he get here -- where was Dr. McKay?  But Kevik spoke first.

“Where did you come from?”

With a quirk of a smile, Sheppard declared, “Well, when I was a baby, my mother said I came straight from heaven.  She revised that a bit as I got older.”

Kevik turned to the pit, than back toward Sheppard, then the pit in an exaggerated double-take. “How did you get out?  Did you see the Seat of Power?  There is another way in?  How do I get in?  Tell me, you must tell me!”  He stepped toward Sheppard.

The major didn’t lower the borrowed Beretta.  “If you want any information from me, you’d best tell your friends to put down their pop-guns.”  He jerked his head toward the other Bochweys. 

Kevik set his jaw and looked in the direction Sheppard had come.  “I’m thinking,” the Bochwey said.  “I’m thinking we might be able to find our way within, now that we know where to go.  Somewhere… over there.”  And he smiled, and glanced to his people, annoyed to find that several had dropped their guns.  "What are you thinking?" he yelled at them.  

They picked their weapons up again, chagrinned.

Looking disgusted with his people, Kevik turned back toward Sheppard.  “You, Major Sheppard, don’t have enough to bargain with.  There are far more of us.  We are in the position of power.”

“Don’t speak so soon,” Sheppard responded as something behind him hummed to life.

John had a delightful point of view, watching as the haughty Bochwey’s jaw dropped and his face drained of color. "Wha.... wha..." was all Kevik managed to say as he stumbled backward, as his men again let loose their holds on their weapons (and maybe a few other things), and a startled gasp went up. 

In his head, John quickly rattled off, “Cost to make one loincloth: fifty cents; Cost of a crappy looking gun: $5; The look of shock and surprise on a bunch of annoying Bochweys: priceless.”

He didn't need to turn to know that the puddlejumper had materialized behind him, he just hoped that it didn't hit him.  

Teyla and Ford grinned widely as the jumper lifted and turned drunkenly until the cockpit faced them.  Ford's smile increased as he caught sight of McKay within, with his jaw set tight and apparently trying to snap the delicate controls off as he kept the ship pointed in the right direction.  The lieutenant’s smile dipped as McKay’s eyes went wide and the jumper lurched violent forward.   “Major!” Ford shouted a warning.

At the last second, Sheppard dove to the ground barely managing to avoid decapitation as the ship pitched.  "McKay!" he shouted.  "All bets are off!"  Lying on his stomach, he brought the weapon up again, ready to fend off an attack.    This idea sure worked better against the Genii!

It seemed to be working though.  The Bochwey were wailing pathetically – a few of them fell over in a dead faint.  They were thoroughly cowed  – but Sheppard watched in annoyance as Kevik, Gimmet and the Kennedy boys took off into the woods.  Damn, he would have liked to have spanked those idiots a bit!  Well, figuratively...

The Bochweys that remained were like pats of butter on the ground, splayed out and senseless. Dusting at his knees, Sheppard climbed to his feet, looking speculatively at the ship that shuddered above his head.  Intelligently, he got out from under it, shouting, "McKay!  Get that thing back on the ground before you hurt someone!"

And with a lurch, the jumper descended, landing with a crashing thud and nearly smashing into Sheppard’s leg.   He’d managed to jerk it out of the way and roll at the last second.  John shook his head as he stood, irritated.  He turned toward Teyla and Ford, watching as they strode toward him.  "You guys okay?" he asked quickly.

"We are unharmed," Teyla assured.  "And Doctor McKay?"

"A bit overdone, but he should be okay."  The major pounded on the side of the craft.  "Open up," he shouted, keeping an eye on the stunned and downed Bochwey.  None of the remaining men were moving yet. 

The jumper didn't yield. "McKay," Sheppard called again, slamming the palm of his hand against the side of the ship.  "Don't be an ass.  Let me in.  I'll letcha fly back, but that's it!"  When still nothing happened, he felt his heart speed up a bit.  Handing the Berretta to Ford, he hurriedly found the GDO in his pocket.  "Don't do this to me, McKay," Sheppard whispered, keying the device and opening the rear hatch with a whoosh.

