SGA - 14 - Death Game Read Online Free PDF Page A

it.”
    “As long as you can grin,” she said.
    “I can grin.” John picked up the radio. “Now let’s see if we can get Ronon.”
    ***
    Twilight was coming. That, in itself, was not particularly interesting. What was interesting to Rodney McKay was the fact that the jumper had not returned. How long could Zelenka take looking at the ruins on the island? It had been hours.
    Rodney sat in the shadow of the DHD, the only shelter from the setting sun, in the middle of a barren stretch of desert.
    And what was with building a Stargate in the middle of deserts? Or in the middle of forests? Or in Antarctica? Or otherwise out in the middle of nowhere? Why didn’t the Ancients put Stargates in the middle of cities? It’s like building an airport in Saskatchewan. Why? Wouldn’t you want to put a main interplanetary terminal somewhere people could get to?
    But no. The Ancients didn’t think like that. The Ancients loved to put Stargates in remote and inaccessible places replete with assorted dangers.
    So here he sat, in the middle of a desert, with the gate, waiting for the jumper to get back. No doubt they were taking their sweet time on a tropical island, maybe getting in a little swimming, hanging around eating pineapples or something. While he sat waiting at the gate like an obedient dachshund. Maybe it was all an elaborate practical joke, and any minute they’d show up and have a good laugh.
    He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of thinking they’d gotten to him. No way. He’d be busy, like he hadn’t even noticed they were gone. When they showed up. Any minute now.
    Rodney sighed and checked his watch again. Nine hours. This was getting absurd. Before long Elizabeth would be worried in Atlantis and would dial in to find out what was wrong. And what would he tell her? That everybody had wandered off, leaving him with the gate? How nice.
    Somewhere in the sandy hills off to the east there was a long howl.
    Oh bad. So very bad. Like a wolf. Only there probably weren’t wolves in the desert. Maybe a jackal. But it didn’t sound good. The long sunset was fading and it would be night soon. And then here he’d be, jackals and all.
    This was not turning into Rodney McKay’s day.
    He picked up his radio again. “Sheppard? Come in, Sheppard. Sheppard?”

Chapter Four
     
    “So what have we got?” John asked, propping back against the firm pillows of the bed. “Dinnerwise.”
    It was full night, and the bronze oil lamp cast a warm glow over the room as it swung back and forth on its chains. A few minutes before the soldiers had returned, bringing a large flat loaf of bread, a plate with several kinds of fruit, a covered dish, and a bowl. The bowl proved full of some sort of vegetable puree. Teyla had wrinkled her nose at the strange texture, but John licked some off a morsel of bread experimentally.
    “Kind of like baba ghanoush,” he decided, and dipped the bread more lavishly.
    “You are not supposed to eat much,” Teyla admonished.
    “This isn’t much,” John said, tearing off another piece of bread. “Besides, if I was going pass out, wouldn’t I be unconscious by now?”
    “How would I know?” Teyla said. “Do you think that I am suddenly become a doctor?”
    John stopped, the bread in hand. “If I’m brain bleeding, there’s not anything to do about it. If you think I’m going to have these guys trepan me, you’re crazy. And if I’m not brain bleeding, then there’s not much point in missing supper, is there?” He lifted the lid on the round covered dish and an aromatic steam escaped. “Some kind of tea or thin soup,” he said.
    Teyla lifted the dish and took an experimental sip. “Tea, I think. It is sweet.” She looked at her watch. “It has been nearly eleven hours. I suppose you should eat and drink something.” She handed him the warm dish.
    “Unless you’d rather have me die of dehydration than concussion,” he said. John was grinning, which was better. He must be feeling at