John nodded. “Very convenient. If we don’t turn out to be useful, we count toward Tolas’ tribute.”
“We will have to see what opportunities present themselves,” Teyla said.
John looked at her. “How’s your arm?”
She flexed it experimentally. “It hurts, but it seems that the swelling is better today. I will not be able to fight two handed, but it is my left arm. I can certainly use a pistol, and if I have a stick I will fight one handed.”
He looked as though that was better than he’d feared. He’d seen her fight one handed before with her sticks, and she could usually beat him. And a stick was usually an easy weapon to find.
“How is your head?”
John winced. “Ok.”
“Truly?” Teyla prompted. “Do not tell me you can do things you cannot.”
“I’m still a little dizzy,” he admitted. “It comes and goes.”
Teyla nodded. “We will take this as it comes.” If John admitted to being a little dizzy, he was truly not well. But then it had been less than forty eight hours since he had a concussion. He probably would still be in the infirmary back in Atlantis. “Dr. Beckett would have you still in the infirmary.”
“Yeah, well. Carson’s not here. And if he were, we’d be out of this soup.”
“Let us hope so,” Teyla said.
“There’s some dried blood on the dash,” Carson Beckett said. “Not too much.” He was bent over the console of the wrecked jumper. Through the broken windscreen the air was thick with the birdsong of the oasis, hot and dry. “A bit on the dash and some smears on the armrest, like a man with blood on his hands put them there.”
“How bad is it?” Rodney asked, climbing over the rear seats coming forward.
Carson raised his head. “I’m cautiously optimistic. No bodies. No large amounts of blood. No bullet holes or spent casings. This much blood? Someone injured, yes. But certainly not losing blood in a life-threatening amount. From the location, on the control board, I would guess it’s Colonel Sheppard’s.”
“Wonderful,” Rodney said darkly.
“No sign of Teyla, no blood anywhere else. What have you got back there, Major Lorne?”
Lorne leaned around the door that divided the cockpit from the back. “Two P90s gone, two packs gone, survival gear gone. Teyla’s jacket’s gone. Paper from a field dressing on the floor. Somebody was hurt, but not so badly they didn’t bandage it up with a field dressing and get moving. They took weapons and survival gear, and there’s no sign of a fight. I’m guessing they walked out of here.”
“Why?” Rodney demanded.
“I don’t know,” Lorne said. “How would I know? But it doesn’t look like they were prisoners when they left. They had time to get all the stuff they’d need. They had water, food, medicine.”
“Perhaps they hoped to make it back to the Stargate,” Carson said. “I know that’s what I’d do.”
“Me too,” Lorne said. “And the colonel’s done desert survival before. When I was at the SGC somebody said something about it. Afghanistan, I think?”
“There’s a lot of desert between here and the gate,” Rodney said. “And it’s hot. Did I mention it’s a desert?”
“That’s our next thing,” Lorne said. “We’ll check out the desert between here and the gate. The most likely thing is that they took the survival gear so they’d have a good shot at walking back to the Stargate. Chances are they’re somewhere along the way. If not, we’ll recenter our search pattern here and continue radio calls. They can’t be too far.”
“Not on foot,” Rodney said.
“We’ll find them before lunch,” Carson replied.
“When have I heard that before?” Rodney asked.
Radek strolled along the deck of the merchant ship, wiping off his glasses on the hem of his shirt. Not that it did much good. His shirt was soaking wet with salt water, but at least it got some of the streaks off his glasses. Other than wishing for a hearty lunch, Radek felt — actually, pretty good. He had never thought he was the sort of man to be shipwrecked and spend the night clinging to an overturned boat in a storm and come out of it fresh and cheerful. Perhaps fresh was stating it too strongly, as a hot shower and a very large bowl of soup would be welcome just now. They weren’t dead, and that was quite a lot. Maybe there was something to this action hero adrenaline high that others talked about.
Radek ambled up to the captain where he stood astern and put his glasses back on. He waited for the man to turn to him before he spoke. “So, these games,” he began casually.
The captain gave him a broad grin. “You think your friend might win? There is only one winner.”
Radek put his hands in his pockets. “One winner? How do the games work?”
“It’s one game,” the captain said. “The Games of Life. It’s a game of skill and strength both. It’s good to be a big strong fellow, but that’s not enough.” He tapped his temple. “You have to have it here. You have to have brains. Skill and strength both, or you will not survive.”
“Survive?”
“It can be deadly,” the captain said with a shrug. “If you’re not fast and clever enough.”
“How does it work?” Radek asked. “An arena or…”
“A labyrinth,” the captain replied. “There is a huge maze underground. It has traps, it has dangers, it has monsters in it, they say. There are obstacles and that does not even count the other competitors. The first person to get all the way through the maze is the winner.”
Radek waited, but the captain didn’t go on. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. You go in with no weapons or tools, and you come out at the other end. The first person who makes it is the winner and they are rewarded with a big purse and sent on their way. There are lots of bets placed on who it will be. The gods themselves like to bet. The thing that’s hard, you see, is that you have to solve the obstacles which requires cleverness, but you also have to hold your own against the other competitors in a fight, and there are traps that only a strong man can defeat. So it is a very special champion who can do both.”
Strength and cleverness at once. Radek had a thought. “So do competitors never team up? If my friend and I, for example…”
“One winner,” the captain said. “One of you walks out. That’s the catch. One of you is a rich man and one of you belongs to the gods. People have tried it before, teaming up, but someone always betrays the other at the end. So now everybody knows better than to do it. Why help someone who will stab you in the back at the finish line?”
“Belongs to the gods? Is that a euphemism for death?”
The captain blinked. “No. Belongs to the gods. The competitors are dedicated. They become the property of the gods. One man walks away the winner. The rest belong to the gods to serve them.”
“Not such a good bet then,” Radek said. A very neat way of getting people to place themselves in slavery. Diabolically clever, actually.
“Not if you want to walk away, little man,” the captain said. “You help your friend, but do you think he’ll be the one to let you walk out at the end while he stays?”
“I do see your point,” Radek said. He ambled away, back down the deck to where Ronon stood. Ronon looked up as he approached and he leaned on the rail beside him and related what he had learned.
When he finished, Ronon frowned. “That’s not a plan.”
“Indeed not,” Radek said. “Very clever, of course. A labyrinth, a maze, lots of obstacles… I’m sure it is intriguing.”