Nodding to Ford to keep an eye on things, Sheppard stormed into the craft with Teyla on his heels, finding McKay slumped at the controls.

"He is hurt," Teyla said quietly, seeing the burned patch at back of Rodney's neck.  She squatted beside him, touching the side of his face gently.

"Got himself burned on that Seat of Power," Sheppard said softly, watching Teyla's gentle administrations.  "How is he?"

Teyla nodded curtly. "I believe he shall be fine.  He is breathing well,” and she paused as a muscle jerked along his jaw,  “but he is suffering.  We should return immediately to Atlantis."

"Yeah, couldn't agree more." Sheppard sucked his teeth a moment before adding, "Just wish I could've slapped Kevik and his crew around a bit for all this.  Damn, they were annoying."

"They were unpleasant," Teyla said, making a horrid face, as if that was the worst word she could up with, but wanted to say a lot more.  She stayed close to Rodney, brushing the back of one hand across his temple.  She smiled softly, as if she was happy just to see him again.

Somewhere outside, a whooping and hollering started up.  

"Aw crap," Sheppard muttered.  "Not again!  Don't those damn Bochwey know when enough is enough?"  Pissed off, he opened the gun cabinet.  Teyla came up beside him, and he rearmed them, then stepped from the jumper, ready to kick some bare ass.

"What the hell does Kevik think he's doing?" John asked Ford as he emerged.

The young lieutenant stood stiffly, aiming the Berretta toward the woods. "Major... I don't think it's the Bochwey."

And he turned just in time to be surprised by a limber, fine-toned wild man leaping down from the trees, dropping Kevik to the ground, and looking about in disgust.


CHAPTER 21: WAD OF GOO

"So, you see why we need to go," Sheppard said, trying to sound as diplomatic as possible as wild Muc-muc men poked their noses around in the jumper.  They’d gotten into the craft the moment the crew had stepped clear.  He’d tried to get them out, but the show of weapons meant nothing to them, and the four stately people, dressed in cloth woven of soft grasses, strolled about, displaying the fearlessness that is reserved only for the very few.

Teyla had touched Sheppard’s arm, restraining him from trying to shove them out. “They will not damage anything,” she promised.  Still, it didn’t change the fact that Sheppard didn’t like strangers on his ship.

One of the group leaned over McKay.  She spoke in a pretty, child-like language to her companions, and they nodded, responding in kind, coming to her side.

"Now, wait a minute," Sheppard declared, trying to get in front of them before they mobbed the poor insensible Canadian.   “You can look, but you can’t touch!”

Teyla spoke quickly, "I do not believe they mean him any harm.  They are apparently peaceful people."

"I'd like it better if there weren't so many of them right on top of him," Sheppard responded, shoe-horning himself in among them.  “I’d like it better if they weren’t on my ship!”  They were amazingly fit looking people, with intelligent features, expertly made clothing and simple but efficient looking weapons.  They also smelled a whole lot better then the Bochwey.

The men seemed to understand his meaning.  After a moment spent observing the sleeping man, and word or two with the woman, they made acquiescent movements and backed away -- going back to poking around the jumper. The major watched them, seeing that they didn't seem to be messing with anything, just curiously looking everything over.

"Do you see?" Teyla stated, keeping an eye on the men.  "They mean no harm."  And it was apparently true.  The woman seemed downright tender as she assessed McKay.  She kept talking in that pretty language, pulling things from her woven bag and setting them around the control board.  When she started chewing up leaves and spitting them into her hand, Sheppard finally put a hand on her arm to stop her.

She looked up sharply, surprised, but no sudden death descended on the major.  Her glance was forgiving of his abruptness.  She made hand motions, trying to explain what she wanted to do... wanting to smear the masticated stuff onto McKay's blistered skin.  Sheppard tried to be congenial, and the woman, perhaps, understood his hesitancy.  Instead of daubing it onto McKay, she grasped Sheppard’s wrist, turned his hand, and plopped the chewed up stuff into his palm.  He smiled tightly and thanked her, feeling the warm wad of goo in his hand.

The woman took up a handful of fresh leaves, pantomimed chewing them and the application process.  Sheppard nodded, trying to look interested.  "Yeah right," he said.  "Chew it up.  Does it go better with ranch dressing or maybe Italian?”  God, this is weird.

It was Teyla who saved him, somehow letting the woman know that her efforts were appreciated and escorting her toward the door.   The woman made a chirping noise and her entourage stopped looking at the bins and equipment in the craft.  They turned and followed her out.

She stood outside the craft and regarded the still huddling Bochwey.  The Kennedys and Gimmet, along with Kevik, were among them again -- rounded up by the true Muc-mucs.  The returned escapees looked thoroughly chastised.  The natives moved with a grace and a majesty that made the Bochwey look downright obscene. The male Muc-mucs wrinkled their noses at the distastefulness before them.  The women demurred and kept their eyes averted.

The woman in charge made the chirping sound again and her people came to her.  Once gathered, they turned and faced the group at the jumper.  The woman nodded, then made a chewing motion...spitting, pointing back toward where McKay was resting in the pilot’s seat.

"Yeah... yeah..." Sheppard responded, smiling.  “I got it.  I won’t forget.”

Then she made a disgusted motion toward the Bochwey.  Pulling a knife from her waist, she flung it downward, impaling it in the ground not far from Kevik.  It drove into the earth up to its hilt.  The man cowered, scuttling away. Her face was fierce and her intent unmistakable.

"We shall ensure that they leave your planet," Teyla stated.  "You will be left alone."

She made a similar gesture toward them, not as violently, her face wasn’t as severe, but the meaning was there.  At least she didn’t use the knife to demonstrate this time.  “We don’t want you here either.”  And she gracefully stepped forward to retrieve her knife. It slid into its sheath so quickly that it seemed to disappear from her hands. Kevik backed further from her.

The woman, finished with them, brought her hands to her face, releasing them, making an open handed gesture to them.

"She is bidding us farewell," Teyla decided.

“Either that or she’s play peek-a-boo,” Sheppard responded.  "Bye now. See ya later.  We'll be back to look at the chair again someday, okay?  Bye now.”  And he waved.

The woman cocked her head at the curious gesture, then returned it, waving her hand with the regality of a queen, and her people all copied.  Then, as one, they turned and departed.

"Bye now," Sheppard said again, watching the Muc-muc go.  “Bu-bye.”  When they had disappeared from sight, he rubbed his palm against is trousers, dislodging the wad of chewed up leaves from his hand.  “Why do things like that always have to happen to me?” he asked Teyla, grimacing.

Nothing else to say, Teyla smiled beatifically.

The stunned Bochwey shuffled about, mouths agape at the sight of the Muc-muc.  With a sigh, Sheppard asked,  "Now, what the hell are we supposed to do with them?"


CHAPTER 22: DISGUST AND MORTIFICATION

Dr. Weir stood at the foot of the bed in the infirmary, watching as Beckett applied a balm to the burns on McKay’s hands.  He was splinted, receiving IV fluids, bruised, suffering from a mild concussion and first and second degree burns all along his backside.  The worst burns were on his hands and the back of his neck.  His gluteus maximus hadn’t fared well either.

Beckett shook his head and tsked.  “You’ve got to be more careful, lad.  You might’ve gotten yourself into serious trouble.”

“Got pretty badly singed in that chair,” Sheppard commented.

Teyla commented.  “It is good that Major Sheppard arrived when he did.”

“Good thing,” Ford added.

“Yes, good thing.  Very good thing,” McKay admitted.  “Of course, I would’ve managed to get out on my own, eve